Page 16
“I’m a lawyer, Officer. Understanding rules is what my job’s about.” I smile at him. Sweet as pie.
He mutters something that sounds a lot like God help us all, and buzzes me through.
The booth is tiny. There’s a steel stool bolted to the floor, a little counter, and a wall of thick glass with a ring of vent holes drilled through it at mouth height. On the other side, the same stool. Empty.
I sit, cross my legs, uncross them, line my legal pad square with the edge of the counter, put my pen next to it, and then I press both my palms down on my thighs because my hands are shaking…
For fuck’s sake! I’ve cross-examined cartel members. I made a police captain cry on the stand once. I do not fucking shake.
Then the door on the other side opens…
He has to duck to get through it. That’s the first thing I notice. Four officers surround him; he’s wearing a waist chain, cuffs on his wrists and ankles, and he’s fucking enormous. Nothing prepares you for that much man coming through a doorway.
He looks rough. There’s a bruise going yellow along his jaw, and his lip’s split. His dark hair’s pulled back in a knot, his beard needs trimming, and that scar through his left eyebrow is even meaner in person than in the photo I definitely didn’t get myself off to… several times. The orange jumpsuit is straining across his boulder-sized shoulders.
He’s scanning the booth like he expects Cillian.
Then he looks up.
And stops dead. One of the officers walks right into his broad back and freaking bounces off. Declan doesn’t even notice. His storm-gray eyes lock on mine, and I watch it happen. I watch this huge, scarred, terrifying man’s whole face… change.
He fucking grins.
Oh, my God. He grins, slow and wide and so damn happy, it knocks ten years and two prison sentences right off him. So fucking handsome. So big, and rough, and alpha, looking at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen. My stomach flips like I’m fifteen again.
“There you are,” he says.
His voice comes through the vent holes, low and rough, so deep I feel it more than I hear it. And it goes straight between my thighs.
I had a whole thing planned. Good morning, Mr. Greene. I’m Zahra Cole, associate counsel.
Instead, I’m smiling back at him like a complete fool.
Something in him settles. I can see it. His big shoulders come down. His huge chest rises in one long breath. The hard line of his mouth softens at the corners. It’s like watching a man put down something heavy.
The officers lock his chain to the ring on his side of the counter and walk out. Declan doesn’t look at them once. He lowers himself on that ridiculous little stool, leans into the glass, and…
Inhales.
My eyes flutter. It’s faint. The vents barely let anything through. But it’s there… woodsmoke, rain, warm male skin… my body goes liquid. My nipples go tight against the lining of my dress. My pussy clenches, and I’m wet so fast it’s fucking embarrassing. From a smell. Through a wall.
What is this man doing to me?!
His eyes flicker. Gold sparks in the gray. The wings of his nostrils flare, and his hands curl into fists on the counter, big and scarred and shaking a little.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “If your eyes change, they end the visit.”
His jaw flexes. He breathes. Once. Twice. The gold sinks back down. “You’re not making it easy. Sitting there smelling like that.”
“Like what?” I ask softly.
“Like mine.”
Lord.
I squeeze my thighs together under the counter, and the corner of his mouth kicks up like he knows exactly what I just did.
“This is offensive,” I say, waving at the glass.
