Shattered Trust (Shattered #2) (17 page)

Chapter 30

Cristina

“Have you had anything to eat?” Hunter asks after we slip into his
mucho
macho SUV. So many men drive big cars to make up for their sexual inadequacies. Doubt Hunter Stone has any problems in the bedroom department, though. Everything about him is big. His hands, his arms. I can imagine what else.

“Dinner, you mean? No.”

“Want to stop somewhere? I know a place.”

“I’m not dressed—”

“It’s a diner. Nothing fancy.”

“Okay.”

The place, next to a budget motel, is close to a dive. But going by the crowded parking lot, it must serve great food.

It takes us a few minutes to be seated. The waiting area’s so tiny, people jostle us as they scoot to the front to give the hostess their names. And I end up being thrust against Hunter. God. He’s hard all over and smells of some yummy cologne.

“So are you taking the Virginia bar or the DC one?” He’d heard Madrigal talking in the evidence room, so no surprise he knows about it.

“Neither. I’m taking the Florida bar. I’m flying to Tampa tomorrow to take the test on Tuesday and Wednesday. Afterward, I’ll head to Miami to spend a couple of days with my family before coming back.”

“Why aren’t you taking the DC bar? You’re working for the Justice Department.”

“It’s just a summer internship. At the end of the summer, I may be offered a permanent position or not. So I’m keeping my options open. This way I can work in DC or Florida.”

His name is called, and we follow the hostess to a booth. As soon as we’re seated, a harried waitress rushes over with our menus.

“Anything to drink?” she asks, pen poised over her pad.

He orders coffee and water; I ask for iced tea to combat the heat and humidity of the summer night.

“So how does that work?” he asks once she leaves.

With my mind occupied by the train wreck of my life, I’ve lost track of the conversation. “How does what work?”

“How does taking the bar in Florida keep your options open?” He leans back, spreading a massive arm over the top of the booth.

I gulp at the sight of his bulging bicep just as the waitress arrives with our drinks.

“What would you like to eat?” she asks.

I haven’t bothered to look at the menu, but like every other diner in the free world, it has to have one thing. “I’ll take a cheeseburger, medium well, and fries.”

Hunter orders the same but with bacon.

Enthralled by his powerful hand, I watch, mesmerized, as he pours cream and sugar into the coffee and stirs slowly.

“Options?” he asks, bringing me back to our conversation.

“Your test scores from another jurisdiction can qualify you to practice law in the District of Columbia. But the reverse is not true.”

“Really?”

“Think about it. How would knowledge of DC law help someone practice in Florida? State-based lawyers usually handle wills, domestic relations, or other issues particular to that jurisdiction. Most of the attorneys working in DC deal with federal agencies, such as the IRS, the Department of Justice, the Securities and Exchange Commission, Congress.”

“Makes sense. But do you want to stay in DC?”

“I did before”—I slash the air—“this happened. Now I don’t know.” I gaze into my tea as if the answer is to be found there to keep him from seeing my tears. I hate it when I cry, especially over a good-for-nothing bastard.

“Hey.” He reaches across the table and wipes the moisture from my cheeks. “Are you really going to let one man’s betrayal drive you away from a career you love?”

I toss back my head. “No.”

The waitress arrives with our food, which gives me time to get myself together. When we pass the ketchup and mustard back and forth, our hands inadvertently brush against each other. Something zings through me—lust. I gaze at him as a wild thought pops into my head.

“It’s good,” he says of his bacon cheeseburger after he’s chomped down half of it. “How’s yours?”

“Same.”

He smiles. “How would you know? You haven’t taken a bite.” He pushes the plate closer to me. “Eat. Carbs are good for a broken heart.”

“My heart’s not broken. It’s pissed off,” I say, chewing on my burger.

“Good to know.” He swallows, and I’m fascinated by the bob of his Adam’s apple.

Angry with myself, with Scott, with the predicament I find myself in, I snap at him, “Stop being so damn agreeable.”

Although he doesn’t say a word, his raised brow speaks volumes.

And I’m instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling at you. It’s just you’re so—” I bite my tongue before I blurt out something I shouldn’t.

“So?”

“So male, okay?”

He laughs. “And that’s bad?”

“No. Of course not. It’s just. Here you sit a foot away. Gorgeous, stacked, and I imagine well hung.”

He sputters, coughs.

“Are you okay?”

He holds up a finger while he gets his breathing under control. Once he does, he takes a sip of his coffee. Planting both elbows on the table and folding his hands, he stares at me, not in anger but in wonderment. “Do you always blurt out every thought in your head?”

“If I’m upset or excited, yes, I do.”

“At work as well?”

“No, strangely enough. When it comes to the legal stuff, I’m very logical and unemotional. But then I’m a Gemini, which explains the dual sides of me.”

He picks up a French fry and swirls it in the mound of ketchup he built.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He takes the time to chew before he answers. “No. Too busy with my business, plus I travel quite a bit. And I have absolutely no desire to settle down.”

We spend the next few minutes finishing our food. When the waitress shows up to clear our plates, I ask for a slice of lemon meringue pie for dessert. He goes for the apple pie à la mode.

While we wait, I glance at him over my glass of iced tea. “You see that motel over there?” I point my chin toward the budget inn on the other side of the parking lot.

His head swivels between the motel and me. “Yes. Planning on spending the night there?” he asks, all scrunched brow.

“No. Not the night. Just a couple of hours.”

His left brow arches as his gaze roams over me. I may look like hell, but the spark in his eyes tells me he’s interested.

The waitress interrupts with our desserts, but as soon as she leaves, he says, “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“If you think I’m asking for a hookup, you’re right.”

He jams a forkful of the apple pie into his mouth. “Is this revenge sex? He screws his boss. You fuck another man?”

I should be offended by his crude language, but I’m not. Tonight, such words seem entirely appropriate. “Yes. And no. I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I first saw you.”

“Yeah,” he says, finishing up the last piece of his dessert, “especially my ass.”

“You noticed?”

“Of course. It’s my job to notice things.”

“That’s not the only thing I like about you.”

“Oh?” He leans his elbows once more on the table and folds his hands. A lopsided smile quirks his lips. “So tell me, Ms. Sanchez, what else do you like about me?”

He’s challenging me. He thinks I won’t tell him. Well, he’s got another think coming. “You’re smart, polite, dedicated to your job. You know how to issue orders.”

“You like that, do you? When a man bosses you around?”

“Depends on the man and what he’s asking. You also know when to take direction, even when it comes from a woman.”

“Ms. Berkeley is my boss. She pays me to obey her orders. Anything else?”

“You’re strong, kind, patient.”

“I’m a veritable saint.”

“You’re very good at hiding your emotions, but every once in a while your temper slips through.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“A raised brow, a clenched fist.”

“You’re good at reading body language.”

I give him my most sexy pout. “Aha. Took a whole semester of it in college.”

“Well, that certainly explains it.”

“There’s only one thing I don’t know about you, Hunter.”

His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. “Only one?”

“How good you are in bed.”

He hisses in a breath. “And you’d like to find out.”

“Yes. It’s a onetime offer, good only for tonight.”

“And what happens afterward?” he asks, stealing the last morsel of my lemon meringue pie from my plate.

“You go your way and I’ll go mine. No strings attached.”

He brings the lemon meringue to my lips. I open my mouth, swallow. When I lick the remnants from my lips, his eyes spark with blue fire.

He folds the napkin on the table, pushes it forward a little. “All right.”

Really?
“Really?”

“Yes. I could use a tune-up.” After tossing the tip on the table, he grabs the check and stands up. His other hand he holds out to me.

I shimmy from the booth in my tight skirt. Without letting go of me, he fishes out enough money from his jeans pocket to pay the bill at the cash register.

Outside, he leads me to the SUV and opens the passenger door. I slide in. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Where on earth would I go?
We’re just off the interstate. The only buildings nearby are the motel and the diner.

While I wait in the Cherokee, he checks us into the hotel. The room’s on the second floor, so the climb up gives me time to rethink the situation. Do I really want to do this? Have sex with this man? I shiver. Yes. Yes, I do.

He takes his time inserting the key card into the slot. Turns on the light. “This okay?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly. I’ve never propositioned a man before. I fully expected him to say no. But it’s too late to back out now. “You do have condoms.”

He closes the door behind us and pats his pants pocket. “Always carry some with me.”

“Do you want to shower?”

“No, Cristina.” He hauls me to him. “I want to fuck,” he says before lowering his mouth to mine. I expect power and heat, but he’s amazingly gentle, tasting me, exploring me, licking the seam of my lips.

Wanting to return the favor, I whimper with frustration. My hands are caught against the steel of his chest so there’s no chance to trail my hands over his arms, his abs, his cock.

He stops the kissing to sweep his tongue over his lips. “You taste sweet.”

“It’s the pie.”

His sensuous mouth curves into a grin. “And you.” Putting distance between us, he unbuttons his shirt, tosses it over a chair. His chest is a thing of beauty, all chiseled abs and sculpted pecs, along with a scar or two. An especially nasty one lies low on his stomach. And what looks like burn marks pucker his arms.

“What happened there?” I brush my hand across the blemished skin on his abdomen.

“Didn’t move fast enough.”

“And here?” I touch one of the scars on his arm.

“An explosion.”

I gasp. “You’ve led a dangerous life.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He steps back and stares at me. “Take off your blouse.”

“Don’t you want to do it?”

“No. I want you to strip. Don’t stop until I say so.”

He’s not making this easy, but then I did ask for it. If a striptease is what he wants, I’m going to do my damndest to give it to him. Screwing up my courage, my hand goes to the top button of my blouse, the second, all the way down. Once they’re all unfastened, I tug slowly until the blouse is free. I take it off and throw it at him.

Catching it, he takes a whiff, and his eyes turn a stormy blue.

I tug down my skirt zipper, shimmy the garment off me. All I have on beneath is a thong. I squat on my haunches, come back up, turn around, bend so my tush is pushed right against him. He’s so damned tall, though, all I’m brushing against are his legs. Nowhere near the Promised Land.

With my back to him, I straighten up and roll down the straps, unclasp the bra. Holding it against my unfettered breasts, I turn back around.

“Lose the damn bra,” he growls through clenched teeth.

I shake my head, and my curls come loose, tumbling down my back.

He steps close, picks me up by my ass, and grinds against me while he devours my mouth. I wrap my legs around him. While holding me to him, he rips off my bra and slings it halfway across the room. Then he walks us to the bed and tosses me on it.

I come up on my elbows and watch him loosen his belt buckle and snap it free. His hand goes to his button fly, and one by one he slips them open while keeping his hot gaze on me. He steps out of his jeans, and I swallow hard. He’s got nothing on underneath.

A little drool escapes the corner of my mouth as I gaze at the most magnificent erection I’ve ever seen. The ruddy color of the head, the size and girth. He’s more than fine. The damn thing curls almost all the way up to his belly button.

“Condom?” I breathe out.

He opens his hand, and there it is, a foil packet he tears open with his teeth. He rolls it over him while keeping his gaze on me. And then he kneels on the bed.

“How do you want it? Hard and fast? Or slow and tender?”

“Hard.” I gulp. “And hard.”

He chuckles. “Whatever the lady wants.”

One-handed, he grabs my ass and pulls me under him. When he works my clit, I almost come from his touch alone.

“Ready?” his deep voice asks.

I nod. I don’t think I have enough spit in my mouth to speak.

With one hand he notches his cock in my entrance. With the other he traps both of mine and raises them above my head. “I like to be in control. You understand?”

I bob my chin up and down again and let him do what he will with me.