The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Fifteen
LANDON
After the day I’ve had, and after another slew of crap that’s been bombarding me regarding this deal with Pierre Heroux's French fashion channel, I’m about done. I check my watch—seven p.m.—and stand, pulling my jacket on after another long Monday. I'll get that deal, and Broderick Media will be the new part owners of that damn channel, but for now, I'm too tired to think straight.
Jesus, does it get any better at some point?
Huffing, I walk out of the office and stare at Willow, surprised. She doesn’t acknowledge me, just keeps typing whatever trivial crap she is doing. “Why are you still here?”
She looks up at me briefly before going straight back to what she’s doing. “The last of the budget for the ball needs reconciling,” she says quietly. “It’s keeping my mind occupied.”
Assuming her mind needs occupying with something other than her delinquent brother, I walk towards the corridor. “Power off and grab your bag, you're coming with me.”
A few minutes later, she catches up as I wait by the lift. She smiles lightly and clutches her bag in her hands, eyes looking at anything but me. She’s been like that all day. It’s a little confusing given our arrangement. In fact, she wasn’t herself on Friday, either. She seemed different as if she’d gotten an attitude that needed dealing with.
I’m about to challenge the thought out loud when the lift opens and we’re joined by two chaps from marketing. I nod at them both, and we step in silently to travel the floors downwards until the doors finally open again. I can’t help quietly chuckling as I walk through the foyer and out onto the street, the thought of lift fucking running through my mind. Haven’t done that yet—ever. It’s something that needs rectifying. Soon.
Perhaps not in my own building, though.
“Right, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she says behind me. I stop and look back at her, confused again. She points in the direction she should be heading for the Tube. “I’ll get going.”
“You’re not going anywhere. We’re having dinner.”
“What?”
“Food, Willow. We need to talk.”
She looks at the floor and frowns, her gaze then going back up to the road away from me. “Landon, we really don’t. It’s okay. We’ll just leave it and—”
“What are you talking about?”
“I thought you wanted to talk?”
“I do. About the oncoming legal proceedings I’m going to have to navigate.”
“Oh. Right. Ash.”
“What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing. It’s alright. I’m sorry, I was …” I half-smile and wait, damn sure she thought I was about to tell her our arrangement has to end. “It doesn’t matter.”
Yes, it does. More so by the fucking day.
“Look, I’m hungry, and you really don’t want to be on the wrong side of me when that happens so …” I wave my hand at her, attempting to pull her in my direction without touching her for the world to see. “After you.”
She grins a little and walks closer, keeping a professional distance as we walk towards one of the bistros near Chancery Lane. No talking on the way, no looking at each other either. We simply weave through the end of day corporate suits as they all make their way home. It’s nice, in some ways, and reminds me of years gone by when I was training. We’d all walk here together from King's College, perhaps talking the day through after the courts, even laughing sometimes. None of them wore heels like hers, though. And not one of them felt as familiar as she is becoming.
I glance at her, unsure what that sensation is. It's not familiar because of our everyday routines. More a reminiscence of something, as if she's part of a memory. None of that makes any logical sense to me, and on finally reaching Maxwell’s, I open the door for her and nod towards the waiter as he welcomes us in. No less than a minute later and we’re seated at a small, private table of my choice in the window, both looking at menus.
“This is nice,” she says. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something stuffy, like The Bombay.”
I look through the options available, considering the word stuffy. “I spent a lot of time here in law school. Before I was quite so suffocating. You're in a room full of lawyers.”
The waiter comes over and I wait for Willow to order before choosing a wine to match and my own food. She shrugs out of her jacket and leans back the moment the wine actually arrives on the table, crossing those undeniably attractive legs of hers. “I didn’t mean you were stuffy, Landon.”
“Yes, you did. Admit it.”
“Well, maybe a little. You could try laughing more.”
My brow arches as I pour the wine. “What do you think I have to laugh about? Look around you. Lawyers don't laugh.”
She sighs at that and takes the wine I’ve poured for her out of my hand, glancing at every other person in here. “Rather dull, but what would I know. What’s the deal with Ash?”
“The evidence is enough that he’ll go to court, I would think. Perhaps. Unless I can trade in some favours from judges. Are you worth trading favours for?”
“Favours?”
“Mmm.” I take a sip of my wine and tug the tie at my neck, flicking the top button. “Luckily for you, I happen to have a great deal of sway in the courts. Which I might be prepared to use. He’s been a pretty delinquent young man, Willow. Your mothering has not worked.”
She looks irritated. “I’m not his mother.”
“Quite. But you are responsible for him, yes?” She looks contrite at that at least, a sigh of exasperation coming out of her. “Don’t blame yourself entirely. Try having three of them to deal with. Siblings are annoying little shits most of the time."
A small smile lifts her lips, and she takes a drink, before sighing again. “I don’t know what to do with him. I don’t even know what he’s done. He won’t speak to me about it.”
“Which means I can’t either, but you should know he’s made an extremely poor choice in friends, and because of that, he’s neck-deep in the wrong side of legalities.”
“You can’t tell me what he’s done?”
“Not unless he allows me to. I am, in fact, his lawyer. At your request, I might add. Client confidentiality is a thing.”
“A thing? What type of language is that?”
“It’s the kind of language I use when I’m hungry.” I glare over at the kitchen, wondering if they’re going to get on with what I’m paying them for at any point in the near future. “Where the fuck is the food?”
“Perhaps if you tried eating at lunch you might not turn into an arsehole?”
My head swings back to her. “Did you just call me an arsehole?”
She grins, lifts her glass to her lips again. “I think I did. Problem?”
A snort breaks out of me. “And what, pray tell, have I done to offend you this week?”
“Plenty of things. None of which I’m actually prepared to discuss with my boss. Especially when he’s being so kind with regard to my brother.” Another sigh and she drains her glass of wine, making me refill it for her. “Okay, how much is it going to cost me then? More importantly, is he going to prison for it?”
“Not a chance. No one I defend goes to prison unless I want them there.” She beams and slumps back on her chair as if that one statement just relaxed her back to her normal brightness. “And don’t worry about the money. I’ll cover it.”
Another smile radiates through the beam, one that seems private and reserved for me alone. It makes the thought of food dissipate, and I raise my glass and drink as I stare at her looking at me. She truly is one of the most beautiful women I think I’ve ever seen, both professionally and with her legs spread for me. Soft features now she’s relaxed. Dark, auburn hair tucked neatly into position. I’d like to see it down, how long it is.
“That’s a sweet offer, Landon, but—”
“Cute and now sweet? Honestly, you really should learn who you’re working for. I don’t think either of those words are relative to me in the slightest.”
She folds her arms and looks over her wine glass at me. “And yet here you are being both at the same time.”
Thankfully, the food lands on the table before I get too absorbed in the look on her face or the feel of those words around her lips. I wait for her to start and then get on with eating in silence. Unfortunately, both words seem to echo in my thoughts the entire time I’m trying to ignore them. Ivy used to call me sweet. She’d say it when we’d run and she’d fall and I’d carry her back to the house.
What a long time ago that seems now.
I frown and try to remember those images in my mind, somehow looking back through the years of courtrooms and bitter manipulation that's made me the aggressor I am. Sweet is so far from me I can barely imagine ever being so these days, certainly not when it comes to this business I’m now running.
“So, how was America?” What? I look up, still chewing on a particularly good piece of steak. “When you lived there? I’ve never been,” she says, closing her cutlery. “Where were you based?”
“Chicago.”
“Nice?”
“No. Not really. Adequate, I suppose.”
“What did you do there?”
“I kept people with a lot of money out of prison. It was relatively amusing. I suppose I also learnt how to be an arsehole extremely successfully. Both in and out of the courtroom.”
“I guess I have the Americans to thank then.”
“Not all of them, just the Cane family.”
Having cleared my plate, I pick up my wine and drain the last of it. She should go home now. Leave. I look at the door and then back at her, absolutely sure the next words coming out of my mouth shouldn't. “How would you like to see some more of my sweet side?”
“Excuse me?”
“Dessert. Back at my place. Now.”
“Oh.” She checks her watch.
“Or not if you’ve got a prior engagement.” I wish the thought didn’t infuriate the fuck out of me, but it does. As does the fact that jealousy just reared its head regarding something I shouldn’t want in the slightest. Again.
“No, it’s just that it’s nearly nine and I was thinking about Ash,” she says.
“Well, if that’s all that’s stopping you.” I get out my phone and send him a text to make sure he’s checked in with the police and he’s home. The message comes back instantly, and I hold the screen up so she can see it. “He’s fine. At home like a good little boy.”
Her eyes widen. “Right. Okay then. As you're suddenly best friends with my brother and know his every move, yes, I’d like dessert.”
“You do realise there isn't any dessert at my place.”
A wry smile tips her lips as she stands and gets back in her jacket. “I'm sure we can find something to sweeten my tongue.”
I nod and get up with her, looking for the waiter. There’s plenty sweet enough about her tongue already. But either way, this bill needs paying, and I need to fuck this jealousy out of me.
~
Walking into the kitchen, I open the cooler and grab another bottle of wine. Two glasses are poured as I look out of the windows, and then I head out to the balcony while I wait for her to join me. Fuck knows what she’s doing, but she ducked into the bathroom the moment we got here and hasn’t returned yet.
The light noise of late evening traffic filters up from the streets, and I stare out into the distance. Last time a woman was here, she danced for me, all her skin on display as she taunted and teased. And now I’ve got my PA here rather than a woman I could actually settle with. I know what I’m doing. I’m attempting to avoid any possible connection to something that might distract me past this business. The relatively sad part of that is that I am already distracted—by both of them.
More so by the reality of my PA, if I’m honest.
“Hey,” she says, coming up behind me.
I turn, move, and I’m kissing her before she’s had a chance to take her next breath. Clothes get strewn around, and I’m pressing her to the side wall and rubbing my aching cock against her as soon as I can. Everything’s so fucking real about her. Not a fantasy, not something I can’t get my hands on. She’s real and here and warm in my hands.
I end up lifting her and taking her back into the apartment, legs striding us up the stairs to the bedroom where I can fuck in comfort for once. She’s still kissing me the entire way, soft lips languid on mine now rather than the frantic and wild we usually are. I put her down the second we get in the room, ratcheting my belt so I can get naked.
“Take it all off,” I mutter, watching as she stands alone in my space. “And pull the hair down.”
I want that—want to somehow merge the two of them together so I can find some solace in my wayward thoughts. “Touch yourself for me.”
“Naughty,” she says demurely.
The rest of my clothes get stripped from my skin. “You have no idea just how fucking filthy I can be, Willow.” I sit and hitch back across the king-size bed, just about ready to let every inch of filth out of me tonight. “You’re about to find out if you’re game.”
The skirt starts slipping down her legs, revealing those legs I’m still lusting after and a G-string that can only be described as non-existent. Nothing else comes off, though. And nor does her hair fall out of its confines. She does oblige the white shirt, undoing it so I can see her breasts, and she slips them out of the lacy, cream bra until they reveal perfectly pert nipples.
She twists them in her fingers as her body walks towards me, hips swaying. And then takes her time to look me over. My hands clasp behind my head, perfectly confident with what I've got to offer.
“You like?” she says, still playing with her breasts.
My head nods. Words are becoming redundant, especially when she runs her fingers down to her pussy and starts rubbing them all over it. “Get them inside you,” I mutter.
She smiles and walks closer, her other hand joining the first at the apex of her thighs. “You like watching, huh?”
“Yes. Get on with it.”
She chuckles and looks at my crotch, still rubbing her hands over herself. “Join me then. Let me watch you.”
I grab at my cock at her request, as happy with that thought as she seems to be. It isn’t until I watch her sit astride me, mere inches from my cock, that I let a groan sound out in the room. So fucking sexy. Every part of her. She leans back and slides her fingers inside herself, swirling around, at the same time as I start forcing my fingers up and down on my cock. Hard, short thrusts bring me closer with each moan that leaves her lips, and for once, I let the sound resonate around us. No smothering her mouth this time, no stopping or quick fucks either.
She shudders and grabs hold of my thigh, riding through her orgasm. I’m not there yet, and the look of her mouth open and panting sends all kinds of dirty images to my thoughts. “Get down here and suck it.” Her body moves slowly, taunting me, until she’s changed position and puts her ass up in the air. “Fuck, that’s nice,” I say, grabbing hold of her peachy backside.
The first lap of her tongue across the head of me sends me damn near insane with need. My hand moves to her neck, fingers twisting tightly into her hair. The move forces her face sideways, enough so that I can watch as she starts feeding my cock into her mouth, slowly. Another groan leaves me the second she gets to the base of me and starts pulling up again.
It takes all my control not to offload straight away, and I keep my eyes fixed on her arse to stave off the inevitable. It isn’t long before I get the idea about getting inside that too, and the thought has me grabbing her up to me and shifting her onto her knees. She tries turning back to me, tries to keep her face in front of me, but my strength overwhelms her back into position so I can get on with my sordid imagery.
Smothering her back, I listen to her panting and lean into her ear. “Have you ever had someone in your arse?” She shakes her head and keeps panting, still trying to get out from underneath me. “You’re about to.” She shakes her head again and struggles, her body squirming. “Please don’t tell me you’ve turned into a coy one. All this provocation only gets you to one end, Willow. And that’s me doing what I want with you.”
I move slowly down her back, keeping her flat to the bed with my weight, and once again, I have to pin her as she tries to roll. My teeth bite into her arse, enough so that she yelps and stills, and I place the flat of my palm on her back. The shirt rucks up in my grip as I lift and guide my cock towards her.
“Landon? Please. No.” She struggles again and moves, somehow using my strength against me. Her legs grab for me the moment she’s flat on her back, hands reaching for my neck to bring my face to hers. Lips mingle again instantly, but the distraction isn’t enough for me to forget my quest, and I’m manhandling her back to where I want her before she knows what’s hit her.
“Oh God, no,” she shouts, fingers clawing at the bed.
Fine.
Arse in the air again, I line up and sink myself straight inside her pussy instead, balls deep. We’ll wait for that one, then. Another time. I don’t care anymore because the groan that leaves me damn near makes my stomach buckle with it, as she still squirms around my cock. It excites me, as does this little cat and mouse she’s playing for some reason.
Moans sound loudly in the space. It echoes and calls to me, as does the sight of her head shunting against the headboard. I look down at her arse, hands firm on her hips so I can keep fucking as hard and as fast as I want, and that’s when I see it. Everything about me stills in the moment. Every fucking thing that was passing through my thoughts evaporates into nothing but that tattoo shining back at me.
Antlers.
I frown, grip her harder, and then start forging in again. I’m so lost in the vision I can barely work out if it’s real or not. There’s just sweat and skin and noise and her shirt rucked up at her shoulders as I keep driving in hard enough to break her. It doesn’t make any sense.
She’s her?
Fuck.
It doesn’t stop the momentum either way, and I end up powering in with everything I’ve got, eventually flipping her over so I can look at her face and try to see something I’ve missed. There isn’t anything. She’s still the Willow I know, still the same woman I’ve grown to need.
My hips grind on a final forge inward, my muscles tense as I come and watch her pant with me. Wide eyes look back at me, her fingers biting into my shoulder and neck as her lips tremble. Whether she knows I’ve just figured this crap out or not, is unknown. And I’m not ready to discuss it either. I’m not even ready to acknowledge it, let alone talk about how she’s been fucking playing me all along.
I sag on her and close my eyes, forehead resting on her heaving chest and mouth close to those exposed nipples. Jesus Christ. What a fucking mess she’s led us into now. Deceit, treachery. I don’t know what to think, and still being inside her warmth isn’t helping me see anything clearly. The shame of it is, I don't want her to leave, irrespective of the fact that she should.
A stripper and my Willow. One and the same.
Sleep. That’s probably useful if I can manage it because this rising temper isn't going to solve anything, and talking in that frame of mind won't help either.
I roll until I'm on my side, pulling her back to me. She whimpers, mumbles something, and shuffles in closer as if this is comfortable. As if we are. Yet she's still in her shirt, and she's still deceitful regardless of our current position. I don't know what that means to me, or what she means to me either, but I do pull the shirt from her skin and unclasp the bra so she's naked. Temper or not, I'm taking some comfort for the night. Tomorrow morning might be a different matter entirely.
Sleep and thought. That's all I've got for now.