Body of Law (Volume 1) Page 4

I blinked hard. “What?”

  “I’m a personal shopper,” she explained. “Based on your coloring and measurements, I’ve already selected a few outfits I think you’ll—”

  “Excuse me?” My eyes shot daggers at Sebastian. “My measurements?”

  “Observation.” he leered. “Another important element in criminal law. Despite your stupidity, I’m sure you’re aware that men enjoy observing you.” He gazed at my breasts as if for emphasis. “Me being one of them.”

  My mouth fell open. “Just because we’re off the clock doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that.”

  Laughing with the full weight of his body, he shook his head and walked away.

  ***

  Despite the absurdity of the situation, I had to hand it to Nadine: her reputation as a personal shopper was well founded. Before the end of an hour, she’d found four dresses that were professional enough for the office and still fashionable to wear after hours. And, though I initially insisted against it, there didn’t seem to be any harm in trying on the three-piece suits or silk tops she brought me.

  In the fitting room, I stepped up on the small pedestal and looked at my reflection in the row of mirrors. The fifth and final dress Nadine had insisted I try on was a sleeveless little gray number with a draping neckline. The black belt at the waist wasn’t shy about accentuating my breasts, either. I turned to the side, my mind imagining Sebastian slowly pulling down the zipper with his agile fingers.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to erase the image. Maybe Nicky knew someone from outside the office who would make a good one-night-stand.

  “Oh.” Sebastian’s hard voice forced me to open my eyes. The room was spinning, but I still felt incredible. “My…”

  I blushed and took a step off the pedestal. As I hurried to get out of his sight, however, I tripped over my own feet. I didn’t have time to feel embarrassed because two strong hands steadied me back to earth—another flutter landing directly between my legs. We gazed up at each other simultaneously. Whether by accident or design, one of his hands was wrapped around me while the other was tangled well above my leg, his thumb mere inches from the lace of my panties.

  His bottom lip fell open before it closed again.

  “Thanks,” I heard myself whisper.

  Sebastian smiled as he slowly pulled away. “This dress is easily the best thing I’ve ever put on the expense account.”

  I blushed and turned to go back behind the changing curtain. Was he complimenting me, the personal shopper, or did he just genuinely love fashion?

  “I should change—”

  He stopped me with a gentle touch on my elbow. I practically melted.

  “No.” His voice was harsh, but I relished in the insistence in it. If it hadn't been for the air conditioning, I would have been a puddle. “Leave it on. Are you hungry?”

  I nodded. “You?”

  He smirked. “You have no idea.”

  Chapter 6

  Violet

  The Signature Room on 95th street was filled with dozens of chattering voices and even more alluring smells. Combined with high-rise chandeliers and the waiters who moved at break-neck speed, my senses were nearly overwhelmed.

  “I don’t think we’re going to get a table.”

  Without hesitation, Sebastian slipped a one hundred dollar bill from his money clip. “We will now.”

  Sure enough, the maître d' was extremely enthusiastic about showing us to the best table available. Sebastian pulled out my chair for me and I sat down, staring out at the Chicago skyline. The sun was just beginning to set but the sky was already aflame with shades of pink and purple.

  “What is going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

  Truth be told, I didn’t want to say. How was one supposed to phrase “Oh, I was just wondering if this table would hold both our weight and if you were the full ten inches the women on the twenty-seventh floor say you are?”

  “Nothing,” I said instead.

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Okay.” I propped my elbows on the table and leaned forward, just enough so that I could smell his cologne. “I was thinking about places to hide Morgan’s mail this week.”

  Sebastian’s face broke out into a smirk. “You are quite a trickster, aren’t you?”

  I opened my mouth to say something, even had something cute to say, but an eager waiter who seemed to have been informed about what great tippers we were approached the table, his eyes bright. Even as he ordered though, Sebastian never took his own eyes off of mine.

  “We’ll have a bottle of the Joseph Phelp cabernet Sauvignon, and if you even attempt to bring anything younger than a 2005 out here, you’ll be picking glass out of your hair for a week.”

  Nodding happily, the waiter scurried away from our table, clearly afraid Sebastian would change his mind about ordering the expensive wine.

  “The bottle?”

  He scoffed, folding one hand over the other. “Don’t be coy; I’m sure you’ve experienced alcohol more than once in your lifetime.”

  “Not wine from a $300 bottle, I haven’t.”

  “You know wines? How is it that you know about wine but you can’t find clothes that fit you?”

  I leaned back in my chair. That intense look of his I adored so much could quite literally take my breath away. “My dad was something of a wine connoisseur. And I’ll have you know my clothes fit me just fine. I like supporting the Goodwill—”

  Our waiter returned, interrupting me mid-sentence and presented us with the bottle of cabernet and his bright eyes.

  “Fine,” Sebastian said plainly. “Leave it.”

  Clearly thrilled, the waiter worked to open the bottle. “Very good, sir. Are you ready to order, sir, or do you need—”

  A firm look from Sebastian stopped the waiter from continuing. Even to a fool, it would have been clear that Sebastian was annoyed that our conversation had been disturbed. “I’ll have the grilled rib eye and the lady will have the seared roasted duck.”

  I frowned. “Hey, you can’t just order for me—”

  “Right away, sir,” the waiter replied.

  Once again, he scrambled away before anything else could be said. I shook my head at Sebastian but he just poured himself some wine and smiled.

  “Why the Goodwill? Your father will buy expensive wine but won’t help you with school and expenses?”

  The sudden mention of my father put a considerable damper on my mood. Did it hurt that Sebastian didn’t remember me? My dad? Of course it did. Yet the most disturbing part of it was that I didn’t know what hurt the most: the idea that Dad had failed to help Sebastian use his talent for good instead of evil, or that I was taking his forgetfulness so personally.

  If he could forget me then, he could easily forget me now.

  I shook my head and tried to focus on the topic at hand. “I meant what I said about supporting the Goodwill—most charities, actually. But my father passed away several years ago. Lung cancer.” Vaguely, I hoped the mention of my dad would spark Sebastian’s memory.

  “Oh?” He said it without the slightest hint of sympathy or interest. Was he just messing with me? I was tempted to ask, but when he leaned across the table to fill my glass, the mixed aroma of cherries and oak overwhelmed me, distracting me once again.

  “Our house was paid for, and selling it paid for most of my undergrad studies, even that first year of law school.”

  He picked up his glass and inhaled from the brim. And though the look of joy was fleeting, I would have bet my life that I did, in fact, see it. I wished I could have bottled it and kept it in a locket around my neck.

  Sebastian sipped his wine. “You’ll be able to support a lot of charities if you get into the right firm.”

  I reached for my glass and imitated his movements as best I could. Dad had taught me the ins and outs of wine but hadn’t lived to help me celebrate my twenty-first birthday. I said a silent toast to him and took a long sip. “Ideally
, I’ll be working for one.”

  “Charity is overrated.”

  I laughed into the glass before putting it back down. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

  “Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

  “You don’t think it’s important to give back?” I asked. “To try and make the world a better place than you left it?”

  “Those ideologies are like a one-armed man swimming upstream—they go nowhere and their novelty wears off quickly.”

  “And you’re clever, but inaccurate,” I told him. “Trying to help the world does make a difference. Maybe not at the end of the day, but in the long run people can help each other.” I sipped at my wine and sighed. “Think of it this way. If nothing else, it can make you feel better about yourself. Just think: if you worked more than the mandatory pro-bono case the firm assigned you, you might not feel the need to pick on waiters.”

  His eyebrow went straight up. “What makes you think you can lecture me, Dahlia?”

  I blamed the wine for making me so giggly. “You know perfectly well my name is Violet.”

  Without warning our waiter reappeared, an entrée in each hand. I straightened back in my seat at the sight of food, my stomach grumbling almost painfully. I knew I was hungry, but apparently I was starving.

  “For the gentleman, the grilled rib eye with the broccoli raab and heirloom tomatoes chimichurri. And for the young lady, the pan seared duck breast with bok choy, red cabbage, and hibiscus gastrique.”

  I stared at my plate and felt my mouth begin to salivate. “Thank you.”

  The waiter turned to look at Sebastian. “Anything else, sir?”

  “Yes.” Sebastian unfolded his napkin, his smile drifting from me to my plate. “You can go away.”

  I mouthed the word ‘sorry’ just before our waiter scampered away. I turned my attention to the meal in front of me. “Wow, this looks amazing.”

  “I would say ‘I told you so’ but that seems a bit juvenile.”

  “Don’t give yourself too much credit yet.” I stuck my tongue out at him and smiled. “I haven’t even tasted anything.”

  “As many women have learned, I am an expert in all things…” He grinned wide as he searched for the word. “…tasty.”

  Instead of blushing like I thought I would, I only grinned back and reached for my wine. At the rate this night was going, I was going to need it.

  Chapter 7

  Sebastian

  It was stupid to keep her with me for as long as I did. Kid-eating-lead-paint-off-the-wall stupid. Then again, maybe I wasn’t entirely to blame. The second I saw her in that dress, my cock had started doing the thinking for me. And when she fell into my arms like that and I had that brief, but sweet moment to caress her thigh, I was a goner.

  A slave to my instincts, I took her to dinner, paying for everything just like I did at the beginning of every date. Unlike them, however, I knew it wasn’t going to lead to the inevitable screw and “have a nice life.” A bittersweet revelation at best. It was all too easy to imagine those plump lips wrapped around me, my hands squeezing that perfect ass, her hands tangled in my hair while I buried my face in her snatch.

  But I knew I couldn’t have her, and maybe it was because of this that I actually cared about what she said. I took in every word, strangely fascinated about all the mundane details of her life she shared. Had she always hated coconut donuts? And how did I not know she was allergic to cats?

  And that laugh.

  God, that fucking laugh was beautiful.

  Occasionally, I’d make myself look away from her, or, more specifically, watch the way her mouth moved or the curve of her long neck. I blamed it on the wine, but even the way she chewed was alluring and I loved the adorable way she’d cover her mouth every time she went to swallow. I’d make sure she’d swallow for me, too. If she didn’t know how, I’d teach her how to taste me, how to relax her throat so that she could take every inch of me.

  Every few minutes I’d shake my head and remind myself to focus on the food in front of me.

  But then she would do something that would make me want her that much more and my thoughts would go back to wondering what shade of pink her nipples were, and what her pain tolerance would be when I ran my teeth across them. During the entire drive home from our dinner, I stared at her bare legs instead of the road, thinking about brushing my fingers through her hair, pulling the silky strands until she begged me to stop. Whether she was experienced or not, instinct told me she’d make one good little fuck. Just the subtle way she moved her hips gave me the impression that she thought about sex just as much as I did—maybe more.

  I poured myself another drink—well deserved considering that I didn’t follow her come hither gaze when I dropped her off at her apartment. This was the first time I had ever experienced a problem like this before. Whenever I wanted a woman, there was always the same banter or flirting, followed by a quick dinner and a screw. Occasionally, a movie would replace the dinner but, given the quality of films in the theaters, a dinner was on the same pain scale. Did I like this interaction because it wasn’t the same? Or maybe because she was younger than the rest?

  Walking out onto the terrace, I swirled the cognac in my glass. In a different place and a different time, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But as much as I enjoyed watching her mouth move, half the time I heard her father’s voice, a reminder that I should have been looking at her like a sister rather than imagining her lips around my cock. Maybe if I had kept in contact with her like I’d promised, or even just did more pro-bono work like she’d said, I would have been a different person. I would have been more sympathetic or something… It was just another reason why going to work for a big firm was the best decision I had ever made. If Violet Donovan had stayed in my life, I wouldn’t have been daydreaming about her, and I certainly wouldn’t have a penthouse to do it in.

  ***

  The remainder of the weekend went by too slowly. Even a swim at the club and a trip to restock my bar didn’t get her out of my head. When I reviewed testimony, I wondered what her opinion would be. I even pictured her sitting in front of me when I looked over crime scene photos, looks of disgust on her face when I told her I was defending the man who had done it.

  Thoughts of her were still with me when I walked into the main lobby. As usual, Roger was harassing Nicky over some imaginary complaint. Normally, I would have been content to join them, but with the memory of Violet walking away so fresh in my mind, it occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to get anything done until I caught a glimpse of her again. The shifting of the rising elevator made my foot tap like I was in some goddamn musical. I felt like I was a kid again, the anticipation of that first smell of perfume, the blush of her smile…

  The elevator opened and I saw her almost right away. She was wearing one of her new 2-piece suits; it barely covered more than the dress she’d worn the other night. Perfect. Shifting her feet uncomfortably, she laughed awkwardly and stepped away from Morgan. Being the dolt he was, however, he kept right on talking to her.

  Oblivious fucking idiot.

  Normally, I would have let her squirm. In different circumstances, I’d even enjoy it. But if there was anything I hated worse than blue balls, it was seeing any sort of happiness on Quinn Morgan’s face. And the fact that he was talking to Violet, looking at her and being pretentious enough to think that she was enjoying him flirting with her, was like a vice squeezing my balls.

  “Mr. Scott?” a voice behind me said.

  I wouldn’t have responded but a young Hindi woman stepped in front of me, nearly causing a collision. I went to step around her and she sidelined me, her massive beehive hairdo nearly taking Violet completely out of my sight. I sighed and took the hand she threw at me. “What?”

  “I’m Jessica Sahni, one of the summer associates.”

  I let go of her hand and nodded. There was only one summer associate I had eyes for and, at that moment, she looked desperate, like a
wolf about to gnaw its own leg off. Somehow, Morgan had managed to box her in between an office door and a display table.

  “Quinn!” I ignored the intern and approached Quinn and Violet with open arms. “Don’t you have a prescription to pick up? I’ve heard the sooner you get started on those antibiotics, the sooner the burning sensation will go away.”

  “Sebastian.” He flinched at the sound of my voice and, though I wasn’t too sure, from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Violet smile. “Well, you of all people would know…” I was vaguely aware of the way he looked back and forth at us, but her smile shone everything out of view. “Blondie, lovely to see you again.”

  Her clenched smile hid an underlying rage. “Um, thanks—I mean, you, too.”

  I waited until I knew Morgan was sufficiently away from us before I tried looking at her again. She was getting more beautiful every time I saw her. Was that because I hadn’t fucked her yet? Yeah, that must have been it.

  “I mean you too?” I repeated, my eyebrows raised.

  Violet glared but smiled at the same time. “Shut up.”

  As per our routine, I handed her my briefcase and went straight for my office. “Was he bothering you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  I took my briefcase back from her, just to have an excuse to touch her hand. Her eyelashes batted back at me, both an invitation and a question. I wanted to accept whatever she was offering and answer any question she had, but my open office door and the traffic passing by in the hallway stopped me. “By the look on your face, you were either going to be sick or run for the nearest open window.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “His breath smells bad—garlic I think. But the way he talks about all the people he knows, all the ways he can help me…”

  The change of conversation put a knot in my stomach.

  “He only wants to sleep with you.”

  “And you don’t?”

  I shook my head and snickered. “This work environment is a bad one to sleep around in; besides, Morgan doesn’t even really know that many people. Sleeping with him won’t get you anything but a reputation.”