Slow Burn Read online

  CHAPTER THREE

  "I had a weird day today."

  My husband glanced over at me while he removed his button-down shirt. After neatly hanging it up, he slipped on a loose-fitting T-shirt, gave me a peck on the cheek, and focused his full attention on me.

  "Tell me about it, honey."

  "I got roped into doing an arraignment. But it might lead to some private family court work."

  Clay quirked an eyebrow at me. "That is weird," he agreed. "But also good, right? You've been after more private pay clients."

  "Yeah, the county work is nice and steady, but they take forever to pay me. Plus, I can make so much more privately."

  "So, what's the problem?"

  See, this was why Clay and I worked. He knew me so well. We didn't keep secrets from each other.

  "I think it means I'll be doing work for the Lost Kings Motorcycle Club."

  He raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything right away. "Well, the way those guys are rumored to spread their seed around, I'm sure there will be plenty of work to keep you busy."

  I wanted to tell Clay more. But I didn't know how to phrase it. Rock scared me. Yet he excited me too. I didn't see how my husband would understand that. Hey, I'm kind of attracted to this big, scary biker dude, honey. Seemed like the wrong thing for a wife to say to her husband.

  So, I nodded and let him tell me about his day instead.

  The following Monday, I found myself entering Crystal Ball at one o'clock in the afternoon. Nervous about this meeting, I'd taken a lot of care getting ready. I wore gray plaid dress pants with lines of teal shot through, and I paired a teal sweater set and teal patent-leather pumps with the outfit. I was covered from head to toe, more casual than wearing a suit, but still professional. To keep my look classy and make myself less attractive to Rock, I pulled my hair into a severe bun, pinning it at the back of my neck. I slipped on my glasses too. I really only needed the thick, black square-framed lenses for driving, but I thought they'd make me look more grown up. It still annoyed me that he'd thought I was so young. Not that I hadn't run into that problem before, but it always made me feel like I must come across as not very bright or good at what I did.

  Walking into Crystal Ball made me incredibly self-conscious. I felt fat, frumpy, and old next to the sleek, glittered-up goddesses performing for the intimate afternoon crowd. Rock sat at the bar with his back to the stage, which surprised me. When our eyes met, he slid from his stool to greet me. He swept his gaze over me in a way that both pissed me off and turned my knees to jelly. Seconds of awkward silence stretched between us before he shifted back to the bar.

  "Find Bricks and have him meet me in the office," he shouted over the pulsing music.

  When he turned back to me, focusing his searing gray eyes on me, I had to bite down on my lower lip to stop it from quivering. This attraction was getting ridiculous.

  He held two bottles of water in one hand and motioned me toward the back of the club with the other. The uncomfortable warmth of his hand at the small of my back unnerved me as we maneuvered through the narrow hallway. We stopped at a door with no nameplate or signage to indicate what was inside. Rock withdrew a key from his pocket. Opening the door, he ushered me inside first, closing it behind us.

  "You're really rocking the naughty librarian thing, Ms. Kendall."

  Of all the things I expected he might say, that never crossed my mind.

  "Excuse me?"

  He gestured to one of the chairs in front of the large oak desk before settling himself behind it. "Sit."

  I sat, but I wasn't happy about it.

  "This." He gestured to my hair, then trailed his finger in the air down lower. I shivered, imagining those fingers tracing over my body in the same way. He must have noticed because one corner of his mouth quirked up in a knowing smile. "This," he said again, "is hot."

  "You've got a roomful of naked women out there, but cardigans and wool pants turn you on?" I winced at the words I'd chosen.

  His sharp laughter echoed around us in the small room. "Yeah, doll. Though I'll admit the turtleneck is overkill."

  I pursed my lips and looked down to my shoulder bag. Without speaking, I took out a fresh legal pad and my favorite pen. A knock sounded and Rock shouted, "Come in."

  "Bricks, this is Hope Kendall. She's going to help you with your custody case."

  I could understand how Bricks got his name. Built like the proverbial brick shit house, he was maybe an inch or two taller than me. Close-cropped dark hair, caramel skin, sparkling brown eyes, and a sensual mouth that probably made a lot of women happy. I slid my gaze south, checking out the ink on his forearm. Baby feet, names, dates. He lifted his lips in a sincere smile and held out his hand.

  "Thanks for helping me out, Miss Kendall."

  "No problem." I turned to Rock. "You need to leave."

  The tension rose, and I realized speaking to him in that tone had been a mistake—but he had me so damn freaked out after his naughty librarian comment.

  "To preserve confidentiality, I need to speak to him alone," I clarified, trying to save some of my dignity and possibly my life.

  He pinned me with a hard stare. "The club is paying your fee."

  Any lingering embarrassment faded as I met his challenging gaze. "Doesn't matter." I jabbed my pen in Bricks’s general direction. "He's my client."

  Rock tilted his head to the side, studying me. I wondered if he kept a gun in this office, then decided that was a stupid question. Finally, he pushed his palms flat on the desk and stood.

  He swept his hand through the air over his desk and bowed his head. "Please, use my desk."

  Ignoring his mocking tone, I muttered, "Thank you."

  I snuck around the opposite side, which made Rock smirk. Poor Bricks looked back and forth between us before finally taking a seat. When the door clicked closed, I started my consultation with my new client.

  I stood outside my office door trying not to laugh. Holy fuck, I’d met my match in Hope Kendall.

  "Hey, Big Poppa," a sing-song voice called from the entrance to the hallway. I tipped up my head to catch Inga staring at me. Fuck. Officially, the MC had a no-fraternizing policy with the strippers. The local girls anyway. Too much potential for drama. I was pretty sure this rule got broken with some regularity. Mostly because I'd broken it myself.

  Inga was not local talent. She was a feature dancer from out of town. A minor porn star. She'd be major very soon if she kept her nose clean. Her big blue eyes and long blonde hair gave her an innocent, girl-next-door appearance that brought in a lot of money. She worked that look with a schoolgirl routine that, while lacking in originality, was extremely hot.

  We'd fucked.

  A lot.

  Every time she came to town, to be exact.

  Clearly she expected things to go the way they always went. What she did when she left my town, I had no idea. Nor did I care. We practiced safe sex, and I knew the porn industry was heavily self-regulated, so she got tested often. Who she spread her legs for when she left my club was not my concern. I couldn't even say I’d ever watched one of her films.

  I looked back at the door. How much longer could a consultation take? What had Hope said? An hour? Fuck, if I could remember. Bricks could be trusted. He wouldn't maul Hope. He was a good guy. Cared only about his kids. Hope was safe with him.

  Inga could help me relieve some of the tension that had coiled up inside my body the minute Hope walked in the front door looking like something out of a Hot-for-Teacher video. Fucking wool pants were almost worse than her prim little skirt suits. All I could think of was how it would feel to slide those pants off her shapely legs and leave her standing in nothing but those shiny pumps.

  "Hey, babe," I answered.

  Bricks, who I'd learned worked as a mason before coming to work for Rock—doing what I hadn't exactly ascertained—seemed like a decent guy who honestly cared about what was best for his children. Perusing his divorce decree, I noted he'd given his ex
the house and a pretty nice car without taking anything in exchange. He'd also agreed to support payments well above what the state statute dictated. Yet, his ex wanted more money while at the same time was trying to curtail his visitation. I’ll admit it pissed me off a little on his behalf. One of the things that made me a lousy lawyer was my inability to keep my objectivity once I determined my client was getting royally screwed.

  The money didn't bother him, but keeping him from his children did. By this point in my career, I'd met enough deadbeat parents to be impressed with Bricks. I really wanted to help him.

  "You were more than generous in the divorce. I think any judge is going to look at her new demands and see what she's about. Don't worry," I counseled.

  Bricks sat back in his chair and seemed relieved. "Thanks, Ms. Kendall. I just want what's best for them. That's why I let her have the house. No reason for them to have to change schools or leave the house they grew up in just 'cause Sue and I can't get along. But only letting me see them every other weekend is bullshit."

  I had to agree. Unless he wasn't telling me something, there was no way a judge would grant her request. I explained this as carefully as I could without being insulting. Nothing annoyed me more than having a client keep information I might need from me.

  "I started seeing someone. I don't let my new girl around my kids yet. Too soon, you know? Somehow Suzie found out, and she's pissed. Even though she's been shacking up with some deadbeat for months now. Thinks I don't know."

  Okay. Now that made sense. Happened all the time with exes.

  "Is there any chance you want to go for full custody?"

  "Nah, kids need their mom, right?"

  Though there were some judges around who still favored the mother, using the "tender years" approach, this was becoming more and more rare. I'd been trained in the more enlightened age, where custody was decided based on the best interest of the child. I explained that using as little legal jargon as possible.

  "I'd love to see them more. I'd even move closer if we could, like, share stuff. If Sue would just be more flexible, you know? Sometimes I'm…on call and I gotta take off. She'd use that shit against me in a heartbeat."

  I nodded, although I had no idea what he meant by "on call." On paper, he worked for Crystal Ball, but I couldn’t imagine what kind of emergencies strippers had that would necessitate him being on call.

  "Her mom watches them when Sue goes to work. I don't got anyone to help me out," he explained.

  "I understand. Keep it in the back of your mind. I think we have a good chance at fighting this. Maybe if we squash it this time, she'll think twice about trying again."

  "That would be awesome. I hate having this hanging over my head." He stood and jammed his hand into his pocket. "What do I owe you for today?"

  I waved my hand in the air, while I pushed my chair away from the desk and stood up. "Rock said he would take care of my fee. This consultation was free anyway, so don't worry about it."

  Bricks’s eyes widened, but he nodded and offered to shake my hand. We walked into the hallway.

  "I have all your info, so I will call you when I file our response and send you a copy." I fished a card out of my pocket and handed it over. "If you can't make any court dates, you need to let me know right away—"

  I stopped in mid-sentence as a tall, giggling blonde came out of what looked like a storage closet, Rock right behind her with his hand on her ass. Dressed in nothing but a gold bikini top, itty-bitty plaid skirt, and six inch heels, I assumed the blonde worked here as a dancer. Her two dirt-stained knees and Rock's lazy grin left no doubt what they'd been up to in the closet.

  Rock's gaze swung to mine and his mouth flattened. "Inga, go get ready for your set." He shoved both hands into his pockets and took a step away from the stunning dancer.

  Not offended in the least, she grinned. "Sure thing, boss." She focused on Bricks next. "Hey, you."

  "Hey, Inga, when did you get in?"

  A sly smile spread over her full, red lips. "Couple minutes ago." She jerked her chin at me and tilted her head.

  Since Rock was surprisingly quiet, Bricks ended up introducing me. "This is Hope Kendall. She's gonna help me out with the court stuff for my kids."

  Inga's eyes settled on me. "You're a lawyer?"

  "Yeah."

  She nodded. "I thought about going to law school, but figured I'd make more money dancing."

  "You're probably right," I answered.

  Her lips curled into a genuine smile. "You ever deal with the IRS?"

  "Not yet."

  "They hassling you, babe?" Rock asked, his voice full of concern. I tried not to puke.

  Her bony shoulders lifted. I admired this girl, standing half-naked in a hall full of fully clothed people, having obviously just gone down on her boss, for having the moxie to discuss her taxes. I mean seriously, where can I sign up for that kind of self-confidence?

  I looked to Bricks who shrugged, then took off, leaving me alone with the lovebirds.

  Awesome.

  "Go get ready," I said for the second time.

  "Sure." Inga turned and headed toward the dressing rooms. She swung a look over her shoulder and I knew why, but I kept my hand still. Any other time, I'd give her a slap on the ass. In front of anyone else, I wouldn't care.

  Fucking Hope made me care, and I didn't like it at all. I also didn't like that it rattled me when she caught us coming out of the supply closet. I did not let bitches rattle me for any reason.

  "Well, I should get going." Hope turned and headed back inside my office.

  "Think you can help Bricks?" I asked as I followed her inside.

  She didn’t bother to look at me. "Definitely," she answered after a moment of hesitation.

  "What’s the retainer?"

  "It's going to take at least ten hours minimum. I need to draft a response. Maybe one or two court appearances. I don't anticipate much more than that."

  "So, three thousand?"

  She sighed. "Fifteen hundred will be fine."

  "Three grand. And after ten hours of work, I expect you to send me a bill for the additional money."

  She made a non-committal humming noise but still refused to look at me.

  "Uh, I'm sorry about that." I gestured lamely toward the hallway and wanted to kick myself in the balls. What the fuck did I have to apologize for? My club. My employee. Hope had made it crystal clear she was not available. I should be able to stick my dick anywhere I damned well pleased without feeling guilty about it, for fuck’s sake.

  Surprised, she met my gaze. "I don't care who gobbles your knob, Mr. North."

  What an odd phrase to come out of my sweet, proper attorney’s mouth. I choked back my laughter. "By that tone, it seems like you do."

  Color rushed into her cheeks, but she didn’t break our eye contact. "I really don’t. Our relationship is purely business. If that's how you run your club, it’s not my concern."

  She was pissed, and I couldn't figure out why.

  "I need to get home to my husband," she gritted through clenched teeth.

  Ah. She might as well have just admitted this attraction was mutual.

  Well, well, well. I closed the door behind me and watched her scoop her stuff off my desk and throw it into her bag. When she stopped moving, I noticed her trembling hands.

  A thrill ricocheted through me, knowing I affected her too. "You okay, Hope?"

  She looked up at me, her mouth falling open. It took a second before I realized why. I'd just used her first name for the first name.

  "I'm fine," she said as she edged herself around to the front of the desk. I stepped behind and pulled out the top drawer. I grabbed the fat envelope sitting there and handed it to her. She glanced at the cash, but I don't think she counted it before slipping it into her bag.

  "Thanks."

  She turned, and when her fingers wrapped around the handle, I called to her. "Wait."

  Her hand stilled, but she didn't turn around. "Hop
e." I liked the sound of her name on my tongue. Those few short steps made me feel like a predator. As I reached her, she turned to face me.

  "What?" she snapped.

  I threw my hands up against the door on either side of her head, pressing her back. Those beautiful, bright green eyes widened. Her breath came in little pants, making her chest rise and fall, drawing my attention to her generous rack. Unlike every other girl in my club, those tits had to be real, and I wanted to see them. As I lowered my head, her eyes fell closed. Fucking pleasure at that simple detail shot through me. After only a slight brush of my lips to hers, she whimpered. I teased my tongue along the seam of her lips, and she parted them immediately. As I swept my tongue against hers, her citrusy tang called me to do more. I pressed myself more firmly against her, shifting my hands from the door to the sides of her face so I could hold her the way I wanted.

  Her bag landed on the floor with a thud, but the only sounds coming from her were greedy little pleading noises. Her hands fluttered by my sides, almost tickling before she settled them at my hips, curling her fingers into the waistband of my jeans.

  I'd shot my load down Inga's throat not ten minutes ago, but I still found myself hard as a hammer and ready to pound into Hope. My encounter with Inga hadn’t included kissing—none of them ever did. But kissing Hope got me more worked up than an open-mouthed Inga down on her knees. I ground my cock against her belly, letting her know what she did to me. Mistake. Instead of encouraging her, it stopped her cold. She threw her head back, banging it against the door with a thud. Her hands flew up to my shoulders in an attempt to press me back.

  Breathing heavily, she closed her eyes. "I can't do this."

  "Sure you can, doll. You were doing a fine job."

  That tough-girl scowl I found so hot flashed across her face, then she ducked down under my arm and to my right, nearly tripping over her heels. My arm shot out to steady her, but she jerked away from me.

  "I need to go."

  I waved my arm to the side and backed away from the door. "No one's stopping you, doll."

  The thick tension in the air rippled as she looked between the door and me, trying to decide if I planned to stop her, I guessed. The last thing I wanted was for her to leave, but I wouldn't keep her against her will either. It just wasn't my style. I scooped her bag off the floor, checking to make sure nothing had fallen out. Extending my arm, I handed her the bag, and she snatched it from me. With a sigh, I opened the door. She slid through it, careful not to brush against me on her way out.