Nothing But the Truth (21 page)

She snuck a glance at the passenger seat. Brett hadn’t said a word during the drive. Ryan had quickly become accustomed to her banter, despite the most recent uncomfortable subject, and she missed the smooth and easy tones of Brett’s friendly voice. She didn’t know what to say to spark the conversation back to life.
Thanks for the compliment. You’re beautiful too. In fact, just the other day, I was running my hands all over this woman dressed in white leather wishing she were you. I fucked her senseless, and when she returned the favor, I pretended it was you, making love to me, as if I was the most important person on earth and touching me was salvation.

Ryan shook her head as if she could splinter her thoughts with the action. She couldn’t afford to let Brett detect what she was thinking. Her secrets were her only salvation, not Brett’s touch, physical or emotional. She sensed the silence between them only fueled the intensity of their encounter at the restaurant, but she couldn’t find words mundane enough to break the spell, so she didn’t speak at all.

Brett’s silence was another issue altogether. Ryan felt as if Brett could see through her, and what she saw was a poser. High-powered prosecutor reduced to silence by a single compliment from a beautiful woman. Wannabe politician unable to engage in small talk at the first sign of a controversial issue. Super Chief, supervisor of dozens, unable to manage her own emotions long enough to make it through dinner. Ryan desperately wanted Brett to be the one to break the silence, but she knew she wouldn’t. Ryan didn’t merit closer attention from the captivating woman beside her.

The drive was even shorter than she remembered. As she pulled into the parking lot, Brett’s hand was on the door handle, her good-bye quick. “Thanks for dinner. Just let me out here.”

Ryan ignored her and parked the car in one of the slots closest to the building that housed Brett’s unit. Brett was already out of the car before she could make her way around to the passenger side. Brett seemed intent on making it to her apartment door in record time, and Ryan took long strides to catch up to her. Pulling up alongside, she lightly touched Brett’s elbow with her hand. A protective, intimate gesture. The touch was met with a forceful shake of Brett’s arm, clearly demonstrating Brett didn’t welcome the closeness. Ryan waited to the side while Brett fished in her handbag for her elusive keys, ignoring Brett’s annoyed glances in her direction.
She wants you to leave. She doesn’t want you to stand here staring at her. She is clearly frustrated with you.

Ryan didn’t care. She wasn’t ready to leave. She wanted to say something to Brett, but she didn’t want to speak her truths out here on the doorstep, surrounded by the possibilities of observation. She waited out Brett’s frustration and breathed a quiet sigh when Brett found her keys and inserted them in the lock. Brett pushed open the door and walked inside. When she turned and started to push the door back, Ryan was waiting there, standing in the threshold. Ryan moved closer and pushed the door shut behind her. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words pulled up short before they left her lips, like hesitant jumpers on the edge of a cliff. She could see the gorge below, the significance of the distance downward, the most certain devastation at the end of a floating free fall. She considered her options and took the only viable course. She pulled Brett into her arms and kissed her hard on the lips.

*

The ride from the restaurant to Brett’s apartment was interminably long, and all Brett wanted was for it to be over.
I should’ve known she’d be a homophobe. Damn Republican candidate for head of all things law and order in Dallas County.
Brett didn’t mind that she’d outed herself to Ryan, but she wanted to smack herself for caring what Ryan thought. And for thinking, even for a split second, that Ryan might be able to take an intimate compliment or at least not ignore it completely. The woman had the social skills of a two-year-old. And the body of a model.
Whatever.

Ryan obviously thought Brett couldn’t make it to her own front door without assistance. Brett dug deep in her purse for her keys, studiously ignoring Ryan’s presence at her elbow. As she crossed the threshold and Ryan followed her in, Brett’s annoyance grew. She whirled around, ready to order Ryan out, but the look on Ryan’s face stopped her in her tracks.

The stoic mask was gone, replaced by imploring eyes and an almost wistful expression. Ryan looked as if she were about to say something, and Brett’s curiosity beat back her irritability. She waited through the silence, but the words never came. Ryan tugged her close and kissed her fiercely.

Brett stiffened, her instincts signaling the situation was off, wrong, crazy even, but as Ryan’s lips let go their insistent pull, the breath of air that passed between them was painful in its separation. She crushed into Ryan’s chest and demonstrated her own version of ferocity. She wouldn’t have guessed Ryan’s lips would be so smooth, so hungry, so strong, but they were perfectly matched with hers. Brett melted into the most intense, most delectable, most irresistible kiss she had ever experienced.

She wanted more. Ryan’s hands were in her hair, sending shocking shivers throughout her body, and Brett reached up and guided Ryan’s hand down her neck, down her sweater, lingering at her breast. Ryan took her lead, squeezing and pinching at her obvious arousal. Brett silently praised herself for choosing a skimpy lace bra that was only barely present.

She wanted even more. She reached for Ryan’s other hand, but Ryan had her own ideas in mind. Ryan gently slid the palm of her free hand down Brett’s side, letting teasing fingers play in the waistband of Brett’s jeans. Her fingers reached down and skimmed the band of Brett’s panties, before drawing back to trace long, slow trails along Brett’s abdomen, over and over until Brett was sure she would go insane.

Ryan deftly unbuttoned Brett’s fly and trailed her fingers deep down to lightly play against Brett’s panties, skimming the fast-hardening folds of skin beneath. Without missing a beat, she pushed up Brett’s sweater and shoved her bra to the side. Her mouth took the place of her hand at Brett’s swollen, aching breast, and she used her now free hand to hold Brett secure as she began bolder moves below Brett’s waist.

Ryan’s touch was intense and sure, and Brett’s body coursed toward climax. She arched her pelvis slightly out of reach to slow the pace. She had no doubt she wanted Ryan, but even as long as it had been since she’d experienced this incredible pleasure, she wanted to savor it, together, with Ryan. She tilted Ryan’s chin up and gazed into her eyes. What she saw was abandon, fierce and wild. She wanted to bottle it, but she was scared if she disturbed the emotion it would disappear. She kissed Ryan’s lips, their tongues meeting again in an explosion of desire. Brett wanted them both naked, free to explore, free to share mutual pleasure. She wanted more than a quickie in the foyer. Brett murmured against Ryan’s lips, “I want you. In my bed. Come with me. Please?”

Ryan could barely make out the words through her haze of desire. Brett wanted her. Excellent news since her mouth, fingers, and the rest of her body craved contact with Brett beyond the bounds of any hunger she’d ever experienced. She wanted Ryan to come with her. Again, excellent. Based on the pulsing rhythm of their touch, they would come together in an explosion. The specifics of Brett’s invitation finally broke the surface of Ryan’s scattered thoughts.
In her bed?

Ryan’s thoughts raced ahead. She would be naked, in Brett’s bed, for hours perhaps. She had shared a bed with other women, but she knew doing so with Brett would be different than with an anonymous stranger at a prearranged party. Brett might want to talk about something meaningful. The women Ryan paid for talked to her only if she wished, and their conversations had no significance other than to put forth the pretense their interchange was more than a business transaction. Would daylight catch her still here, redressing in her suit from the day before? Treading the walk of shame back to her car, up the sidewalk in her quiet suburban neighborhood? Striding through the courthouse halls, wondering who was gossiping about her tryst with a prominent defense attorney?

Ryan knew the only answer was no, even though it meant denying herself the fulfillment she had glimpsed before but was doomed to never experience again. Anonymous sex was far safer than gliding around the edges of something deeper, something real. Decision made, she gently drew her hands away from their intimate contact with Brett’s taut and willing body. She glanced away from Brett’s pleading eyes, unwilling and unable to endure the unbridled desire that would pull her back toward their mutual passion.

Brett didn’t resist when Ryan pulled away. Ryan may be a skilled poker player in the courtroom, but this evening she had telegraphed all her emotions with signals sure and true. Brett knew Ryan’s desire to join her in bed was as strong as the force that cautioned against the idea. She also knew which force would win. She released Ryan, with her eyes and with her hands. She could make Ryan’s decision easy or hard, and she knew if she made it hard, it would be even harder on herself.

Brett’s bed had been lonely for a long time. By her own choice. She was tired of getting involved with women who expected her to change who she was for them.
Work less, socialize more. Don’t become so immersed in the lives of the less fortunate. Don’t isolate your work from me.
The pleas ostensibly requested self-improvement, but Brett had always resisted, sensing compliance would make the other woman happy at the expense of losing a piece of herself. She’d dabbled in such sacrifices and found she always lost her sense of self in the process.

Ryan clearly would have been okay with a quick sex session, still clothed, in Brett’s foyer. Brett wasn’t. Naked, in the bed, all night or nothing. One last look at Ryan’s frightened expression gave her the answer.
Or nothing
.

 “You’ve looked better.” Tony handed Brett the triple shot cappuccino she had demanded the moment she walked through the door.

She hadn’t slept at all the night before. Thinking about her heavy schedule the next morning hadn’t mixed well with memories of Ryan’s searing kisses and hasty rejection. She finally dressed and drove to the office, surprising Tony at her uncustomary very early arrival. She wasn’t in the mood to talk, just drink. Since she had to be in court in an hour, she would have to satisfy herself with caffeine for a drug.

Tony wasn’t getting the hint. “Here’s your mail. I put the most important piece on top.”

“Is it a big fat check?”

“Hardly. It’s a big fat orange invitation.” Tony grinned and held the burnt orange envelope just out of Brett’s reach.

“Kind of late, isn’t it?” Brett didn’t need to open the fancy envelope to know the contents, but she reached for it anyway. Every year her father organized a weekend full of events to celebrate the Texas versus OU football game, aka Red River Shootout, where his University of Texas Longhorns took on the Oklahoma Sooners at the Cotton Bowl. The game was this weekend. As if the game itself weren’t a big enough affair, the Cotton Bowl was situated smack in the middle of the state fairgrounds and the largest state fair in the country was already in full swing. Brett’s father traditionally hired a limousine to cart their entire family to the game. Attendance was mandatory.

“I’ve been hiding it.”

Tony’s expression held no remorse. He knew she had mixed feelings about this event. She could rave about her alma mater with the best of them, but a whole day with her siblings and family units was a bit much. As much as she loved them all, the time together would be a constant reminder she wasn’t living up to the Logan family standards: marriage and kids. For the first time she could ever remember, she actually cared she wasn’t living up to those standards. At least the marriage part.

Her last girlfriend, Stephanie, had moved out of their apartment while Brett was immersed in trial. Stephanie left a small note on the coffee table to commemorate their time together.
Hope you win in trial because you’re not winning anywhere else.
In the following weeks, Brett relished her newfound independence. She didn’t do anything different, but she didn’t have anyone hounding her about what she was doing. The silence was indeed golden, for a while anyway. She wasn’t sure when the balance tipped, but at some point the freedom no longer outweighed the comfort of being loved. Watching her family interact made her crave the substance of commitment, though obviously not enough to do anything about it since her habits hadn’t changed since Stephanie exited her life.

Brett would go to the game. Surrounded by her mom, dad, and brothers, she would play the role she had become accustomed to as the not quite perfect kid in the perfect family.

*

“You look like shit.”

Ryan wondered when Jeff had decided they were enough of a team that he no longer had to defer to her authority. Telling your boss she looked like shit was most certainly insubordination, but she knew he was right. She hadn’t slept, instead she spent the night questioning each decision she had made. She shouldn’t have had dinner with Brett. She shouldn’t have kissed her. She shouldn’t have held her, placed her hands down her pants, suckled her breast into her hot and ready mouth. The list of things she shouldn’t have done poked and prodded at her throughout the night. She shouldn’t blame Jeff for pointing out the effect of her punishing regrets. Besides, after the events of yesterday, he probably assumed they had experienced the ultimate prosecutorial bonding experience: a major break in the case.

Ross Edwards’s fate was sealed. Any spark of reasonable doubt that might have existed had been snuffed out with Kenneth’s revelations and the telltale evidence found at Edwards’s residence the night before. Ryan briefly wondered how a person could be so cunning, yet so stupid at the same time. Edwards’s plan to have Kenneth confess was half-baked. He hadn’t given Kenneth all the information he needed to seal his own fate—if he’d told Kenneth the fatal injury had come from a gunshot wound rather than a fireplace tool, they might have bought the kid’s story.