Chapter 11 #3
Lash hung up the phone and poured his coffee down the sink. He didn’t need caffeine. He needed money. He’d already spent his monthly retainer from the Ruban family, and the other clients he often represented were worse off than he was.
The foreclosure letter was still on the table right where he’d left it.
Now this. Checks were going to bounce. He didn’t even want to know how many.
He had represented people who’d written hot checks, and he couldn’t remember a one who’d gotten off without serving their time.
The law was swift with regards to stealing, in any form.
Shame filled him. Thank God his grandfather hadn’t lived to see this day.
What his father hadn’t lost, Lash had wound up selling to stay afloat.
And now it was gone and Lash Marlow was sinking fast. In days gone by, there would have been only one honorable way with which to deal with this shame.
Lash thought of the handgun in the drawer beneath the phone.
He glanced at the paper he had yet to read. He could just picture the headlines.
“Local Lawyer—DOA.”
Dead on arrival. He shuddered. There would be a scandal, but he wouldn’t be around to face it. And while he was contemplating the virtue of an easy way out, his gaze fell on the corner of a familiar face pictured on the front page of the paper. He pressed the page flat.
“Ruban Heir Saved by Traffic Jam”
His eyes widened and he began to read, and when he was through, he stared down at Casey’s picture in disbelief. Why? Why did someone like her keep getting all the breaks while everything he did threw him further and further off course?
“You bitch.”
Startled, he looked up, expecting to see someone standing in the doorway of the kitchen. When he realized it was himself that he had heard, he looked back down and started to shake.
“You selfish, worthless, little bitch. I’d give my life to find a way to make you sorry for what you’ve done.”
Casey’s face smiled back up at him from the page, taunting him in a way he could not accept. He let go of his rage, giving hate full rein, and began to consider the wisdom of what he’d just said.
He knew people who would do very dirty deeds for very little money, which was exactly what Lash Marlow had. But if his scheme worked, when he was through, he would be the one in the dough, and that sharecropper’s granddaughter would be sorry she’d thumbed her nose in a Marlow’s face.
* * *
“Oh, my.”
Casey’s quiet remark got Ryder’s attention. In the act of dressing for the day, he came out of the bedroom in nothing but his blue jeans. Casey was standing by the kitchen table, her morning cup of coffee forgotten as she stared at the headlines in disbelief.
“Ruban Heir Saved by Traffic Jam”
“How do they find these things out so fast?”
Ryder put his arms around her, reading over her shoulder as he cuddled her. When he saw the headline, he sighed. Because of who she was, she would always be news.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as they leave you alone, they can print your favorite recipe for toast for all I care.”
She dropped the paper on the table and leaned against him. “I don’t have a recipe for toast. I can’t cook. Remember?”
He grinned. “Then you have nothing to worry about, right?”
She laughed and turned in his arms. “So it would seem.” His eyes darkened as he cupped her hips and pulled her close, letting her feel what was on his mind.
Her robe slipped open, revealing the clean bare lines of her body beneath. Ryder groaned and lowered his head, razing the tender skin on her neck with a series of nips and kisses that left her trembling for more than this sensual tease.
Casey shivered. “Make love to me.”
With a flip of his wrist, her robe fell to the floor at his feet. He reached out, tracing the shape of her breast with the tip of his finger, then encircling her waist with his hands, holding her fast—wishing he could hold on forever.
“You are so beautiful, Casey Dee.”
Her head lolled as his hands began to work their magic.
Skin tingled. Nerves tensed. Muscles coiled.
He lowered his mouth, trapping her lips and swallowing her sigh.
Heat built.
When his hand dipped between her thighs, she groaned.
Honey flowed.
She reached for his zipper, then for him, needing him—guiding him—to her—in her.
It happened fast. One minute she was standing, the next she was on the cabinet with Ryder between her legs. “Buckle up,” he whispered.
Casey wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. It felt as if everything inside of her was fighting to get out.
Her heart was pounding against her chest. Her blood was racing through her veins.
That sweet, sweet heat was building in her belly and she wanted the release.
Clutching at him as hard as she could, she buried her face against his shoulder.
“Oh, Ryder, please now.”
He began to surge against her in a hard, even rhythm. Over and over. Minute upon minute. Rocking. Hammering. Driving toward pleasure. Too close to hold back.
Casey’s senses were swimming. There was nothing upon which she could focus except him inside her. And suddenly gravity shifted and she lost her sense of balance. Grabbing him tighter, she arched toward a thrust, crying aloud. “Ryder…Ryder…I’m coming undone.”
Sweat ran down the middle of his back as she held him, encompassed him, pulling him deeper and deeper toward total release. He shifted his hands from her back to her hips—pulling her forward—moving faster. His voice was harsh, his words low and thick with oncoming passion.
“Then let it happen. I’m coming with you.”
One cry broke the silence, then another, deeper and more prolonged, followed by soft, shaken sobs and gentle words of praise.
A short time later, Ryder picked up his wife and carried her out of the room.
The newspaper that had sparked the mood lay forgotten on the floor.
Had Casey seen it again, she would now have disputed the claim.
The traffic jam wasn’t the first thing to save her life.
It was the man she’d found in the flatlands down at Sonny’s Bar.