Stolen Moments (17 page)

The trial had lasted six months. Forty-seven witnesses were called by the prosecution. There were seven
hundred
prosecution exhibits, including photographs taken at her client’s three-million-dollar New Year’s party the previous year, which just
happened
to have been written off against the corporate expense account.

Crossing the room to check the caller ID display, Trey smiled to herself, remembering the thrill of triumph when she made
that
particular little peccadillo disappear into the miasma of accounting errors and budget shuffling endemic to all huge conglomerates—none of which,
of course,
had been her client’s fault. After she’d finished laying it out for the jury, they’d been as confused as her poor client by the labyrinthine details, and if
they
couldn’t understand, how was he supposed to have been able to?

Parker, McKay, and Mitchell

800-757-3224

“Shit.” She scooped up the receiver. “Pelosi.”

“Congratulations. I hear you brought them to their knees.”

“Thanks, Reg.” Trey laughed, recognizing the familiar baritone of Reginald Parker, the firm’s senior partner and her mentor. “Not a clean kill, but almost.”

“These things never are, but with Not Guiltys on most of the charges, the prosecution won’t get the ten to fifteen they
thought
they had all sewn up.”

“No,” Trey agreed with a note of triumph, “and I bet I can get him a year in a federal penitentiary close to home. One year, and he’ll be out with his Cayman bank account intact, sipping piña coladas in Cancun.”

“So everybody wins.”

“Yes, but we win more.” She was satisfied with the outcome, having no delusions that her clients were always good guys. That was just the nature of corporate law. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and no one was truly innocent. Her clients needed representation, they had the money to pay her fees, and even though she’d made partner, at the end of the day she still had to earn her keep.

“True,” Parker concurred. “Plus I’m delighted to know that the blood, sweat, and marriages of your support staff haven’t been sacrificed in vain while helping you to prepare the case.”

“We’ll make it up to them come bonus time.”

“Excellent suggestion.”

He paused, and the silence on the line had Trey narrowing her eyes. “Reg—I’m not two hours out of court and—”

“I know, I know,” he said hastily, “but that telecommunications discrimination suit is starting to heat up, and I don’t think Jones can handle it. Now that you’re free—”

“I’m not exactly free,” she growled, thinking of all the open cases she was juggling. But even as she protested, she knew it was an empty gesture. Because this was what she did—she was the designated
hitter, the one the firm called in to take on the tough cases, the swinging dick the
other
swinging dicks called for a rescue. She thrived on the adrenaline rush of trial and the ensuing victory, playing the game with the best and winning. While a trial was in progress, she lived it and breathed it, often sleeping at the office to micromanage the preparations. She was always
in control
—had to be, lest her opponents smell weakness. One misstep and it could be
her
blood in the water, not theirs.

“You can reassign some of your—”

“The hell I will,” she cut him off. “Listen, I’ll be in at six tomorrow and look over the file.”

“Perfect,” Parker replied smoothly. “Let me know what you decide.”

They both knew she’d take the case, because that was what she did.

*

Trey fingered the business card she’d received two weeks earlier tucked into a cream-colored note card from a woman with whom she’d once had a brief but intense affair. The flowing script was concise and to the point.

Trey, darling, you’ll find what you’re looking for here. Trust me—you won’t be disappointed.

Love, J.

“Will I? And how would you know?” Trey murmured, as she dropped the card onto the table next to her briefcase and walked out the door.

Less than ten minutes later, she studied a simple brass plaque next to the stairwell leading down to the garden level of an elegant brownstone in Society Hill.
Aurora.
From the sidewalk, she could just make out a heavy, ornately carved wooden door with a small peephole.

After receiving the note from J., she’d made some discreet inquiries. Word of mouth had it that this club was members only—exclusive, elite, and catering to those with
eclectic
tastes. Fortunately, J. had also provided her a reference. They’d ended on good terms even though Trey had been forced to tell her that monogamy was not in her nature, nor was a serious relationship. She just didn’t have time. Tonight, though, she had all the time in the world.

She pressed the buzzer set into the carved wooden frame and put on her best cool-as-ice courtroom face. As she waited, unblinking, staring at the small hole in the door, she wondered what the eye on the other side gleaned from her appearance. Her butter-soft, midthigh, black leather skirt and three-inch heels wouldn’t be apparent through the aperture, although her nearly sheer black satin blouse might be. Shoulder-length dark hair, subtly cut to hold its casual style no matter the wind or weather. Light make-up, clear, pale complexion, hazel eyes gleaming even in the dim light. Piercing eyes—hard, unreadable eyes most of the time. Once in a while emotion surfaced—when the woman in her arms touched her heart as well as her body, fleetingly, unexpectedly. Rarely. When the stress of a particularly grueling case wore her down; when she was weary. But not tonight—tonight she was high on success; tonight she was in control. All she wanted was a diversion before the battle was joined again—a few moments when all that mattered was the pleasure.

The door opened, she made the necessary responses, and the immaculately tailored guardian of the gate allowed her entrance. She walked down the long, shadowed corridor toward the even darker room at the rear, feeling the rhythm of the music through the floor, aware of the answering beat of her heart. Her blood surged, stirring with the excitement of the unknown. What, or who, awaited her in the arena where titles and names and histories had no meaning? Where only the moment was real, and the reality you chose to create was all that existed. You were anyone you chose to be for as long as the spell lasted. All that was required was the right partner to join in the game.

After securing a drink and a place along the highly polished bar, Trey surveyed the room. Muted recessed lights, a requisite space for dancing, and some intriguing alcoves along the perimeter suggested this was not the type of club designed for simple socializing.
Good choice, J. You
do
know me well. I’ll have to thank you properly one of these days.

A fleeting thought of just
how
she would do that fled as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she found something of more immediate interest. Blond, built, and at the moment encased in black leather pants and a black silk shirt open far enough to expose one small, firm breast nearly to the nipple. Trey’s senses rippled at the thought of how good that body would feel under her.

Sipping her drink, she took her time, letting the anticipation build. She watched the blonde watch the crowd, a lioness hunting. The first time their eyes met, there was only a momentary hesitation, a slight flicker of appreciation, before the insouciant gaze glided away. But the second time the blonde’s attention focused on Trey, it lingered, sweeping over her from head to toe, caressing her with almost tangible intensity. She felt herself swell, grow damp, throb. Oh yes—that sweet mindless panacea for loneliness and rage. So welcome—sensation replacing thought, desire replacing longing, lust replacing...

Trey set her glass down carefully and slipped into the crowd. She’d had enough. She was ready.

A moment later, Trey moved out of shadow to stand quite close to the austere blonde with, she could now see, the brilliant blue eyes. When their gazes met, the flare of desire was reciprocal. Trey smiled, then looked down to appreciate the expanse of skin laid bare by the partially open shirt, the trim fit of hips, the... Trey caught her breath, sucking her lower lip between her teeth to stifle the gasp as she focused on the leather-clad crotch. Casually, she lifted her eyes to search the handsome face and caught the faint grin before it was quickly extinguished.
God, she’s an insolent thing, and so fucking hot. And she knows it. We’ll have to take care of that right now.

Not to be outdone, Trey angled her body to mask her movements and cupped the bulge so obvious now under the fly of the tight black pants. She squeezed the cock lightly in her palm, then rocked it once, twice; on the third time, the other woman gasped.

“I hope this isn’t just for show,” Trey whispered, stepping closer still. Her breasts pressed against the woman’s arm, and her skirt rode up high on her thighs as she loosely straddled one long, tight leg.

“Oh,” the woman murmured, covering the hand in her crotch with her own and pumping into it, “it works just fine.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Trey studied the sharp planes of the
woman’s face, caught the glint of arousal and something else—amusement?—in her eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Les.”

“Mmm, that’s nice. Neat and to the point.” Trey continued to thrust her hips gently as she slowly manipulated the cock beneath the hot leather. She knew damn well every movement was rubbing its base over Les’s clit, and she hoped to hell it was making Les as hot as she was getting from rocking on her leg.

“Careful,” Les warned softly, her breath a hot breeze in Trey’s ear, “you’ll make me come in my pants.”

“Mmm, no you don’t,” Trey murmured, easing off on her hand motion, but not letting go. “Too easy. I want to make this last.”

“What’s
this,
exactly?” Les moved her mouth over Trey’s neck in a series of slow kisses. Toying with Trey’s earlobe with her teeth, she slid her fingers beneath the edge of Trey’s skirt and smoothed her palm up the inside of her thigh. Her breath caught at the first touch of bare, silky skin but before she could reach the hot vee between Trey’s thighs, Trey grabbed her wrist to stop her explorations. “Off limits?”

“Not necessarily,” Trey replied, moving her hand from between Les’s legs and replacing it with her thigh. “Just my rules. Can you handle that?”

Les slipped her arms around Trey’s waist and brushed her lips against Trey’s cheek, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. ???What if I say no?” She moaned in surprise as Trey pushed hard against her crotch, driving the cock firmly down onto her clit. “Oh fuck...that’s good.”

“Is that a yes?” Trey ran her tongue over Les’s upper lip, then eased inside her mouth to stroke and explore. She caught Les’s tongue and sucked on it rhythmically, mirroring the motion with her thrusting hips until Les moaned again. “I’m sorry. Did I hear a yes?”

“Christ,” Les panted.
“Yes.”

“I’m just a few blocks away,” Trey said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. The firm pressure of the phallus in Les’s pants rubbing against her clitoris through the thin layers of leather was almost too good to bear. She was hot and hard and wet. She wanted those fingers to move up her thigh to the heat between her legs, to stroke through the swollen folds, to slide into the wet, aching... She caught back a moan of her own. “Can you walk that far without this cock making you come?”

Les smiled, that half-smile of impudence and challenge. “I’ll manage if you stop jerking it off.”

Trey frowned. “Well—for a minute or two.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time.” Les took her hand. “I’m not made of stone.”

“Oh baby, I know,” Trey whispered as she led her into the night.

*

Silently, Trey drew Les across the darkened living room to her bedroom. A night-light glowed faintly in the adjoining bath, casting shadows in long fingers across the walls and illuminating the bed.

“Take your shirt off and lie down,” Trey said quietly, reaching beneath the coverlet to the drawer built into the platform bed. The soft clink of metal sounded in the air.

Les hesitated for one second.
Her rules, remember.
Then, a decision made, she released the few remaining buttons on her shirt and stripped it off. The muscles in her chest and arms were tight with anticipation.

“On your back,” Trey added, not looking at her.

Wordlessly, Les complied, not resisting as the soft leather cuffs closed around her ankles and wrists. Even when her arms and legs were spread almost to the point of discomfort, she did not speak. To speak would break the spell and shatter the acknowledgment of her willingness to be taken. Incongruously, her cock thrust up against the restraint of her leather pants, an impotent sign of her power reduced to servitude. Her clit pounded beneath it, stimulated both by its presence and her inability to use it.

Trey stood beside the bed, slowly disrobing. “Are you hard for me yet?”

“You know the answer,” Les rasped.

“Mmm. I like to hear you tell me.” She watched in fascination as Les twisted subtly against the restraints—not from pain, but from insistent desire. Les was breathing faster now—a thin mist of sweat glistened on her breasts and belly, and her hips thrust upward, the bulge of constrained phallus clearly evident. Trey climbed onto the bed, naked, the first trickle of arousal sheening her thighs. “Are you?”