Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
“Oh,” I say, because I’m brilliant like that. Real words that mean things come from my mouth.
“And,” he adds, “we slept later than I thought. It’s ten thirty. My co-counsels will be here at noon to work on the case.” His cellphone rings in his pocket. “Give me just one minute, sweetheart.” He kisses me, a quick, minty-fresh brush of his lips against mine that tells me he found the toothpaste too. “One minute,” he says again as if it’s a promise, digging his phone from his pocket, which pulls his pants down to a spot that is dangerously distracting. “Hello,” he says into his phone, and then covers it with his hand to look at me. “Come to the kitchen. We’ll make coffee.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, but rather turns around and says, “What’s up?”
I don’t follow him. I’m feeling too incredibly awkward again. I exit the bathroom and head toward the living room, grabbing my bag, purse, and computer and packing up. I’ve just made it to the front door when I hear, “Cat,” and Reese snags my arm and turns me to face him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving,” I say, when, of course, we both knew that before this exchange.
“Without talking to me first?”
“It’s awkward after all, and you have your trial and—”
“Help me with the trial. I know it’s not the most exciting weekend, but spend it here, and help me catch a killer.” He steps into me and slides a hand to my face. “I need you here. I want you here.”
“You don’t need me.”
“I do. It’s illogical, I know. We just met, but I do need you here.” He backs me up until I’m pressed to the door. “I can’t help what I have going on in my life right now. Be a part of it. You are a part of it. It’s how we met. It’s your job, too. Let’s do our jobs together.”
“Reese, I—”
“You’re good at closing statements. I need to deliver a killer closing to the jury and, apparently, to you. Say yes. To helping with the trial and to finding out what this is between us. I need to know. Don’t you?”
Somehow, this man, who I’ve called an asshole and wanted one and done, has turned everything around. He made me want and need him, and then said everything I wanted and needed to hear and didn’t know I wanted and needed to hear it. “Yes and yes,” I dare, because there simply isn’t another option I can live with. “But I have to go home and shower and change. Preferably before the Walker clan gets here.”
“That’s any minute now.”
“Oh God. I have to go.” I turn toward the door and Reese opens it so I can exit, but then catches my arm and turns me back to him. “Don’t run. I know you were burned. But I’m not him and I don’t chase women, Cat, but I’ll chase you.” He strokes my cheek, and I can’t breathe as he repeats, “I’ll chase you.” He releases me.
I turn away and start walking as his words ring in my head: I’m not him. The idea that my ex-asshole is controlling me right now stops me in my tracks. He is. He can’t have that control. I turn back around and find Reese still standing in the doorway. I march right back to him, press my hand to that gorgeous chest of his, and kiss him. “I’m coming back. I want to. And I am good at closing statements, and you have to give a killer one. This isn’t your opening. You can’t be your client and win over the jury.”
“What does that mean?”
“Arrogant, rich, and good looking, and you are those things.” I rotate and start walking, with his soft, sexy laughter trailing after me. And I’m smiling. God. This man makes me smile. I reach the elevators, step inside the car, and sink back against the wall. This man is making me crazy, but I feel the most alive I have in forever. It’s terrifyingly wonderful. And he’s right. I have to know where it leads.
Chapter sixteen
Cat
By the time I exit the elevator in Reese’s apartment building, my smile hasn’t disappeared. That is until I see the two big, intense men walking toward me that my departure was not fast enough for me to escape: Royce and Blake Walker of Walker Security. Both are the proverbial tall, dark, and deadly mix of attitude and good looks in jeans and Walker T-shirts. Both with long, dark hair tied at their napes. And both are in a direct collision course with little ole me. My only saving grace is Kara, Blake’s wife, who is walking next to them, who I have met numerous times and find really likeable, tough, and yet sweet.