Overruled (The Legal Briefs, #1)(81)

Jenny waves her hand. “Nah, it’s good for me to get out. I’ve been nestin’—the floors are so slippery clean, JD said he’s gonna put up hazard tape.”

We catch up for a few minutes, then Jenny leaves and we head to the stable. Presley walks in front of us, and I hold Sofia’s hand as she walks beside me.

“So . . . you ever think about that?”

“About what?”

I jerk my head in the direction Jenny just left.

“A baby?”

“A baby,” I say.

“You and me?”

“Well . . . I’d be pretty pissed if it was you and someone else.”

She laughs. “Stanton, I’m trying to make partner.”

“I know.”

“And you’re trying to make partner.”

“True.” We walk silently. Then I lean closer to her, guessing, “So that’s a yes, then?”

She grins. “Yes . . . I’ll think about it.”

I give her her favorite lopsided grin. “Good.”

Sofia holds up a finger. “But not now.”

“No.”

“Make sure your sperm is aware of that. It has a history of going rogue.”

I nod. “I’ll send the sperm a memo and CC your ovaries.”

She nods. “But soon.”

“Soon is good.”

I swing our joined hands. “We should probably get married first.”

Sofia stops, staring at me. “Are you asking?”

I turn, cupping her jaw, tracing her beautiful lips. “Darlin’, when I ask, you won’t be wonderin’ if I’m askin’.” Then I kiss her sweetly. “But it’ll be soon.”

She smiles, big and blinding. “Soon is good.”





Jake Becker loves his career as a hard, powerful defense attorney in DC. So there’s no way a twenty-six-year-old raising her six nieces and nephews would capture his heart . . . right?

Don’t miss the next installment in New York Times bestselling author Emma Chase’s Legal Briefs series





SUSTAINED


Coming Summer 2015 from Gallery Books!





Wednesday is a slow day. I lean back in my desk chair and look out the window at the sunny street below. A frustrated dog walker struggles with three four-legged clients as they tangle their leashes, fighting for the lead. A double-decker tourist bus rumbles past, leaving a cloud of black exhaust in its wake. A jogging father pushes an orange-colored running stroller, nearly taking out one of the yapping dogs, turning onto the grass at the last second.

Maybe it’s the baby in the stroller, maybe it’s the long-haired, ruglike dogs—maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t gotten any in two weeks—but the enticing image of Chelsea McQuaid slides into my mind.

Again.

It’s the sole image I’ve conjured every single time I’ve jerked off, which has been pathetically often.

Those crystal blue eyes, her quick-smiling pink lips, her long, elegant neck that begged to be licked, her lithe limbs that I just bet are oh so flexible, and most important, her firm, perfectly sized tits. I mentally kick myself for not getting her number.

She’s too old—and too hot—to be a virgin at twenty-six, but there was something about her that seemed . . . pure. Untouched. Undiscovered. And that’s a particular course I sure as hell would love to chart.

I rub my eyes. I need to get laid. This “getting to know a woman first” shit is turning out to be a bigger hassle than I ever anticipated. Is the risk of contracting an STD really such a big deal?

And then I remember how it felt waiting for those test results. The sharp, cold terror of being saddled with a disease—possibly for life. Or, even scarier, with one that could cut my life short. Hell, yes—it’s a big deal.

No f*ck, no matter how spectacular, is worth dying for.

That should be the tag line in every high school safe-sex campaign.

My secretary, Mrs. Higgens—a great lady who looks like everybody’s grandma—opens my office door. “Miss Chelsea McQuaid is here to see you, Jake. And she’s got a whole brood of little ones with her.”

My smile is wide and slow and completely gratified. I don’t believe in signs—but if I did, this would be big, flashing neon.

I straighten my tie. “Show them in, Mrs. Higgens.”

She nods, and a few moments later, Chelsea and her fidgeting, noisy gaggle of nieces and nephews come into my office. She’s wearing casual “mommy-wear,” but on that body, it screams Sexy. A dark green sweater that highlights the red in her auburn hair. Snug blue jeans tucked into high brown boots that accent those endless legs—and the tight swell of her ass. That’s a pleasant surprise—I didn’t notice her ass the first time we met, but it’s f*cking gorgeous.

She adjusts her grip on the baby carrier and her smile is strained. “Hello, Mr. Becker.”

I stand up behind my desk. “Chelsea, it’s good to see you again. What brings you . . .”

My eyes flick quickly to each of the faces that crowds my office, then to the empty doorway, as I realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Rory?”

Chelsea sighs. Before she can speak, the grouchy girl—the fourteen-year-old, Riley—answers for her. “The idiot got arrested. He stole a car.”