In Your Corner
Page 65
“Christ. Fuck.” He hammers deep and fast. His c**k thickens, becomes impossibly hard, and then he comes with a yell, pulsing against my swollen tissues.
Boneless, spineless, still floating, I am vaguely aware he has released my leg and collapsed on top of me, weight on his elbows, head resting between my br**sts. As we come back down, he reaches above me and releases my hands with one tug of the tie. Quick release. And then he rolls onto his back and pulls me across his chest.
“I have you now,” he says softly, his hand stroking gently along my spine.
Yes, he has me.
But I’ve never felt so afraid.
“You okay, baby?”
My mouth opens and closes, but words fail me. I am ripped open, exposed, bared to the world and scrambling around in the dark.
He cups my jaw with his hand, forcing me to look up. His brow is creased and his eyes crinkle with concern. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling. I’m here. I won’t let you go.”
A tidal wave of emotion floods through my veins too fast, too powerful to stop. I bite through my lip to stop the overflow leaking from the corners of my eyes, and then the words spill out. Crazy words. Untimely words. Words I never thought I’d say. “I have to sell my house.”
His brow creases in a frown, but I see the moment understanding dawns. His face softens and he squeezes me tight, chasing away the fear, filling the void. Just like I imagined.
But unlike how I imagined, he doesn’t say soothing words and tell me he understands or sympathizes with how I might feel. He is not a fantasy man. He is a real man. And real men feel compelled to solve problems, not throw out meaningless platitudes even when they have torn open a woman’s soul and that is what she wants to hear.
Why are you losing the house? Do you need money? Did you talk to Max? Did you go to the bank and ask for a loan? How about hiring another firm? What about your parents? A mortgage? Can I help? I have money saved. What about dropping the case? And on and on.
When he has finally run out of questions, I kiss him softly. “I told you about it. That’s a big step for me. Don’t push. Just hold me.”
I can almost see the physical effort involved in reining in his natural inclination to problem solve. His body tenses, jaw tightens, even his pulse beats more rapidly in his neck. But he manages to overcome the burden nature has thrust upon men, and moments later, I am being hugged and stroked while he whispers that he knows how much that house means to me and he will do anything to help.
Just like I imagined.
Chapter 16
WELL, THAT WAS JUST STUPID
A few nights of sex and sleep and more sex and less sleep leaves me with a happy buzz that lasts until Friday morning when I walk into my office and find a giant, unwelcome stack of medical reports on my desk beside the humongous pile of Farnsworth-related paperwork.
“What are these?”
Penny hands me a file and grimaces. “Hellhole case. Medical reports documenting the injuries of your friend, Bob, and his bouncer buddy.”
“And this?” My voice rises as I stare at the file in my hand.
“Originals of the retainer agreements for the Redemption case. Jake still hasn’t signed his. You don’t have much time left to get that defense filed. I’ve put a note in your calendar.”
With a sigh, I drop the file on my desk. “We decided it wasn’t a good idea for me to represent him on either case. He’s going to find someone else. We’re too…close.”
She finally smiles. “That’s a good thing.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
“Anything else to ruin my morning?”
Penny gives me a sympathetic smile and points to a stack of files on the credenza beside the microwave. “Your pro bono files need some attention. I’ve flagged the deadlines coming up. Ray won’t be around today. He has a lead on the Hellhole guys, and he’s gone to see if he can get a video of them without their casts. I have to leave on time because I have a date with Vetch. And…Jill called to see how the case was progressing and to let you know if you need help, she’s still looking for work. I seriously think you should consider hiring her.”
“Thanks, Penny, but right now I can’t even afford you.”
The day passes in a blur as I prepare the defense for the Redemption case and read through the unintelligible medical reports. I research broken bones and street fighting, trying to understand how two men could suffer the exact same injuries. Desperately in need of medical advice, I call Drake to ask a few questions. He offers to bring me some of his old medical school books and, since he’ll be in the area on his way home, he can also help me wade through the medical reports. Oh, and since it’s dinnertime, he’ll bring Chinese.
For a brief moment, I wonder if this is a good idea, given Jake’s raging bull tendencies and his antipathy toward Drake. But this is work and I’m on a deadline. Plus, Jake should be happy I’ve actually asked for help. And we’ll be in my office, not my house. So it should all be good.
Two hours later, over chow mein and orange duck washed down with a crisp but unexpected bottle of Chardonnay, Drake and I sift through the medical reports. I take copious notes as he explains all the abbreviations and cryptic messages, and then flags pages in the reference books that discuss how bones are broken, where the force needs to be applied, and the types of breakages one can expect in hand-to-hand combat.
Finally I have had enough. Head spinning from too many gory pictures, I toss my notepad on the couch beside me, kick off my shoes, and put my feet up on the table, Ray style. Drake settles back on the cushions beside me.
Boneless, spineless, still floating, I am vaguely aware he has released my leg and collapsed on top of me, weight on his elbows, head resting between my br**sts. As we come back down, he reaches above me and releases my hands with one tug of the tie. Quick release. And then he rolls onto his back and pulls me across his chest.
“I have you now,” he says softly, his hand stroking gently along my spine.
Yes, he has me.
But I’ve never felt so afraid.
“You okay, baby?”
My mouth opens and closes, but words fail me. I am ripped open, exposed, bared to the world and scrambling around in the dark.
He cups my jaw with his hand, forcing me to look up. His brow is creased and his eyes crinkle with concern. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling. I’m here. I won’t let you go.”
A tidal wave of emotion floods through my veins too fast, too powerful to stop. I bite through my lip to stop the overflow leaking from the corners of my eyes, and then the words spill out. Crazy words. Untimely words. Words I never thought I’d say. “I have to sell my house.”
His brow creases in a frown, but I see the moment understanding dawns. His face softens and he squeezes me tight, chasing away the fear, filling the void. Just like I imagined.
But unlike how I imagined, he doesn’t say soothing words and tell me he understands or sympathizes with how I might feel. He is not a fantasy man. He is a real man. And real men feel compelled to solve problems, not throw out meaningless platitudes even when they have torn open a woman’s soul and that is what she wants to hear.
Why are you losing the house? Do you need money? Did you talk to Max? Did you go to the bank and ask for a loan? How about hiring another firm? What about your parents? A mortgage? Can I help? I have money saved. What about dropping the case? And on and on.
When he has finally run out of questions, I kiss him softly. “I told you about it. That’s a big step for me. Don’t push. Just hold me.”
I can almost see the physical effort involved in reining in his natural inclination to problem solve. His body tenses, jaw tightens, even his pulse beats more rapidly in his neck. But he manages to overcome the burden nature has thrust upon men, and moments later, I am being hugged and stroked while he whispers that he knows how much that house means to me and he will do anything to help.
Just like I imagined.
Chapter 16
WELL, THAT WAS JUST STUPID
A few nights of sex and sleep and more sex and less sleep leaves me with a happy buzz that lasts until Friday morning when I walk into my office and find a giant, unwelcome stack of medical reports on my desk beside the humongous pile of Farnsworth-related paperwork.
“What are these?”
Penny hands me a file and grimaces. “Hellhole case. Medical reports documenting the injuries of your friend, Bob, and his bouncer buddy.”
“And this?” My voice rises as I stare at the file in my hand.
“Originals of the retainer agreements for the Redemption case. Jake still hasn’t signed his. You don’t have much time left to get that defense filed. I’ve put a note in your calendar.”
With a sigh, I drop the file on my desk. “We decided it wasn’t a good idea for me to represent him on either case. He’s going to find someone else. We’re too…close.”
She finally smiles. “That’s a good thing.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
“Anything else to ruin my morning?”
Penny gives me a sympathetic smile and points to a stack of files on the credenza beside the microwave. “Your pro bono files need some attention. I’ve flagged the deadlines coming up. Ray won’t be around today. He has a lead on the Hellhole guys, and he’s gone to see if he can get a video of them without their casts. I have to leave on time because I have a date with Vetch. And…Jill called to see how the case was progressing and to let you know if you need help, she’s still looking for work. I seriously think you should consider hiring her.”
“Thanks, Penny, but right now I can’t even afford you.”
The day passes in a blur as I prepare the defense for the Redemption case and read through the unintelligible medical reports. I research broken bones and street fighting, trying to understand how two men could suffer the exact same injuries. Desperately in need of medical advice, I call Drake to ask a few questions. He offers to bring me some of his old medical school books and, since he’ll be in the area on his way home, he can also help me wade through the medical reports. Oh, and since it’s dinnertime, he’ll bring Chinese.
For a brief moment, I wonder if this is a good idea, given Jake’s raging bull tendencies and his antipathy toward Drake. But this is work and I’m on a deadline. Plus, Jake should be happy I’ve actually asked for help. And we’ll be in my office, not my house. So it should all be good.
Two hours later, over chow mein and orange duck washed down with a crisp but unexpected bottle of Chardonnay, Drake and I sift through the medical reports. I take copious notes as he explains all the abbreviations and cryptic messages, and then flags pages in the reference books that discuss how bones are broken, where the force needs to be applied, and the types of breakages one can expect in hand-to-hand combat.
Finally I have had enough. Head spinning from too many gory pictures, I toss my notepad on the couch beside me, kick off my shoes, and put my feet up on the table, Ray style. Drake settles back on the cushions beside me.
