Hard Case (Hard as Nails #2) (5 page)

* * *

Rose

Slate seems invested in getting me to trust him. But he’s only asked me a handful of questions about my case so far. He’s putting all his effort into making sure I’m safe. I just don’t know yet if I can trust anyone, much less this smooth stranger with his sleek lifestyle.

He leads me into his kitchen, which is as open as the rest of his palace. All of his appliances have a shiny, stainless steel look to them. He has granite countertops and an island in the middle of the kitchen with pots and pans hanging down from the ceiling over it. He opens the fridge and steps to the side so I can peer inside.

“I have nearly anything you could imagine in there,” he says.

The shelves are so full, I can’t tell what he actually has. I see beer near the bottom, packages of sandwich meat, yogurt, and tons of other food.

I’m distracted by the body standing next to me. I can feel his presence tugging on me, inviting me to abandon the fridge and turn to him. I can’t explain why he has this effect on me. I’m starving, but once again, it seems it’s not only food my body needs.

“How about this?” he interrupts me. “Do you like steak?”

I cock an eyebrow. “Who doesn’t?”

“Then it’s settled.” He reaches in and pulls out two individually wrapped steaks already sitting in a marinade. He closes the fridge and takes the steaks over to the island, where he pulls out a pan and sets them down, still in their Ziploc bags.

“We’ll have steak and baked potatoes tonight. I’ll even throw some asparagus and squash on. Just let me change out of my suit, and I’ll get started.”

Before I can protest, he’s out of the kitchen and hurrying upstairs. When he returns, my eyes almost pop out my head. He was gorgeous suited up, but I find him even more irresistible now in jeans and a faded T-shirt.

Slate is the kind of man women stop and stare at when he walks into a room. Josh had been handsome. Slate is gorgeous. Magnetic. Unreal. I try to keep my eyes off him, but instead, I take in every ripple of muscle as he gracefully moves around to prepare our meal.

He grills the steaks and cooks the vegetables in the oven outside on the dining patio. He hands me a glass of red wine and invites me to sit at the table while he prepares dinner.

The wine loosens my tongue, and I start sharing my thoughts with him.

“Is there a Mrs. Rawlings?”

“Nope. It’s just me. Why do you ask?”

Usually, I’d be embarrassed for getting called out, but after a little wine, I’m not worried about it. He has no clue I’ve been having raunchy fantasies about him, so there’s no reason to be embarrassed. “Just wondering. It seems like a lot of house for one person.”

“It can be, but it comes in handy sometimes to have extra room.”

“Like when you have to take in your clients?”

“Yes, like then. Or when I’m simply trying to impress them with my success.” He turns from the grill and shoots me a look.

I’m impressed he’s playing along. “What if your client prefers the simple life to all of this grandeur?”

“What if I told you it’s easy to be as simple as you want when there’s enough money and space that you don’t have to worry about it?” He raises his eyebrows as he brings me a plate of food.

I take another sip of wine. “Everything looks great.”

“Good. Hopefully it tastes as good as it looks.”

We sit and make small talk over dinner, still avoiding the topic of my case. He makes me laugh despite myself, and I catch myself drinking more wine.

For the first time in a long time, I feel safe. I feel like it’s okay to let my guard down and enjoy his company. The sun creeps down behind the tree line, and as the light recedes, Slate’s outdoor lights come on automatically. An involuntary chuckle escapes me when I notice this.

“What’s so funny?” he asks me.

“Your house,” I tell him.

“You don’t like it, do you? It’s too big. It’s too extravagant.”

“Oh no, it’s not that. It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “It struck me when the lights came on by themselves that you’ve thought of everything.” The house is definitely a reflection of the man who lives here. Just as Slate seems to have a rehearsed answer for everything, his house has a solution for any situation.

“I like to be thorough,” he says with a strange look in his eyes, and I get the feeling he’s not talking about the house anymore. For some reason, I think I see desire in his eyes, and I feel my own desire stirring between my legs.

I clear my throat. Why do I want this man so much?

Our plates have been empty for a while now, but we continue to talk and drink.

“I should go to bed,” I finally say.

He glances at the watch on his wrist. “It’s still early,” he protests.

“My bedtime is early.”

“Ah, that’s right. Teacher,” he says with a wink. “Maybe you can teach me a thing or two while you’re here,” he teases.

“I doubt there’s anything for me to teach you. You strike me as pretty worldly and experienced, Slate Rawlings.”

“I agree with your second statement but not your first. You’re a complex woman, Rose. I’m sure there’s plenty you can teach me.”

I want to teach him what I like in a lover. I want to teach him how to get me off. To lick my clit and penetrate me with two fingers until I’m begging him for release.

In a desperate attempt to hide my thoughts, I leap to my feet and start gathering dishes. He stands, as well, and places a hand on my arm.

“Don’t worry about the mess,” he says. “I’ll clean up.”

I lick my lips and nod. “Well, goodnight,” I tell him. “And thank you for everything, Slate.”

“No problem. And if you need anything tonight –
anything
– I’ll be in my room.”

Chapter Six

Rose

The wine helps me drift off to sleep in spite of being in a house with a stranger. I sink into the soft, high thread-count sheets on the guest bed, pushing my bag onto the floor with my feet and listening to the thud as it crashes down. The noise pleases me because its imperfection clashes with everything else in this immaculate home.

At the wine’s recommendation, I reluctantly let go of my suspicions. Maybe Slate really is the good guy here. Maybe he truly wants to help after hearing what happened with Josh.

Oh, Josh. What the hell happened to you?

* * *

In my dream, Josh is still alive and lying next to me in this wonderfully soft, lush bed. In the dream, this room doesn’t belong to my defense attorney. It’s a room in a resort hotel.

The glass doors are open on the balcony, and the curtains flow in the cool ocean breeze passing between them. Light fills the room, and we can hear the rushing of waves over the white sands below.

Josh slides an arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him, pressing me against him. “We’ve finally made it, baby,” he whispers into my ear. I hear his voice so clearly now. I reach back to touch him, to feel him again, to make sure he is really here with me.

He is.

I turn over in the bed to face him and run my hand over the stubble along his jawline. “I’ve missed you so much, Josh,” I tell him.

“I’m right here,” he tells me. “You don’t have to worry now. I’m not going anywhere.” He tightens his hold on my waist, and my body responds with its own strong desire igniting.

This is my Josh. This is the Josh Carter I married, not the man I shot.

I run my hand over his bare chest. There aren’t any bullet wounds. My fingers linger over the spots where I shot him until one of his hands touches mine.

I look into his face, searching for answers. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he answers with the gentle tone he used to always use with me. “You didn’t shoot me,” he adds as a smile spreads across his face. He pulls my hand away from his chest and kisses my fingers.

“Who did I shoot?” I ask, pulling my hand away from his lips and pushing back from him so I can see his whole, unwounded chest, somehow still intact.

“You shot one of them,” he claims.

“One of who, Josh? Who are these people you keep talking about?”

“Calm down, Rose,” he says gently. “You shot a man who was trying to take you away from me, or to take me away from you.”

“Stop talking in riddles,” I beg him, still pushing against his grip on my waist.

“It’s all pretty plain and clear” he says. Something in his tone has changed. It sounds like he has more to say, though he stares at me with a wild, paranoid look growing in his eyes again.

“I knew about the gun. That’s why I let him come after you. I knew you would kill him so I could come home to you.”

Even in my dreams, Josh has become a crazy man.

“This is a dream,” I say. “Only a dream. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”

“Oh, it’s real, my dearest Rose,” he says, his voice taking on a threatening, sinister tone. “Or at least, it’s a dream you’re never going to wake from.”

“No,” I shout. I start hitting him with my hands balled up into fists. He doesn’t fight back. Instead he pulls me against him. He wraps his arms around my back and tries to hold me to him so I can’t hit him anymore. I’m crying now, screaming at him, “Let me go! Let me go!”

But he won’t let me go.

Outside, the sound of the waves crashing on the beach has been replaced with the urban sounds of cars passing by on the city streets, loud music in the distance, and the sirens of emergency vehicles.

“They’re still coming for you,” Josh says in his villainous voice. “They won’t stop until they get you,” he tells me. “Where is your gun?”

“They kept it as evidence,” I tell him.

“Dammit, Rose,” he says. “You need protection. They’re coming.”

“I’ve got Slate,” I tell him.

He leans away so he can look directly into my eyes. “Who the fuck is Slate?” he asks bluntly, a mixture of shock and anger brewing in those eyes.

“He’s my attorney,” I tell him. “He’s defending me for shooting you.”

“You didn’t shoot me, though. I told you. You didn’t,” he insists.

“I did shoot you, Josh.” I look down at his chest, and the wounds have returned. “See, I shot you!”

He touches his chest and holds two bloody fingers up between us. “Why the hell did you do that, Rose?” He shoves me away from him.

It’s nighttime again. All the light of the morning in the resort hotel has gone, and we’re in the bedroom in Slate’s house once more, except outside I can hear all the noises of the city instead of the tranquil silence that surrounds the lawyer’s home.

“You were trying to kill me,” I yell at him. “You had a gun pointed at my head, Josh. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to die so they wouldn’t be able to take you from me,” he says venomously, pulling a gun out from underneath the covers as he slides off the other side of the bed.

He’s dressed now, wearing the same clothes he wore the night he broke into the house. He walks around to the foot of the bed, putting himself between me and the door.

“You don’t have a gun now,” he says. “You can’t stop me this time.”

“No, Josh,” I beg him. “No, please don’t.”

The door swings open, and gunshots ring out from behind him. As the bullets riddle his body with holes, I close my eyes and scream, knowing it’s only a matter of time before they start shooting me.

The gunshots stop, and the next thing I know, someone’s shaking my shoulders.

“Rose. Rose. Wake up, Rose,” the voice says.

* * *

I jerk away and see Slate’s face hovering in front of mine in the near-dark room. The blue-white light of the moon spills in through the glass doors overlooking the pool, allowing me to see in the room just fine with the lights still out. I let go of the sheets clutched to my chest and wrap my arms around him.

He rubs my shoulder gently with one hand while the other wraps around me to accept my embrace. “It’s okay,” he says. “You had a nightmare.”

I fight back the urge to cry, squeezing him instead and holding him to me. I don’t want to let go.

“It’s okay,” he assures me. “You’re safe here.” His hand rubs my back now.

My body welcomes his touch. My skin trembles under his. I relax my hold on his neck and slide my arms under his, pulling him up on top of me. Overcome with desire and emotion, I kiss his neck, parting my lips so my tongue can taste his smooth skin.

I kiss his shoulder as his muscles tense underneath my lips.

“Rose, you don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmurs.

I don’t answer. I kiss the strong, chiseled muscles of his chest. He grips the back of my head and holds me in place as my lips find his nipple. I suck the tender flesh into my mouth and flick the hardening center with my tongue.

He gasps and pulls the covers back, exposing my scantily clad body; I’m dressed only in a tank top and thin cotton panties. I spread my legs as he climbs on top of me in his boxers, his obvious, hardening erection hidden behind the fabric.