Page 88 of Claim

There was a whole human being in there.

And I was so far inside my feelings for him it was frightening.

I pushed myself up onto one elbow, needing to explain why all this was so damn messy.

“It’s not just frowned upon.” I traced the lines of the tattoo on his heart, completely contradicting everything I was about to say but unable to not touch him while I did. “It’s professionally lethal. A barrister cannot be emotionally involved with their client. We’re officers of the court before we’re anything else. The duty is to the administration of justice. To objectivity. Independence.” I sighed heavily, my breath making the fine hairs on his chest flutter. “If the CPS even suspects that I’m compromised, they can apply to have me removed. They can argue conflict of interest, impaired judgment, and improper influence. They can suggest I’m shaping strategy around my feelings instead of the evidence. That I’m being directed. That you’re being coached. That your instructions aren’t truly yours.” I looked up, met his gaze. “They don’t need to prove it. They only need to plant doubt. And once that doubt exists, everything I touch becomes vulnerable.”

“But you were on my team before.”

“I declared a past relationship. Brief. Ended. No ongoing involvement. That’s the only reason I was even allowed near the file. Imogen can manage it then. It’s only between us, but she can be prepared if it ever…leaks.”

The words tasted wrong. Thin. Dishonest.

I glanced down at his chest, at the ink over his heart, and felt the small, sharp twist of it. Those words: brief affair. As if that came anywhere near the truth.

But the truth didn’t protect him.

Procedure did.

“I can’t be the man you sleep with and the man standing between you and a twenty-year sentence.” I couldn’t help it and I kissed his chest, his hand coming up to stroke through my hair as I did. “The system won’t allow it. And the names on your file would use it in seconds if they could. Not because of ethics, but because it would dismantle the defence.”

I didn’t say the rest out loud. That I didn’t want his future tied to whether he still wanted me. That I didn’t want to be something he reached for because he was frightened, untethered, grateful, or trapped. And how I didn’t want to find out, in the middle of a prosecution, that I was merely convenient rather than a choice.

He had a tag on his ankle.

I had his life in my hands.

This was not the ground to test what we were.

“With me on your case,” I rose again, “we only ever get one mistake. And this”—I gestured weakly between us—“would be all they need. And I will not be the reason you lose.”

Razor stayed still for a moment. Maybe pondering it. Feeling the cost of it.

Then he lifted his head and kissed me.

It was gentle. Devastatingly so. Nothing rushed, nothing demanding. His mouth against mine, soft enough to steal the air from my lungs and send my heart climbing straight into my throat.

Then he dropped back onto the bed with a huff. “Can I get someone else, then?” He tucked his other hand behind his head. “So we can still…do this?”

For one stupid, treacherous second, my stomach flipped. As if he might mean it the way I meant everything. As if this was want, not release. I had to remind myself he’d been inside too long. Of course he was carrying tension. Of course he needed somewhere to put it. And I was here, for the taking. I’d put myself here. I could live with being that for him. I could.

“If that’s what you want.” I fixed my gaze on his chest instead of his eyes.

He snorted softly and brushed his knuckles along my cheek, the touch almost affectionate, and he slid his other hand up my spine, fingers closing at the base of my neck, holding me there. Not rough, but certain.

“I want you, Tricky.” He let out a resigned breath. “Just looks like I only get to have you one way.”

“That’s… the gist of it. Yeah.” I forced myself to keep going. “And, honestly, even if I wasn’t your barrister, I couldn’t be seen near you. Not publicly. Not while this is live.”

“Right.”

The word was neutral, but his face wasn’t. There was an unmistakable fall in his expression, almost boyishly unguarded. Which surprised me. Our entire relationship had lived in shadows. In back rooms. In silence. It had never been meant to see daylight.

Yet…he looked genuinely hurt that it might have to.

He then rubbed his eyes. “So it wouldn’t make a difference if I had someone else take the case?”

I shook my head, because he deserved the truth. “Though it would make a difference to your case.”