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I’m at work all day. I don’t get home until six. You have your graphic design course to worry about. And if you’re looking for work too…
Mom has perfected the art of communicating without saying anything, and there was no way I could deny it. Bones needed a steady home, somebody who could invest in the time to train him and make him feel safe.
If I didn’t have to work, I’d be the perfect candidate. I could do my coursework with Bones at my feet, curled into a warm ball, better than any slippers in the freaking universe.
I glance at the window, at the setting sunlight. I’ve been pretty useless today. There’s no way around it.
Lounging around in my PJs, trying to focus on my work.
And yet every time I sat at my desk, Judge Prescott, Pearce sprang to intense and all-consuming life in my mind. I imagined him leaping down from his lofty position and stalking toward me across the courtroom.
That was my second sketch last night.
Pearce, as he was in the courtroom, the pencil perfect for the shade of his hair.
I could feel his fingers trailing down my face, causing tingles to dance all over my skin, as he stared down at me, eyes searing into me.
“You’re so. Damn. Beautiful—”
My thoughts are cut short when I hear a dog barking.
I’d recognize it anywhere.
“That’s Bones,” I say, standing up. “Do you hear that, Mom? That’s definitely Bones.”
“I hear it,” she says. “And I agree. It sure sounds like him.”
I rush out of the kitchen, into the living room, and look out the front window.
Pearce Prescott stands at the end of our lane, Bones on a leash, staring right at me. He’s wearing civilian clothes, a designer cargo jacket, and faded blue jeans with chunky brown boots, looking more like a rugged adventurer than a judge.
And all I can think is what the heck is he doing here?
CHAPTER FOUR
Pearce
“Easy, boy,” I whisper, leaning down and brushing my hand along Bones’ back.
The Jack Russell yaps excitedly, pulling on his harness as I walk toward Piper’s house. A voice at the back of my head hisses that this is a mistake.
I already behaved unethically by letting her get away with breaking into Chris Farmer’s house. And yet I don’t regret that decision, I can’t.
I’ll always protect her, even if it’s from jail.
And, anyway, what she did was with a good heart. She only wanted to make sure this poor animal was safe.
After hearing the testimony from their neighbors, detailing all the terrible things Chris did, my only regret is that I couldn’t give that piece of dirt longer behind bars.
But that doesn’t mean this is a smart thing to do.
I can’t even say I tried to stay away.
Last night, all I did was think about Piper, my woman. And when I went to the shelter to collect Bones – and the little man looked up at me – I knew I had a good excuse to see her.
I need to try and stamp down on my desire to proclaim my longing the second she opens the door. My instincts tell me to pull her into an embrace, drive my hips forward so she can feel how hard she makes me.
She’s thirty years younger than I am and she might have a boyfriend.
She opens the door before I have a chance to knock.
Immediately, Bones springs forward. I pull back on the extendable leash, tilting my head at Piper.
She’s wearing loose-fitting PJ bottoms and a tank top, the strap of her pink bra visible. There’s a hole in the tank top, so clearly these are her house clothes, the sort that gets my blood pumping even hotter. It’s too easy to imagine hooking a finger through that hole, giving it a harsh tug, her shirt tearing and freeing those round bountiful breasts.
“It’s okay,” Piper says, kneeling down. “You can let him go.”
I release the extendable leash and Bones leaps at Piper, propping his forepaws on her legs as he leans forward to lick her face. She giggles and smooths her hands over his body.
“Somebody’s happy,” she says. “I always knew you were a playful doggie, you know. But that horrible man tried to take it all away. Well, Bones, he failed. Who’s a good boy? Who’s the best boy?”
At this angle, I can see down her top, her cleavage making my whole body throb. My balls feel like they’re going to explode, like my seed can’t take it anymore.
I swallow, forcing myself to study the way she handles Bones instead.
Her maternal instincts radiate from her, her cheeks blooming, her hands tickling up and down Bones’ body with such care.
“What’s he doing here?” she asks, once he settles down a little, sitting and staring lovingly up at her.
I smirk. I might be able to keep this casual, to conceal my irrepressible yearnings. But It’s difficult as she bites her lip, her eyes flitting over me. Her hand toys with the hole in her tank top, as though covering the glimpse of her flesh.
