She’s right, of course, because honestly, this evidence is so good they shouldn’t offer money. This evidence is so good that it could completely prejudice the jury.

I have no clue if Jenna LaPietra prostituted herself, but frankly, I don’t give a shit. Personally, I think it’s irrelevant, and I can see how a desperate mother would do something like that. Unfortunately, though, my feelings don’t seem to matter, and I’ve been given a direct order to exploit this evidence to our favor.

I want to vomit.

“I think I’ll sit second chair on this case with you, Reeve,” Gill says, almost cackling in glee. “A case this big should have two attorneys on it, and that way we can bill double.”

Asshole. Greedy fucking asshole.

A weariness overtakes me. For the first time since meeting Leary, I actually regret said meeting. I regret getting involved with someone that was supposed to only be a casual fuck, and because she’s so amazing, I now have feelings involved. I regret being the biggest idiot on the face of the earth for not recognizing that it’s impossible to be in bed with your enemy and not understand that someone is going to get hurt.

Unfortunately, Leary is under my skin now. She’s in my blood. While the appropriate thing would be to cut things off with her, I find myself too selfish to do so. Nope. I’m going to ride the Leary train all the way into the station, until I call those witnesses into court and destroy everything we’re starting to build.

“Let me get this straight—you’re fucking your opposing counsel?” Cal asks.

I have no clue why he’s stunned. He knows I’m no angel. He knows that would never stop me.

“Yes,” I grit out.

“And you have feelings for her?” he asks, stunned again.

I understand the disbelief. I’ve made it this far without a single long-term relationship. The fact I’ve been seeing Leary for three weeks has him perplexed.

“Yes,” I say in a softer tone, because I most definitely have feelings for this woman.

“You are fucked,” Cal says sympathetically.

I told him the entire sordid story, starting with meeting Leary in the elevator. I had to wait while Cal laughed hysterically, proclaiming that Leary might be his favorite person ever, even though he’d never met her.

When he finally stopped laughing, I told him the rest. I told him every bit of it and how in just the last several weeks, I’ve gone from fuck buddy to having feelings.

This he did not laugh about, because he knows this is serious stuff. The reason I called Cal is not just because he’s my best friend, but because he’s a true monogamous romantic at heart. He’s the type of guy who always dreamed of a fifty-year marriage with adoring children and grandchildren. While I’ve seen him have his share of flings and one-night stands, the truth is that Cal has always been looking for The One.

He found her, too, not that long ago, and I expect to be attending Cal and Macy’s wedding in New York before too much longer.

“I guess I don’t understand the big deal,” Cal says thoughtfully. “She loses the case. So what? That happens.”

“Apparently not to her,” I mutter. “But that’s not the problem. The problem is that she’s tied to this case emotionally. She has some personal connection to the plaintiff. It’s going to destroy her if she loses.”

“What’s the connection?” Cal asks curiously.

“No clue,” I admit with frustration.

He’s silent a minute, then he gently says, “Reeve, how much do you even know about this woman?”

I understand what he’s saying. How bothered can I be when I don’t even know what the true stake is to Leary? I don’t know this because she hasn’t opened up to me. He’s saying that maybe I’m still in fuck buddy–dom and don’t realize it.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “I know enough about her to know I want to know more.”

“Got it,” Cal says in immediate understanding, then hesitantly, “If she’s that important, maybe you should tell her what you know.”

I shake my head and rub the bridge of my nose, because he has managed to zero in on the source of my anxiety. “I could lose my bar license if I did that,” I tell him, which he already knows. “And honestly . . . she’s not that important.”

It hurts me to say that, but it’s true. I like her . . . a lot. But not enough to ruin my career.

“Understood,” Cal says. “Then maybe you should break it off.”

Yeah, that’s not going to happen, either. I’m too addicted to her right now. I’d sooner cut off my right arm. “I’m not willing to do that, either.”

“Then you are well and truly fucked, my friend,” Cal says sadly.

“Don’t I know it,” I agree.

So, Cal ultimately doesn’t provide any insight that helps, but more or less validates the conclusion to which I had already come. I’m going to keep this information to myself, for the sanctity of my law license. I’m going to let this play out and see how things continue to develop with Leary and me. And if our feelings continue to grow stronger, I have to hope to God that Leary won’t hold it against me when I destroy her case.

CHAPTER 13

LEARY

“I’m not sure how it’s possible,” Reeve says as he stares at me across my kitchen table, dinner having been fan-freaking-tastic. “But you actually get more beautiful every time I see you.”

I snicker as I pick up my wineglass. Waving it at him, I laugh, “Save the flattery, Mr. Holloway. You’re going to get laid tonight.”

I expect him to laugh with me, because I think I’m witty and charming, and he usually thinks so, too. Instead, his face falls sober and his eyes burn into me. “I’m not flattering you, Leary. I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. You are more beautiful every time I see you.”

A stillness overcomes me and I swallow hard. I set the wineglass down and return his stare. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asks, his head tilted to the side.

“Make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. The most special. The most desired.”

“Because you are,” he says, and the tight leash I’ve kept on my heart the last few weeks shudders, loosens, and then falls away.

His words are genuine, with not an ounce of ulterior motive in them. I can tell, because I’ve come to know this man fairly well during our time together. He truly believes that about me, and it’s a fucking revelation. No one else has ever felt that way about me before.

“We’re not in fuck buddy–dom anymore, are we?” I ask him.

Reeve stands from the table, walks over to me, and pulls me from my chair. Bending down, he sweeps me up in his arms and starts to carry me toward my bedroom. “I don’t think we ever really were, baby.”

He takes me to my room and somehow manages to remove my clothes and his before I even know what’s happening. He does it slowly, turning it from our normal frenzied fumbling to something sweetly seductive.

Then I’m on my back in the middle of my bed, and he’s on top of me, hard and heavy between my legs and content to just hold my face and kiss me softly. He does this for so long that I seem to lapse into a contented alternate reality, focusing on the feel of his lips and the texture and taste of his tongue. I imagine this is what a drug addiction feels like, so damn good that you would give up your very soul just to have a little bit more.