Lawyer Up (23 page)

IN CONTEMPT

With her head down, pretending a great interest in her papers, Pat heard the familiar refrains, “Court is adjourned” and “All rise.” Unfortunately she had first glimpsed the other woman's huge grin, which only increased her disappointment and fury. Regardless of what her associates and friends had said earlier, she didn't feel anything like “Pat-tastic” at the moment.

Her outburst had been a disaster, and while the case wasn't lost yet, it teetered on the brink. That was bad. She could see her future partnership at the firm dropping away. However, her anger was aimed solely at the judge. He seemed to have spent the entire afternoon focused solely on simpering Candice Morgan and her persuasive attributes.

Taking her time to pack up, Pat waited until the courtroom had cleared. She did not want to give opposing counsel yet another chance to gloat. Never in all her years as a lawyer had she been called before a judge
in
camera
to be scolded. Her big plan to wow him clearly hadn't worked, followed by a truly big fumble.

Shaking her head, Pat could only conclude that her unprecedented lapse in sanity was due to wildly fluctuating emotions—a whirlwind of desires and hopes that encompassed career, clients, and Emmit, combined with the heady intoxication of her personal metamorphosis. As soon as the calamitous words had left her mouth, she'd regretted them, had known she'd gone too far. The furious look on Judge Stockard's face only confirmed it.

Well, I'm furious too!
Pat fumed. How could Stockard have been gullible enough to let Candi Cane pull his strings? He probably thought the bimbo would soon be pulling on his dick, but the judge didn't know what she did—that Morgan had no intention of letting him in her panties. He would be left hanging, as hot and bothered as Pat was at the moment.

Ha! Serves him right.
Pat stomped her way to the back of the court.
And
my
feet
hurt!
she whined silently.
Stupid, damn, ineffectual
shoes.

Roiling emotions of every sort swirled uncontrollably within her, and underneath it all was the mortifying awareness that she hadn't behaved much better than the other woman.

Pat looked to the bailiff for his nod of admittance before she opened the door to Stockard's chambers. Ignoring the call of her conscience in favor of the more fortifying anger, she stomped through the door. She gritted her teeth and glared at him as he sat there all high and mighty behind his office desk.

Pat stopped in front of Stockard and waited to be invited to sit.

She wasn't.

Instead, a small smile played across his face as his eyes traveled the length of her from head to toe. Pat felt a tingle everywhere his eyes touched, flaring to prickly heat when he paused for a second to stare at her breasts. His gaze was so intense that it made her feel like she was standing there naked. Finally, he scrutinized her Louboutins for several long moments. She had to force herself not to fidget.

Then he looked her in the eye.

She felt breathless and tried to hold on to her furious pique. Pat kept reminding herself about Morgan's triumphant sneer over the writ of sequestration. It was enough to re-spark her passionate fury, although Pat recognized that anger wasn't the only passion she currently felt. Her pelvis clenched reflexively under his intense—was it yearning?—gaze.

Finally, Stockard pushed his chair back and stood. “Ms. Laroque, as much as I admire your newly acquired…
prowess
…and accompanying confidence…” He glanced cheekily at her breasts and Pat stiffened in disbelief. “Your comments were out of bounds and extremely inappropriate. I'm aware the ruling might have appeared preferential in light of the unusual competition today. However, it was absolutely within the Louisiana civil code. Regardless, if you ever again insinuate that my judgment has been compromised, you will swiftly find yourself in contempt of court.”

Waving his hand as if he planned to dismiss her, Stockard added, “I must say, I expected better, more mature behavior from—”

“How dare you chastise me!” Pat lashed back, still flushed from his penetrating perusal. “
You
…talk about mature behavior. You! The playboy judge who thinks all women are there for your own personal pleasure, like we'll all fall down onto our knees to happily lick your feet.”

“Not my feet,” he interposed with a smirk.

“Are you kidding me? That's exactly what I'm talking about,” she raged. Pat stomped around the desk and right up to his face, glad for once of her height, which put her on equal, eye-to-eye footing with Stockard. “Since I now have a gag order in your court, I'll tell you right now what I think about
your
inappropriate behavior. It's so very clear to everyone that you are letting your damn dick rule your fucking head!”

Her conscience flared again, reminding Patricia that she'd tried and failed to get his dick to rule in her favor. She didn't want to acknowledge that some of her anger was directed inward as well. Worse, never in her entire life had Pat spoken to anyone like that, never used such vulgar language, and never ever with anything less than a respectful tone to anyone of power, but she found it strangely liberating—and hotly exhilarating. The more she let go, the more she felt a little of her Pat-tastic mojo return, and it was hard to turn it off now that she'd gotten started.

“Candi flaunts a little booty and boobs, and you immediately
rise
to the occasion.” Pat flicked her eyes down pointedly in the direction of his crotch.

Emmit snorted, which shocked her into silence.

“My dick's hard all right…but not for her.”

Emmit's crude statement set off a fiery explosion inside her. Instantly her pelvis clenched and her nipples tightened.
He
wants
me?
The wonder of it left her at a loss for words as Pat stared transfixed at the mouth that had uttered the unexpected revelation. Leaning forward slightly, she wondered what those full masculine lips would feel like on her mouth, on her body. Pat was breathing hard, and she could tell he was too.

Suddenly Emmit reached out and grabbed Pat, yanking her to him. She gasped as his strong arms snaked around her back and crushed her tightly against his body. As Emmit's mouth came down hotly onto hers, Pat froze momentarily, her lips parted in surprise. At her apparent yielding, Emmit swept his tongue expertly into her mouth, and Pat moaned at the intense arousal that exploded throughout her body.

Emmit's tongue teased exquisitely around her lips before again thrusting inside to dance with her own. Pat was on fire everywhere his body touched hers. When his rock-hard erection nestled against her pussy, pressed enticingly in just the right place, Pat couldn't stop herself from writhing against it. She wanted to feel more, needed to increase the friction. She vaguely heard him groan in response as she squirmed again, and then…nothing.

She was left panting and dizzy as Emmit pushed her roughly away from him to hold her at arm's length. He looked aroused and out of control. Then he stepped purposely back behind his desk.

“Now, I'll admit,
that
was inappropriate behavior,” he muttered, “but don't think for one instant that I'd let my dick or any other part of me be swayed by a woman's pussy. If you
ever
say anything like that again, or even hint at it, I'll throw your sexy ass in jail on contempt. My fair-minded reputation is important to me.”

Pat was still panting, dumbfounded by what Emmit had just done and by what he'd said.
He
called
my
ass
sexy!
She felt wildly aroused, more turned on than ever before in her life.
Is
this
the
reason
he's got such a bad-boy reputation?
she wondered absentmindedly—and that was just a kiss.

“Now,” Emmit said, drawing her attention back to him. “I suggest you get to work because your case is weak, and as things stand, you're going to lose. But understand this—it has absolutely nothing to do with how tight your dress is or how much Candi wiggles her boobs.” Then he asked, “Have you ever read that Michael Crichton book
Disclosure
?”

Patricia nodded, confused.

“As he wrote in the book, if you want to win this, you need to ‘solve the problem,' and that's all I'm going to say. I've probably already said more than I should.”

Utterly disconcerted, Patricia walked to the door and pulled it open before she abruptly stopped and turned back to him. “Okay, but what the hell was that?” She pointed emphatically back to the spot where he had kissed her.

“That was a mistake,” he retorted, agitatedly running a hand through his hair. “It won't happen again.”

“Well, fuck you!” she hissed. “Kissing me was
that
bad?”

Patricia rushed out the open door, mortified that she had become so aroused by one single mistake of a kiss.

“No, wait,” she heard him call after her, but Pat kept running down the hall.

PIC KEE TOI!

“You act like a horny slut, but you're really just a cock tease, aren't you?”

They glared at each other, before he added, “I don't think you have it in you to fully abandon yourself to the pleasure I could give you. Deep down, you'll always be just an uptight control freak.”

She was filled with pent-up emotions, rage only one of them.

“Well, fuck you!” Pat yelled furiously.

“You bet I'll fuck you.” There wasn't a hint of doubt in Emmit's declaration.

Then the handsome, virile man pulled her to him. His large, strong hands held her firmly in place while his mouth devoured hers in a wet, hot kiss. She could hardly breathe, but it didn't matter as Pat writhed in his arms, trying to rub her body against his, not caring at all that she was behaving just like the “horny slut” Emmit had called her.

With almost superhuman speed, he ripped her clothes off with one hand while holding her tightly with the other. His mouth kissed and licked a trail everywhere he bared her skin. He bit down hard on her nipple, and she moaned loudly.

“Ohhh, yes! Pleeease!” she cried.

Pat woke up instantly. “What?” Her voice sounded eerily loud in the quiet, dark room.

“Not another dream!” she wailed.

Wrenching herself upright, Pat sat there confused—panting, sweating, and completely tangled in her fancy new sheets. “Sleep like a sex goddess, become one,” Creole had decreed. Pat felt nothing like a goddess at the moment—her head ached from too much wine drunk the night before to drown out memories of the court debacle. But the aching sexual need bothered her the most.

Slowly, Pat eased herself back down onto the bed. She felt like crying but chided herself that it was ridiculous to shed a tear over that man. Pat doubted he dreamed about her or, for that matter, ever found himself alone in his bed in sexually frustrated torment. Anyway, his fantasies would no doubt center on top-heavy Candice Morgan or any of the many other beautiful women he dated. Pat looked toward her nightstand where her battery-operated boyfriend was hidden, but it seemed an empty, lonely choice when what she really wanted was a warm, living, breathing man beside her, not a BOB. As unsettling as it was, Pat finally understood that even a living, breathing man wasn't enough. She wanted Emmit, a man who'd made it clear he would never want her in return.
Mistake, my
ass!

Pat kicked at the sheets until she was free and then rolled over, sighing, but sleep would not come. The craving just would not abate, and the nagging sensation that she was missing something was back. After an hour of tossing and turning, Pat got up for some water and stood looking out at the moonlight through the French doors that led to her balcony.

She began to pace her bedroom in the dark.

What
was
it?

What did the judge mean when he said that she needed to solve the problem? What problem, other than the fact that she was about to lose the case?

Then in a flash, she understood.
Duh!
she thought as she hurried to her laptop.
How
stupid
I've
been.

Ten minutes later, with a cup of hot coffee in one hand, the case's legal brief spread out on the kitchen table, and her computer warming up, Pat made a written list of the research she needed to accomplish quickly. If she could work fast enough, she might just win the case and gain her partnership. Two out of three desires weren't bad, she consoled herself.

DUE PROCESS

Judge Stockard was distracted. A couple weeks had passed, and he now presided over yet another lengthy and tedious case. All he could think about was her—Patricia—and how to approach the woman now that their case was over. He was proud of her for settling the case out of court in a manner that benefitted everyone, although he recognized it was unwarranted gratification since he had no claim to Patricia.

Still, Emmit was impressed with how she had finagled a grand scheme that involved the city, the NGO, and the plaintiff. When it was all settled, the distant client got a tax write-off and some cash; the city had land to rent for a modest return; and the collective got a ninety-nine-year lease for urban farming. There was more to it than that, but the end result was that everyone was happy.

Well, Morgan hadn't been all that happy. In fact, she'd been furious. She'd wanted a big, public win over Ms. Laroque. Because of that, Morgan hadn't liked the win-win solution, but legally she'd been obligated to present the offer to purchase the land to her distant absentee client, who had jumped at the chance for a clean settlement and cash on the table. Morgan had not made any more overtures to meet privately with him, and it was a relief that his suspicions were correct—her flirtations had all been an act. He had no interest in her and hoped it would be a long time before that woman appeared in his court again.

“Court adjourned,” he decreed.

Finally another long, boring week was over. Emmit could go back to his chambers and stew about what worried him the most—the question of whether Patricia's behavior had all been an act too. She had definitely responded to his kiss. About that, Emmit had no doubt, but he had not seen her in nearly two weeks. Patricia had sent underlings to file the court papers, and Emmit had hoped to run into her casually so he could gauge how she felt about him before he made a move.

Was Patricia still angry about that kiss or, more accurately, the fact that he'd called it a mistake? Emmit, usually so confident with women, was stymied by the possibility that Patricia's behavior had also been an act. Perhaps she was no different from Morgan. And what about that handsome man in the lobby that had held her too closely? The memory still grated. Emmit circled around it over and over. Another week had gone by, and he was still no closer to seeing her again.

“Fuck this!” he cursed out loud. “I'm acting like a teenager in love.” With a burst of restless energy, he started to pace. One way or another, he would do something today to find out if Patricia was interested in him—but what?

Rapidly, he evaluated various approaches.

Email—too passive.

Call her—if she was out or didn't take the call, he'd be left hanging.

Flowers—a possibility, but again it left the ball in her court.

He needed to see her in person. That was the only way to clear the air or…light a fire where it needed to be lit. Decisively, Emmit grabbed his briefcase and walked to the door—and then he stopped dead, hand on the doorknob, as a radical new option came to him.

It was sly. It was quite wicked. It was unquestionably…risky.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Emmit pivoted and returned to his desk. Opening his laptop, he smirked. This was an outlandish idea even for him, but what else would the Playboy Judge of Orleans do to seduce the woman he desired? It would make her hopping mad. Emmit grinned broadly. He loved how Patricia looked when her eyes blazed passionately, and he knew without a doubt it would get her into his chambers, pronto. Then it would be up to him to plead his case, overruling any objection she might raise.

Emmit got to work.