Reid groaned low in his throat as he crowded her against the door. His hands found the silk of her dress, his palms sliding up her thighs, bunching the fabric until he found uncovered skin. The friction was electric. He found the zipper at her back and eased it down—the soft, jagged hiss of the metal the only sound in the quiet house.
As the dress slipped, pooling like a shadow at her feet, the sudden cool air of the hallway hit her, making her shiver.
Reid didn’t just look; he physically backed up half a step, breaking the contact so he could take her in. The gentleman from the bistro was gone, replaced by a man who was looking at her as if she were a jury verdict he’d been waiting two years to read. The amber lamplight caught the slow, arrogant sweep of his gaze as it moved from her eyes to the curve of her shoulder, then lower. He looked at her like a man who had waited too long.
Heat climbed into Eleanor’s cheeks and down her neck. It wasn’t modesty. It was the way he was looking at her—slow, intent, like he’d waited too long and finally meant to take his time.
Reid’s jaw locked, the muscle in his cheek jumping as he visually claimed every inch of her. He tracked the frantic, visible thrum of her pulse against the hollow of her throat—a desperate heartbeat that was a confession of her own.
“Last chance to turn around, Counselor,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “One word and I play the gentleman. I’ll make you tea and find you a spare room. I’ll put on my halo and we can drink coffee until the sun comes up.”
Eleanor caught his lower lip between her teeth, a soft, daring smile breaking through the tension. Her hands skimmed along his sides, then up, pushing the shirt from his shoulders in turn, her palms gliding over warm, solid muscle.
“Your halo’s crooked, Reid,” she whispered against his lips. “And I didn’t drive across town for tea.”
Her nails dragged enough against his chest to make his muscles lock under her touch. Reid made a sound—half-growl, half-surrender—and suddenly the “gentleman” was gone.
He kissed her again, his mouth sliding from her lips to the sensitive curve of her throat, his warmth radiating against her. His hands slid down her back, pulling her flush against him until she could feel every hard line of him through his slacks. He wasn’t learning her body; he was touching her like he already knew exactly where she would break apart for him. His fingers digging into her hips to lift her, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist.
“Eleanor,” he said, his voice devoid of its polish. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She didn’t flinch. She leaned into him, her fingers curling into the back of his neck, drawing him closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between them. All the fear and caution flashed through her mind in one quick, bright burst—and then vanished.
Not this time. This was her decision.
She felt the world tilt as he swept her up, her arms looping around his neck on instinct.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
And for the first time in a very long time, she believed someone meant it.
He carried her down the short hall toward the softer dark of his bedroom. The rest of the world—the podcasters, the cameras, the ghosts of her past—fell away as two years of wanting finally, recklessly unraveled into the night.
Sunday Morning
Light slanted through the blinds when Eleanor padded quietly into the kitchen, bare legs peeking from beneath the hem of Reid’s shirt. She paused on the cool tile, waiting for the old, familiar thrum of regret to rise up and choke the air. It didn’t. All she felt was a lingering ache and the echo of his hands on her body.
She smiled to herself as she surveyed his impressive espresso setup. Last night’s chaos felt a little farther away here, with nothing but the hiss of steam and the smell of coffee for company. She was swirling the foam when a low whistle sounded behind her.
“Well, well,” Reid drawled from the doorway. “If it isn’t opposing counsel making herself at home.”
He stood there with his arms folded loosely, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. His hair was tousled from sleep, his chest bare, and the look in his eyes—openly pleased to find her still there—made her pulse jump.
She turned, mug in hand, arching a brow right back. “Good morning, Mr. District Attorney. I didn’t realize your coffee bar was open to the defense.”
He sauntered into the kitchen, his gaze drifting slowly down the length of her legs. “For you, counselor, I might even waive the cover charge.”
She handed him a latte, barely suppressing a smile. “Careful, or I’ll subpoena your secret coffee bean supplier.”
Reid took a sip, watching her over the rim of the mug. “If that’s a threat, I’m not sure I want to negotiate.” He set his mug aside and closed the space between them. One hand came up, histhumb tracing lightly over her lower lip. “See? I knew you’d been thinking about me.”
“Arrogant,” she laughed.
“I’ll make it fair,” he said. “I’ve thought about you constantly.” His hands settled easily at her waist. “You know, in this jurisdiction, the penalty for looking that good in my shirt is pretty steep.”
“Oh really? And what’s the sentence?”
His grin deepened, eyes darkening as he pulled her closer. “I’m thinking… indefinite detention.”
