“How could you even know she liked—”

“And before you even think about keeping that perch on your high horse, you should know she was in my office this afternoon flashing her metaphorical platinum-and-steel balls around, with her hand wrapped around my cock. Now, I can tell you I most certainly liked that, but I’m betting you already know by the look on your face . . . so did she.”

Ford’s jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he might hit me. But then I see something close to sadness filtering into his eyes, followed maybe by regret. He blows out a frustrated breath and turns away to take a swallow of beer.

Treading carefully, unsure of what this is, I ask, “Are you sure you don’t have something going on with Leary?”

Staring at his glass, he shakes his head. “No, man. We’re just really good friends. I care about her, but nothing past that.”

“Ford,” I say insistently, making it clear I don’t want him fucking around with me. “Truth time.”

Swiveling his head toward me, he finally admits, “Yeah, in the past we fucked around. But never anything serious.”

“Christ,” I mutter, picking my own beer up and taking a healthy swallow. This presents a major problem. Regardless of what I learned from Ford, my intention was to pursue Leary Michaels outside the courtroom. All afternoon I kept thinking of her hand on my dick, and I knew that I couldn’t just let this attraction go.

But now things have changed. Ford clearly has feelings, and shit . . . he’s admitted to fucking her, which I do not like one bit. Not because I’m proprietary. We don’t have any type of relationship to be proprietary about.

It changes things because Ford is a friend, and that tiny bit of sadness in his eyes has me feeling like I need to back completely the fuck up and walk away.

“Listen, man,” I start, trying to make myself as clear as possible, “I don’t want to step in between you and Leary. You’re my friend first. I promise, from now on, nothing but aboveboard professionalism from me.”

Ford doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he gives me a wry smile. “She likes you.”

“Pardon me?”

“She likes you,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Likes your ego, your confidence. Likes your cunning. She’s intrigued by you.”

“How do you know this?” I ask skeptically.

“Because she’s talked about you. I didn’t know it was you she was talking about, but she told me enough.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say, but he cuts me off.

“There is nothing between me and Leary. Just a close friendship. You two are free to . . . well, whatever it is you’re doing.”

I don’t know what to say. The friend in me wants to argue with him and insist I’ll stay away, but the vast majority of me is celebrating a victory I didn’t even know I was in the running for.

Ford drains the rest of his beer, pushes the glass away, and stands up. “I gotta get going. Thanks for the beer.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say distractedly, not quite sure where we stand with each other.

Ford starts to walk away but then turns back. “Don’t hurt her, Reeve. You two are walking a fine ethical line by fucking around with each other. I get you needing to defend your case, but you need to know that this case has personal merit to Leary. Don’t use this personal shit to fuck her over. I will not be happy.”

“I would never do that,” I assert, because I wouldn’t. I have absolutely no doubt that if anything is to transpire sexually between the two of us, it can be done outside the bounds of this case.

Besides, it’s just a fuck . . . or two, or maybe even three.

Regardless, it’s not like we want to date each other.

It’s just a fuck, I tell myself firmly.

CHAPTER 5

LEARY

Ford is unusually silent as he drives us to a charity event hosted by our regional trial lawyers’ association. It’s the one time of the year that plaintiff’s and defense lawyers put down their gloves and come together to raise money for a selected charity, this year for Alzheimer’s.

Ford and I made plans a few months ago to go to this thing together. It’s not a black-tie affair, but it’s dressy enough that I have on an above-the-knee cocktail dress in sapphire blue, and Ford is looking handsome in a dark-gray suit and a cobalt-blue tie with thin gray ribbons of color dissecting it on the diagonal.

“Cat got your tongue?” I ask him cheekily.

He turns to look at me, and even though it’s dark outside, the neon-blue lights from the interior electronics cast the angles of his face handsomely. He gives me a tiny smirk, then reaches his hand out to my bare knee for a squeeze.

It’s friendly enough, but it feels odd to me for some reason. I suspect it might have something to do with the fact I can’t seem to get Reeve Holloway out of my mind. Since our moment in his office four days ago, he seems to be spending obsessive amounts of time in my mind.

He hasn’t contacted me and I sure as hell haven’t contacted him. I thought a time or two about sending a business-related e-mail, but then immediately put it out of my mind. I plan to leave the ball in his court for now and concentrate on the merits of the case—not on how unbelievably big his dick is.

“I met a good friend for a beer a few nights ago,” Ford says, cutting into my thoughts. His hand inches its way up my thigh.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask cordially while my heart starts beating quickly. Not because what Ford is doing to me is necessarily arousing, but because I’m actually considering telling him to stop, and I’m not sure how.

“Yeah, I think you know him,” he says mysteriously.

“Who?” I ask.

Ford squeezes my thigh, his fingers pressing deep into my muscles, and then he pulls his hand away. His voice is a little tight when he says, “Reeve Holloway.”

“What?” I exclaim, turning in the seat toward him. “You know Reeve?”

Ford nods. “Met last year playing rugby. He talked about you the other night. Imagine my surprise when I found out the pain-in-your-ass defense attorney you’ve been complaining about is my friend.”

“What exactly did he say?” I ask hesitantly.

“Hmm,” he says while rubbing a forefinger thoughtfully over his chin. “He wanted to know if you and I are fucking.”

My jaw drops, because why in the world would Reeve ever think to ask Ford that?

“And,” Ford continues, “he said you went to his office, taunted him, and then wrapped your hand around his cock.”

I groan and fling myself back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest. “I can’t believe he told you that.”

“Well, in fairness, I sort of berated it out of him,” Ford concedes. “It’s not like he was kissing and telling.”

I chew on my bottom lip, trying to imagine that conversation. While Ford and I are close, and we’ve been fuck buddies who’ve stepped away from each other when we were interested in someone else, we’ve never shared details of our other sexual relationships with each other. It just seemed . . . poor form or something.

Ford starts slowing down so he can turn in to the parking lot of the Marriott Hotel where the charity silent auction will be held.

Turning my head so I can gauge his honest reaction, I ask him, “Are you okay with this?”

Ford snickers. “We’re not exclusive, Leary. If you’re interested in him, I back away. You know that.”