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"What's wrong with my car?" she demanded, scowling as she descended the rest of the marble stairs of the portico in her tight skirt and heels.
Raith glanced at the BMW and quirked an eyebrow. "This is your car?"
God damn it, she was a lawyer. Life would suck like that.
"Yes, it's my car." She approached, came close enough for him to smell. She exuded some kind of musky, purely female fragrance that made his already painful erection nudge polyester with a burning insistence, demanding to be free of his pants.
"Is there a problem with it?" she asked, her voice made for the bedroom despite the irritation lacing its tone.
He gave her a slow, intense look. "As a matter of fact, there is." He waved his ticket book. "You parked illegally."
She frowned at the tablet until recognition set in. With an outraged
gasp, she snagged the entire pad from him to glance over the report. "But I only planned to be parked here for a minute. I'm taking Judge DeVane to lunch. He's just had knee surgery, and I didn't want to make him walk far."
Since Raith had actually seen the judge hobbling around on a crutch, he decided to buy her story. Of course, that didn't mean he was going to let her off the hook. Not only was she a lawyer—and he hated all lawyers at the moment—but she was a sexy lawyer. He couldn't have felt more betrayed if he had found out she was a transvestite under that bombshell body.
"Judge DeVane," he repeated and slid his gaze down her lithe form to snort in disgust. "Isn't he a little old for you?"
She glowered. "Look, Deputy Do-Right. I'll tell you right now, I'm going to fight your petty excuse of a ticket. And you should also note, I'll win. So, why don't you tear up this piece of garbage," she held out the notebook, "then we can forget this little altercation ever happened."
Raith grabbed the ticket before she tore it up herself and glared right back. "This is why I hate lawyers," he muttered. "What a sanctimonious bunch of hypocrites. You broke the law, lady." Stepping closer, he pointed his index finger at her nose—petite, slightly upturned at the tip with an almost-invisible dash of freckles enhancing her appeal, and frankly too damn cute to belong to any kind of lawyer. "And now you think you can manipulate the system to get whatever you want. Well, that don't fly with me." Clenching his teeth, he glanced at the half-finished form. "I suggest you take this ticket, how it is, before I write you up for a broken taillight as well."
She whirled around to gape at her BMW, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. "My taillight isn't broken."
"Not yet." He sent her his best big-bad-wolf-meets-little-red-ridinghood leer.
Mouth falling open, she sputtered, "You can't break my light. That's illegal."
"Oh? And stealing a parking spot from some poor, innocent handicap isn't?"
She gnashed her teeth. "I told you. I'm here to pick up—"
"Yeah, yeah," he brushed her excuses aside. "So you said. But did the judge give you a temporary handicap tag to hang from your rearview mirror when the two of you arranged your lunch date?"
"No, but—"
"Did he ask you to park here for him?"
"Of course not. But—"
"Then your ticket is completely legitimate. I'm not recanting—"
"Willow? Is there a problem here?"
Both Raith and the woman glanced up. Silver-haired with wisdom wrinkles crinkling from his eyes, Judge DeVane limped his way toward them, one crutch tucked under his right armpit.
"He's giving me a ticket," the sexy lawyer blurted.
DeVane slowed to a stop and glanced at Raith. "A ticket?"
Raith nodded, hoping the judge didn't ream him a new one for messing with his young girlfriend. "She parked in a handicapped spot, your honor." He was glad his tone at least sounded reasonably respectful.
The woman swung back toward Raith. "I can't believe you expect me to park way out here in the middle of BFE when this poor, decrepit old man needs crutches to—"
"Decrepit?" the judge protested. After sending her a scowl, he turned to Raith and barked, "Give her the ticket."
"Dad!" she gasped.
