copyright 2004 by Esther Mitchell
Justin was miserable. He knew why his mother insisted on these little dinners at Laforet, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy them. Every couple of weeks, she nagged and cajoled until he gave in, and promised to come. Angelique Blakely lived on the eternal hope that putting Justin and Peter Blakely together in the same civilized atmosphere would suddenly dissolve decades of disappointment and hostility. He smiled in wry tenderness at his mother; he loved her dearly, but she could be quite the Pollyanna about these things.
A flicker of blue off toward the door caught Justin’s attention, and he turned his gaze for a better look, and felt his heart falter and nearly stop as disbelief rocked through him. Then, with a thud, it started pounding triple time in pure, sweet lust. Dear God. That was Chelsea Hanover striding his way, her coppery hair fluttering around her shoulders like a living flame and her lightning-blue eyes crackling with an awareness that sizzled straight through him, making his eyes nearly cross with arousal. No woman had the right to look that good, he decided as his mouth went dry. And that outfit… breathtaking was far too mild a word for it. Bold, daring… downright sexy, worked, though. The short, royal blue skirt and tight, high matching boots made her long legs look even longer, and her firm rear even more perfect. Brief flashes of creamy skin taunted him from the area around her waist, coming and going beneath dark blue, shimmering silk, as she moved. Her arms and neck were bare, and the tank top dipped seductively between her lush breasts, shifting to reveal a flash of electric blue. A tattoo! Justin’s eyes widened, before a sensual smile curled the edges of his mouth. Well, that was new. It appeared there was much more to Chelsea than ever met the court’s eyes. He was looking forward to discovering it all; inch by inch.
“Justin, sweetheart, what are you – oh!” Angelique Blakely stifled a mortified gasp with one elegant hand as she caught sight of Chelsea. “Is she…?”
“Heading this way?” Justin said with a slow, appreciative smile. “Most definitely, Mother.”
“Huh!” Peter Blakely scowled at Chelsea, then at his son. “I don’t care what kind of trash you entertain at home, boy, but it has no place among polite company.”
“Fine words from you,” Justin said, fury pouring through him. Then, catching the horrified look on his mother’s face, he clamped his mouth shut, mastering his temper before he grated out, “Chelsea Hanover is not ‘trash,’ and I’m not taking her home with me!” Though, God help him, he wanted to, badly. “She happens to be a top-notch defense attorney, with absolutely no interest in anything beyond her work.” Sadly, that was all too true, as well.
Angelique looked stricken. “Then why does she look… like that?”
“I have no idea,” Justin answered her truthfully. “But I think we’re about to find out. Good evening, Counselor.”
Chelsea came to a stop beside the table and, looking up into those electric blue eyes as they flashed with mischief, Justin knew he was lost. He was irrevocably in love with this bold, wonderful woman.
“Good evening. Sorry to intrude on your dinner, but I need to speak with you. There’s been a development.”
His eyes ran over her again, and he let her see his appreciation. “It have anything to do with how you’re dressed, Hanover?”
She blushed charmingly, glancing away, and he knew then that she wasn’t nearly as comfortable in her role of sex kitten as she appeared. “A little. Can we, uh,” she glanced at his parents warily. “Can we go somewhere and discuss this? In private?”
“Of course.” Justin rose, masking his relief as he murmured, “Excuse me, Mother. Sir.”
Placing a hand on Chelsea’s semi-bare back, he pretended not to feel the jolt that flashed through him as he escorted her out of the building.
As they reached her SUV parked along the curb, he glanced around, saw they were alone, and let the façade drop with a groan as he hauled her up against his throbbing body and covered her mouth in a devouring kiss. God, he’d wanted to do this for so long…
Chelsea gasped, the small sound getting lost in the fusing of their mouths. Softening with a small sigh, she melted against him as if she’d been made for him alone, and Justin felt his pulse slamming hard in need. The tight peaks of her nipples beaded against the filminess of her shirt, and he groaned as he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that sexy little top. Deftly, he slipped his hands under the cropped top and up, palming her breasts as desire poured through him, nearly bringing him to his knees. Breaking their kiss, he inhaled her warm scent – a unique melding of vanilla and spice – and released a ragged groan as he ran his mouth along the soft skin of her neck.
“God, Chelsea,” he muttered against her warm skin. “You were driving me crazy in there.”
She pressed hungrily into his touch as his fingers rubbed lightly over her erect nipples.
“I thought it might get your attention,” she managed breathlessly.
That brought reality back in a rush he wished he could ignore. But they were standing on a public street, and she’d said it was important. With a heavy sigh, he backed off and released her, knowing he’d be taking a cold shower again tonight and, like normal, it wouldn’t solve a damned thing.
“Why did you want to get my attention?”
Chelsea met his eyes boldly, letting him see her desire for a moment, before sweeping it away. “I just came from the Hill District. More precisely, I just came from Painted Lady.”
He smiled lazily, letting his eyes rove over her again. “Which explains the outfit, and the new tattoo. What is it of, by the way?”
She flicked him a seductive glance, and the corners of her mouth turned up sensually, making his gut clench and bringing back agonizing need. “Maybe, someday, I’ll let you see for yourself.”
He bit back a groan, rolling his eyes. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep,” he warned in a growl. “It’s not nice to toy with people like that.”
“I’m not,” she admitted with a shrug. “I want you. I don’t want to,” she sighed, and met his eyes, hers full of resignation, “but I do.”
His heart did back flips in glee, and he wanted to pull her back into his arms and never let go. But they were supposed to be discussing the case, so he took a step away, instead, and asked, “So, what did you find out?”
“Maria Cavarella had a long-standing grudge against her brother, and she’s hiding something.”
“What?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, yet, but I think it’s big. She was afraid to talk to me.” She met his gaze steadily. “I want to know what she told you; she said you were there.”
He laughed shortly. “Not much. Probably less than you got out of her, anyway. She took one look at this suit, and assumed I was either the law, or a hired hit man. She did claim she hadn’t seen her brother since his wedding—“
“She’s lying.”
He offered her a wry grin, tugging on a strand of her silky hair. “I figured that out, thanks. She refused to say anything else, though.”
Chelsea sighed heavily, her eyes dimming. “Well, I guess we’ll either have to draw her out over time, or just subpoena her and pray she doesn’t make fools out of both of us.” She looked up at him with a shy smile that made his heart pause, mid-beat. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner.”
And, before he could say a word, or attempt to steal another kiss, she had slipped into her SUV and pulled away from the curb, leaving him with the strangest combination of elation and emptiness rattling around in his chest. No doubt about it, Chelsea Hanover was going to be worth however long it took to win his way into her heart.
Excerpted from BURDEN OF PROOF, available exclusively from www.esthermitchell.com. Find out more about how you can purchase this book, and help victims of domestic violence, at http://www.esthermitchell.com/HanoverInvestigations/Burden.html
