Chapter 27
KAT
BAILEY: Your social media is INSANE RIGHT NOW
KAT: I’m not looking
BAILEY: Girl…
“You’re not supposed to be on that,” Tom murmurs, his eyes on the TV while my feet rest in his lap. I’m not sure how that happened but I’m not complaining.
At all.
One minute he’s all gruff and standoffish and the next he has one of his huge hands gently gripping my ankle as we watch a movie.
“It’s just Bailey.”
“You had a good day, and Royce has been sending you the highlights.” The statement isn’t appeasing; it’s more in line with things are going well so don’t push it.
But I’m not always good at following directions.
I know by the growing number of notifications that my post has whipped up a frenzy of attention, and I just want to know what’s happening.
The unedited version.
Not the play-by-play.
“But this is the last book in the trilogy. The second book ended on a serious cliff-hanger, and readers are going to be ravenous. Their excitement is the elixir of life, the balm to my battered soul, the—”
“I got it,” he says, amusement in his tone, his thumb brushing back and forth across my calf. Even through the blanket I can feel the heat of his touch and I want it everywhere.
I want him everywhere.
I’m either going to have to make a move or write him into my next hero so I can live vicariously through my heroine’s fictional orgasms. The thought is playing on a loop in my mind as Tom eases himself up from the couch, his footsteps echoing quietly through the kitchen as my screen lights up again.
BAILEY: How are you holding up?
KAT: I’m good. The awards ceremony is less than two weeks away. It’s black-tie so I’m going to have to find a dress for that
BAILEY: Ooo, take me with you!
“You’re not supposed to be on that,” Tom reiterates, but instead of just letting it go, he reaches over and plucks the phone from my hand and tosses it onto the coffee table.
But instead of moving back to sit, he hovers above me, his hand braced against the arm of the couch where my back is resting.
And we just stare at each other, neither of us moving for a beat.
Then another.
My eyes drops to his lips, and I want to reach out and trace my fingertips over them to see if they’re as soft as they look. The sound that rumbles up his throat is a tortured groan as my gaze snaps up to his.
“Don’t,” he rasps.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not safe and I can’t protect you if…”
The words hang between us, open and unfinished and more telling than if he’d yelled them.
But I can guess.
I can’t protect you if I’ve been inside you feels like a valid option. But I’d have to wholeheartedly disagree with the sentiment because there’s not a cell in my body that believes Tom Oakden wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth to save me.
And maybe that’s how he’d feel about anyone.
But right now, he’s not looking at anyone—he’s looking at me and there’s no comparison.
“You can’t look at me like that, Kitten.”
“You can’t give me a nickname when you’re telling me to stop,” I fire back, my hand reaching up to cup his jaw.
Tension radiates off him like a neon warning that I so desperately want to bypass.
But I won’t.
Not tonight.
Instead, I lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his cheek, the stubble rough against my skin in the best way. It’s almost enough to change my mind—to live my own fuck it moment.
But I don’t want him to regret me.
I don’t want him to look at me and wish we hadn’t.
So as carefully as I can, I extricate myself from the couch and stand, retrieving my phone and backing out of the room.
“Goodnight, Tom.”
“Sweet dreams, Kitten.”
TOM
The spray of the shower feels like a thousand needles against my skin, sharp and intense but nothing compared to the throbbing between my legs.
It’s been a long time since I had such a visceral reaction to a woman. I called her kitten— the nickname just slipping out before I had a chance to stop it.
She’s your client, asshole.
But it doesn’t even matter…not right now.
Bracing my hand against the tile, I don’t pretend my intentions are innocent. They’re not. My grip is hard as I wrap my hand around my dick, ready to relieve the pressure that’s been building since I moved in here.
“You can’t look at me like that, Kitten.”
I’d said those fucking words to her while she stared up at me.
Her eyes full of lust and desire.
A promise of something unforgettable.
And then I’d called her Kitten.
Begged for reprieve.
And she granted it, confusing my plea for a truce with rejection. I’d seen the hurt on her stunning face but there was nothing I could do, no way to soften the blow when it was meant to protect both of us.
A hell of a lot of good that’s doing me now.
So I squeeze my dick harder, the pleasure and pain a heady mix as I let my eyelids fall shut. I picture Kat in that dress and heels greeting me at the door, a sultry smile on her lips as she tells me she’s been waiting for me all day.
And I tell her to prove it, watching as she pulls down the zipper of the dress, the material pooling at her feet and leaving her in absolutely nothing.
Rosy-pink nipples and full, round breasts have my mouth watering and my hands itching to touch.
Tease.
The long lines of her body on display as she takes one step and then another.
Lowering herself to her knees before me.
I squeeze harder, jerk myself faster until I’m coming all over the tile, my heart racing in my chest as I think how fast just the thought of this woman has me losing it.
It’s a nightmare.
A gorgeous, addicting nightmare.
One I hope I’ll never wake from.
I wait for the regret to overwhelm me but it doesn’t, my brain reasoning away that this was the safest way to deal with whatever is happening between Kat and me.
I’m in uncharted waters here.
Dating a woman I’m legally obligated to protect is forbidden, and it should be. You’re compromised.
An emotional liability.
But I know without question it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let anyone take over guarding Kat. Even the thought of it has me wanting to punch a hole through the tile.
It’s the epitome of a red flag—one I’ll be ignoring.
All I have to do is close this case and then there will be nothing untoward about getting involved with her.
It’s reasonable.
Doable.
Eyes on the prize.
And Kat Harrington is definitely a fucking prize. One I plan to enjoy just as soon as all this is over.