The Proviso (100 page)

“Ford,” she whispered, recognizing Sebastian’s style
as well as the flush of Vanessa’s skin as she posed in the classic
odalisque style on a magenta chaise, her hair a chic mess, her
mouth curled in a self-satisfied smile and her eyes half closed.
“Vanessa—? Sebastian—?”

“That’s right. Neither of them thinks I’m observant
or smart enough to figure out how that all went down—no pun
intended—so you and I will just keep our correctly drawn
conclusions to ourselves, shall we?” Justice opened her mouth to
ask more questions, but Knox kissed her, long and deep. “There’s a
reason I wouldn’t have let Sebastian paint you, Iustitia,” he
murmured against her lips, “and it’s not because I don’t want the
world to know what my stunning wife looks like nude. I could have
gotten on board with that as fast as Bryce did with Giselle, but
you notice Giselle doesn’t look like she’s just spent a week in bed
having the most incredible sex of her life.”

Justice swallowed. “Sebastian told me that if it
weren’t for Eilis, he’d have—” She paused. “I didn’t believe
him.”

Knox laughed. “Sebastian turns into a completely
different man when he sees a woman he wants to paint. He’s a
freight train and there’s just no getting out of that path. Now
he’s obsessed with Eilis and since Sebastian never lets go of his
obsessions, that’s not going to change for a couple hundred years
or so. He wouldn’t paint you now even if asked, in any form, like
Giselle’s or otherwise, whether Eilis goes back to him or not.”

“What was different about Eilis?” Justice asked.

“She went wandering through his mind and his soul.
Now, let’s go up to our suite so I can wander around in you for a
while.”

* * * * *

Justice awoke the next morning, alone in a strange
sleigh bed in a suite whose opulence she had never seen the likes
of. This was definitely
not
her bedroom. It took her a
minute to remember where she was, then she relaxed back into the
glorious mattress, closed her eyes, and smiled.

She heard an elevator ding and soft footsteps across
the carpet toward her. The mattress depressed from underneath her
and she caught a whiff of a musky cologne before she felt lips on
her earlobe and strong arms wrap around her. She smiled.

“Happy birthday, Iustitia,” he breathed in her
ear.

Justice’s eyes popped open. “You knew! You
remembered!”

He smiled at her. “I did.”

“Did Giselle tell you?”

“Please give me a little credit for doing something
nice without having to have my ass kicked by my family. No, she
didn’t. Now, I got you something, but you have to get dressed and
come downstairs before I’ll give it to you.”

She pouted. “Bribery is a felony.”

“Call the FBI. They might
finally
have
something to nail me on.” And with a bounce and a laugh, he was
gone.

When she stepped off the elevator into Whittaker
House’s lobby after showering and dressing, she stopped short, her
senses assaulted with the sight of hundreds of balloons of every
color imaginable clinging to the ceiling and some floating around
on strings with weights. Paper ribbons criss-crossed the grand
foyer and dining room, and what seemed like hundreds of people
stood looking at her expectantly.

She knew it was coming, braced herself for it,
but—

“SURPRISE!”

—she still jumped at the roar. Who
were
all
these people?

“This,” Vanessa murmured as she looped her arm
through Justice’s to pull her along through the crowd into the
dining room, “is about half the population of Mansfield and
Ava.”

“They don’t know me,” she whispered.

“No, but they know Knox and they love him;
therefore,
you
must be pretty special.”

“But what about Fen?”

“Oh. Him. Wright and Davis counties convinced Fen a
few years ago that it might be smart for him not to show his face
south of Sedalia, and that any random snooping around about Knox
would not be appreciated. If he finds out Knox has a wife now, it
won’t be because of anybody down here. We protect our own.”

“Do they know—”

“They don’t
know
anything. What they suspect,
well . . . That I can’t say. But we’re pretty sharp and if it looks
like it could be trouble, it probably is. If we’re wrong, we’ll
apologize
after
we shoot you.”

Justice chuckled, then laughed. Her eyes filled with
tears as she looked overhead at the twenty-foot-high embossed
copper ceiling covered with balloons and streamers, walking through
a throng that thought she was special because they thought Knox was
special—special enough to protect him and to welcome an unknown
wife with open arms.

Then she saw Knox waiting for her at a table with a
cake and a present.

“We didn’t know what kind of cake you’d like, so I
made chocolate. I hope that’s okay.”

Justice couldn’t respond to Vanessa’s whisper before
Knox took her hand to pull her down into his lap. She turned into
him then, wrapping her arms around him, and began to cry the way
she had that night in the grass, but for an entirely different
reason.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, her
nose in the crook of his neck, smelling his skin, his cologne, his
broad, muscular body against hers, his coarse blond hair in her
fingers, his arms wrapped around her.

“Everyone’s off eating cake and ice cream now,” he
whispered after a while. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react to the
crowd—that, I didn’t plan for—but I wasn’t going to send them
away.”

“It’s not that,” she whispered in return, hoarse.
“It’s— I— I’ve never had— Not since my mother died, anyway.”

“I wondered,” he breathed. “I watched you walk out
of the auditorium at graduation alone. You looked so sad and
lonely. You don’t know how badly I wanted to take you home right
then.”

And remembering that, Justice began to cry all over
again.

“Hey! I didn’t mean to upset you. Here,” he said and
gently pried her away from him. “Open your present.”

She half-laughed and half-cried. She tried to wipe
her face with her hands, but Knox took a napkin and wiped her face
for her. “You’re a hot mess,” he muttered, and Justice laughed.

“It’s a book,” she finally said when she picked up
the heavy package covered with haphazardly folded and taped paper.
“You wrapped this yourself.”

“I tried. I don’t do that so well. I probably
should’ve had Vanessa do it.”

“No! No, you shouldn’t have.” She carefully
unwrapped it, taking her time, knowing she would save the paper
because Knox had folded and taped it with his own two hands. Then
she saw the name on the dust jacket and her jaw dropped. “Morgan
Ashworth!” she breathed and turned the book over and over again.
Her brow wrinkled. “I didn’t know he wrote novels.”

“Nobody else does, either. Yet. Open the cover.”

She gasped. On the inside cover, a very upright
masculine scrawl said,
To Justice Hilliard, on your 25th
birthday. Enjoy it before everyone else does. Morg.

“How—?”

“No no no. Not nice to ask questions. Let’s just say
I know people and leave it at that, ’kay?”

“
Knox
,” she breathed. “I did my senior thesis
on his economic theories. He’s a
genius
.”

He snorted.

“Do you
know
him? You must because he wrote
‘Justice Hilliard.’ Can I
meet
him?”

“Not on your life. I’m already jealous.”

She was completely, thoroughly delighted with her
gift. “Oh, Knox,” she said again because she didn’t know what else
to say. “
Thank
you.”

“My pleasure, Iustitia.” He paused. “But you know
this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop yelling at you at work,
especially
if you’re late.”

She burst out laughing. “I’d have to wonder what was
wrong with you if you did.”

* * * * *

93:
GETTING TO KNOW YOU

SEPTEMBER 2007

JMcKinley writes:

I didn’t say I was switching positions on
vigilanteism, darrylm. It’s just that I’m seeing limitations in the
legal system that nobody likes, but can’t seem to change.

darrylm writes:

im just relly dsippointed in u, justice

JMcKinley writes:

I’m sorry, darrylm. I’m still thinking about it,
still trying to find some moral compromise. There’s more of a gap
between law and justice than I thought there was and I guess in a
fight between them, my first inclination is to see justice come out
on top.

hamlet writes:

so justice’s position is on top

*

“What am I supposed to say to that, Knox?” Justice
breathed as she raised and lowered herself over Knox’s hips, taking
her pleasure at her leisure.

“Whatever you want to say, Iustitia,” he breathed in
return, his big hands around her hips urging her to go faster, but
no, she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She liked this too much, the languid
slide in and out with that depth she got when she was in control.
“I’m guessing you like it on top?”

She snickered and looked down at him, his crooked
grin all but making her heart explode. “You better stop flirting
with me online—the rest of the crew is going to get
suspicious.”

“Iustitia, I’ve been flirting with you for the past
two years. You’re the only one who didn’t notice.” Justice’s mouth
dropped open. “It was cute you never got it.”

Justice, jerked out of the beginning of her orgasm,
stopped and stared down at him.
“What?”
Knox closed his eyes
and lifted her away from him, then pulled her back down on his
cock. He arched his back and groaned when he came, and Justice’s
eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at
him until he was done. He opened his eyes slowly, took one look at
her, and started to chuckle. She truly did see the humor in it, but
still . . .

“You just couldn’t wait to tell me that until after
I came, could you?”

His chuckle turned into a rolling laugh and he slid
his hands up her back to pull her to his chest. They lay together
in the middle of the bed and she kissed the line of his jaw while
he stroked her bare skin. Their laptops had been cast aside once
Knox had posted his last comment.

“Well, now I feel a little silly,” she murmured.
“Didn’t notice. Hrmf.”

“Iustitia, your innocence is a very large part of
your popularity. You see things so simply, it makes others think it
doesn’t have to be difficult. My flirting with you—and I’m not the
only one, by the way—and your not catching it is very . . . ” Knox
searched for words, which he very rarely had to do, so Justice
treasured the moment. “It gives hope that there’s still such a
thing as innocence in the world, that not everyone is dipped in the
acid of cynicism. On the other hand,” he said low in his throat as
he kissed her; Justice could never get enough of Knox’s kisses.
“You caught that innuendo fast enough. I might be rubbing off on
you.”

“You’re rubbing up inside me, is where you’re
rubbing. You owe me an orgasm.”

Knox burst out laughing and laughed until he was
wiping his eyes. “Damn, Iustitia, you make me laugh. I love
you.”

“I think I’ve had enough blogging tonight,” she
sighed with great smile of contentment.

“You barely got started before you attacked me.”

“Oh, don’t act like it was a great hardship.”

“Don’t you still have an article to write?”

“Mmmm, not right now,” she muttered. Justice was
falling asleep, which she almost always did after making love no
matter what time of day it was, orgasm or not. She felt Knox’s
chuckle as she shifted around to grab the bed linens to cover
them.

Neither awoke until morning.

Everything was still normal at work. And except for
the occasional snickers or glances askance, like the money,
Justice’s three co-conspirators pretended not to know that the
reason Knox suddenly seemed a lot happier was because of Justice,
pretended that she was just a junior AP and Knox was her
significantly less disgruntled boss.

Then they got home, in bed. Or in the yard, when she
ran like she had the first time and she squealed, giggling, when he
tackled her and they rolled over and over and spent hours making
love in the grass (with the bug bites to prove it), the heat and
humidity of a late summer Missouri night their only blanket—until
Sebastian had emerged from the barn one night.

“JUSTICE! Quit howling, dammit! I can’t hear myself
think. Why can’t you two fuck in the house like normal people?”

* * * * *

Justice wrote articles for print, and Knox would
mark them up and leave them on her desk at work. He expected her to
be better than she was, better than her editors thought she was. He
refused to read her work before she turned it in, but once it was
in print, he took great liberty in assessing her.

Knox took her to a remote shooting range where they
wouldn’t be seen together and taught her the finer points that
Giselle hadn’t had time to.

“I really should have Giselle do this,” he said one
day. “She’s better at it than I am.”

“You seemed pretty good the day you shot Jones
right between the eyes
.”

“I had to. Either Hicks or I would’ve died that day,
so I couldn’t afford to miss. Giselle
enjoys
it. She’s a
martial artist so she understands body movement better and she’s
got a knack for it. I think it’s always better for a person to
learn something from someone who enjoys it.”

“Who taught her?”

“Sebastian. He taught us both.”

“I can’t imagine Sebastian with a gun in his
hand.”

“It’s not his weapon of choice, no.”

“And that is?”

“A baseball bat. And as far as I know, he hasn’t
used one since he was nineteen.”