Appealed (The Legal Briefs, #3)(42)

I’m going to make sure of it.

I give her an easy, reassuring smile, and something like relief passes over her features. Her returning nod is formal, then she gets settled at the prosecution table.

After the judge calls us to order and runs through the preliminaries, dear old Mrs. Potter resumes her place in the witness box. I stand up to continue my cross-examination, buttoning my charcoal-gray suit jacket, and I wonder if things will be different between Kennedy and me in court from now on.

If she’s going to be different.

Kinder. Gentler. More . . . friendly.

Halfway through my second question to Mrs. Potter, Kennedy hops to her feet.

“Objection!”

Okay—guess that answers that.

? ? ?

The moment the judge smacks his gavel to adjourn us for the day, Kennedy’s high heels click briskly as she grabs her briefcase and dashes past me out the door. My eyes follow her, but the rest of me sticks around to offer Justin a ride home, because neither of his parents showed today. An hour and a half later, Harrison drops me in front of the U.S. Attorney’s building. I take the stone steps two at a time and make my way to Kennedy’s closed office door.

Her secretary says she’s in a meeting. A stealthy glance through the window tells me it’s an important meeting, considering there’s four serious-faced, lawyerish-looking men in suits hunched over in deep discussion around her desk.

“I’ll wait.” I tell the secretary.

I hate waiting, especially when I have an ass spanking to deliver. And in this case, I mean that every way it can be taken.

I sit in the empty chair outside Kennedy’s door, my right knee bouncing and my head tilted back against the wall.

After forever, her door opens and the parade of men exits. The last one out, a burly, gray-haired guy, nods to her. “We’ll speak soon, Kennedy.”

“Yes. Keep me informed.” She nods back, her face set like a seventeenth-century plaster bust. That was a very unhappy era for ceramics.

I wait until the last man turns the corner, then I step into Kennedy’s office, closing the door behind me. She sits at her desk, staring down at a file like she wants to set it on fire with her eyes.

I reach behind my back and lock her door. Then I pull down the blinds, concealing us from the outside world. If Kennedy picks up on my actions, she doesn’t show it.

I stroll toward her desk, doing my best Heath Ledger–Joker impersonation. “Why so serious?”

Kennedy sighs, still glaring down at the file. “My mob case from Vegas just got kicked back on appeal. Moriotti got himself a new trial.”

I lean against the corner of her desk. “Are you going to retry him?”

“Absolutely. The son of a bitch deserves to spend the rest of his life in a cold, dark hole, and I’m going to be the one to put him there.”

My whistle is long and impressed. “In case I haven’t mentioned it before, that vengeful streak is damn sexy.”

She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t smile. “I really don’t have time to talk right now.”

“Yeah . . . I don’t particularly feel like talking either. But—”

Surprising her, I yank her chair out, spin it around, and brace my hands on the arms, leaning down. Caging her in.

For a hot second I’m distracted by the way her chest heaves, the way her eyes round, and her lips part—just wide enough to slip my tongue in. My cock would require her to open wider—and that thought’s pretty damn distracting too.

“But—whether we want to talk or not, it looks like I need to lay some ground rules.” My gaze burns into hers and my voice is almost as hard as my dick. “Rule number one—you don’t set one pretty toe out of my bed without waking me up first. Ever.”

I lean in and skim my nose up the delicate line of her neck, then I drag my tongue down the same path to her pulse point—wrapping my lips around it and sucking—hard enough to leave one bitch of a mark.

But . . . that’s the price she pays.

“I jerked off twice in the shower,” I hiss against her skin. “And I was still hard as a goddamn rock watching you in court.”

That little tidbit gets me a nice whimper. But I’m not done. “And I swear to Christ, I could still smell you on my fingers. It drove me crazy all f*cking day.”

I tilt back until I’m looking into her eyes. They’re lit up with heat and sublimely stimulated.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I bark.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you. I’m not going to kiss you, Kennedy—I’m pissed off at you.”

She squirms in her seat, her eyes flickering between my lips and my Adam’s apple, rubbing her thighs together ever so slightly. And a groan catches in my chest—because she apparently likes me being pissed off at her.

Jesus, the fun I could have with that.

But I stay focused. “Ground rule two—we talk. Not about the case, but everything else is on the table. No more running away.”

Her throats constrict as she swallows—and I can almost hear her heart pounding. Or maybe it’s mine.

“Three—we take this one day at a time. You’re freaked, there’s shit between us—I get it. I won’t ask for more than you can give me.”

Her brow crinkles. “Brent, I don’t think—”