Defending Pacer, стр. 4

I pick up one of his first charge photos. Boy, was he young. He’d been in and out of juvenile detention five times on serious charges before he had even become a man. I wonder what kind of childhood he must have had to be so involved in criminal activities at such a young age? I look at his photo again and try to find some answers in the two-dimensional image.

I set aside the photos with their respective charges, ready to stick up on my corkboard for a timeline.

Taking another sip of my wine, my mind wanders to the image of his muscular arms that burst from the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt, the tattoos that I could see across his forearms, and the way the shirt clung to his round chest. Every time I looked up at him I could just make out the shape of his erect nipples beneath the layer of fine cotton. Then when he took his glove off, finger by finger … fuck me! I think that was what I was literally thinking when he did that. Him fucking me with that leather-clad finger.

Sweet baby Jesus!

A spark of electricity shoots across my body with every image, and my nipples harden against the lace of my bra. I brush my fingertips across them and feel a pulse throb down between my thighs. I wonder what he looks like with his shirt off, and another pulse shoots across me. I slide my hand down the front of my skirt and into my underwear and push against my yearning clit. I rub over it and pulse again. Images of Pacer Fratelli’s seriously seductive smile floods my mind as my hand eases my burning desires for this forbidden fruit. My pebbled nipples beg to be touched and I squeeze them lightly as I imagine Pacer’s tongue flicking across them. I push my fingers hard against myself and just wish it were he, about to drive into me. There is something carnal about my desires for this man, and I am incapable of stopping them. His dominance both scares me and excites me. I felt my heart race when he sniggers. I know how dangerous he is, but there another side to him that I see. I slide two fingers inside, and my internal walls grip tight in a sensual embrace, welcoming the their touch. His smile flashes before my eyes again, and his obnoxious laugh sends me over the edge.

Pacer Fratelli is so bad, but the fantasy of him is sublime. I would never, could never be with someone that is so heavily involved in criminal activity, but the very thought of him … it does this.

What the hell is this?

It’s all too much, and my feverish hands make quick work of my thirsty urges. Fuck, I need to get over this, quick smart. My orgasm pulses deep and spills out across my body in pounding spasms.

My face fills with an instant burn, and a prickly heat springs across me. Perspiration beads glisten on my skin like tiny crystals. I catch my breath and slip my hand out of my underwear. The sudden excitement of Pacer, trapped in my mind, has made light of my yearning to just get laid. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me? I just need a solid fuck. God knows how long it’s actually been. Four, no five … I can’t bring myself to think of how many months it’s been since a man has found his way into my bed.

My poor little puss; she’s so neglected. I give her two pats and laugh at myself.

Those damn leather gloves. I blame them.

I run my free hand through my hair to blow out at the wet strands that have stuck around my lips, and I grab my glass and gulp the remainder of my week-old wine, before flopping back against the couch to collect my thoughts.

Seriously though, what the hell was that?

Pacer Fratelli is my client! A dangerous client. A client I know is a murderer.

I can’t feel like this, but I do.

His smile flashes before my eyes again. Oh my God, would you just leave me the hell alone? I punch my fists down onto the chair on either side of me.

I strip down as I head to the shower, peeling off each layer as if I’m shedding skin and discarding the clothes on the floor with an angry slap. My body is still abuzz post-assault, but at the same time I am pissed off. These thoughts have no place in my mind. They can fuck right off.

A after a good talking to myself in the stream of the cold shower, I throw on my old university sweats, ready to see my night out in front of the coffee table … and all things Pacer Fratelli.

Dangerously hot Pacer Fratelli.

Gah!

CHAPTER THREE

“Your honour, my client has not had a charge against him since two thousand and ten, and he is the sole caregiver for his elderly mother. He has strict conditions on his release and a million dollars riding on his bail. Clearly, he is not a risk to the city.”

The judge is still not impressed; I can tell. His nostrils always flare when he’s pissed off. Damn it! He looks to the prosecutor on the bench next to me.

Jackson Reed, newly appointed member of the Queen’s Counsel, and all-round asshole. I had the unfortunate experience of graduating law school with him more than ten years ago. Dirty money has paid for his career. Guys his age don’t make QC. I’ve had to claw my way through courtroom battles with him my entire working career. We seem to have mirrored each other, but on two completely different paths. The difference is, I know there has been dodgy deals set up behind closed doors, and he still has never come out on top with me. The guy will never learn. Two weeks into Pacer’s studying investigation and I already feel like Jackson is too involved in this case when he shouldn’t be.

Jackson gets out of his seat and leans across the bench, arms out wide, fingertips spread with an air of arrogance. “What Miss Tanner has failed to mention during her well-trained speech is that her client is also wandering around our city with a charge of murder on him. This is not some minor matter; this is going to be a trial for someone’s intentional death—someone who is missed by his family because he is dead. Although I’d love to say this may be resolved quickly, and Paciano Fratelli will be sentenced to being behind bars where all murderers belong, we all know that won’t be the case. His trial is going to take some time. Time means he can, and most probably will, reoffend. His records show he has little regard for authority, and the only reason he’s been let out at all is because his criminal associates have posted the ridiculous asking price of a million dollars for his release. This is a high-profile case, your honour, and we are treating it as some joke. A man is dead because of Miss Tanner’s client.”

Jackson sits back in his seat as if he has won the debate, but I don’t let his ass hit the chair before I rebut.

“My esteemed colleague has forgotten that the trial is yet to be held, so all the allegations he mentioned are just that. None of the evidence has been tested, your honour. As far as our legislation suggests, my client is not guilty of any such accusation until your court has correctly established all the findings.” Judge Nolan’s eyes do not shift from me. Not even for a moment. “My client is taking this charge very seriously and will be fighting every allegation against him. A million dollars is not pocket change, your honour. Not to anyone. My client will be adhering to all the conditions set to him. If you ask me, Mr Reed seems to be acting as judge, jury and prosecution. Your honour, his tone seems far from impartial. Perhaps he has taken this case for personal reasons, not professional?”

I turn to face the cocky fuck and flash him a look of triumph. “Wasn’t it the Legano’s who were accused of planting a bomb in your car, Mr Reed? An allegation that was thrown out of this very court.” Jackson’s jaw clenches. Swallow that, asshole.

Judge Nolan’s eyes narrow in my direction. I know I’ve got Jackson on that technicality. I bite at the smirk within me as Judge Nolan looks down at his paperwork and scribes away. His expression is non-emotive.