Sawyer, Meryl (31 page)

"I'm driving Jason to camp tomorrow." Mitch couldn't
think of what else to say. Royce felt like a tombstone in his arms. Would she
ever relax? Would she ever trust him?

"How long will he be there?" She wished she hadn't
noticed the intriguing whisk of dark hair visible beneath his partially
unbuttoned shirt.

"The whole summer. He'll be back just before the trial."

"You don't think Jason will tell anyone he saw me, do
you?" She'd told Mitch about Jason and he'd spoken with the boy.

"He won't say a word." Mitch silently wondered why Royce
wouldn't relax. He'd done his best all evening to make her feel better.

Had the nice guy routine worked five years ago? Hell, no. And it
wasn't getting him anywhere now either. The sensitive male might work for some
guys, but he obviously hadn't received an instruction manual.

What did work with Royce? Don't let her think too much. She says
no because of what happened to her father, but deep down, she wants you. And he
was tired of pussyfooting around. Tonight was the night.

But first, he was going to set her straight. He changed his stance
so she was forced to look at him. "Welcome to the real world, babe. I'm no
white knight. I'm the meanest son of a bitch in the valley. Five years ago you
found what a bastard I can be. Remember, only the strong survive. You need
me."

Royce sucked in her breath. What had brought on that comment? She
didn't know what was more unnerving, the fierce look in his eyes or his caustic
tone. She was almost afraid of him. "I know I need your help."

Royce understood—she hoped—what he was really saying. Her
perception of the world had been shaped by her father, who was an intellectual
and an idealist. But Mitch represented reality, the cold, ugly world as it
existed, not her idealized view.

From everything she knew about him, Mitch had faced the brutal
world since... since when? How young had he been when he'd left home? Fifteen,
sixteen? Or younger. Was it any wonder he was so cynical? He was well equipped
to deal with adversity.

Her father, though she loved him dearly and missed him even more
as time went on, had been quite the opposite. He'd emotionally collapsed when
her mother had been diagnosed with cancer. Royce had moved home to keep him
from breaking down just when her mother needed him most.

Oh, yes. She got the message. Justice in America was an ideal
distorted by grim reality, but Mitch had the key to the system. She needed him
in a way that she'd never needed anyone before. He was the last person in the
world she wanted to need, but she had no choice.

"While you were prissing around some girls' school, I was on
the street. Hell, I was usually in some dark alley—the school of hard knocks. I
educated myself in the Navy when I finally had food and a place to stay so I
could study."

"What happened to your parents?"

The dance ended and everyone clapped. Mitch didn't let Royce go.
As disconcerting as it was to hold her, it was even more disturbing to be this
close to her lips. The only light on the dance floor was a faint glow from the
lone spotlight trained on the singer, who was again belting out a torch song.
Mitch tightened his hold, eliminating what little space had been between them.

Royce knew she should pull away, but when he looked at her in that
special, intimate way, her willpower evaporated. Besides, she was thoroughly
discouraged by her situation and profoundly disillusioned with the legal
system. What would become of her? She longed to be comforted and allowed
herself to enjoy the reassuring strength of his arms.

"Remember your promise, Royce?" There it was again, that
threatening glint in his eyes. "My past is off limits. If I catch you
snooping, you'll have to find another lawyer."

"I'm not snooping." She prayed he would never find out
what Wally had done. "I know so little about you, but you know everything
about me."

"Not everything." His thumb casually stroked the inside
of her finger. Somehow that subtle movement caused her body to react
shamelessly. "You haven't told me how lousy Brent was in bed."

"What makes you think he was lousy?" She could have
kicked herself for stepping into another of Mitch's verbal minefields.

"You were engaged, but you were dying to get into my
pants."

She was tempted to slap that smirk off his face. "Brent was wonderful
in bed." Not quite true, but she wasn't about to give Mitch satisfaction.
"I admitted I was attracted to you. That explains everything."

"Does it?"

"Of course. What do you want out of my life?"

"You know what I want."

She pretended she'd stolen her Phi Beta Kappa key and was so dumb
that she'd missed his arousal. He couldn't do anything on the dance floor,
could he? She didn't want to think of how she'd put him off later, but she'd
have to.

Mitch swayed to the music, the full curves of Royce's body molded
against his. He let his hand drift across her bare back. He savored her
involuntary shiver. Damn straight. They communicated much better physically
than verbally. Tonight was one night he'd be damned if he'd let the past come
between them.

How was she going to get out of this? Royce asked herself. There
was no mistaking Mitch's desire—or her own reaction. Her chest was so tight,
she could barely breathe. Insistent currents of excitement warmed her inner
thighs. The only sensible thing to do was talk.

"Who's singing next?" Too late she realized she'd
whispered into his deaf ear. He thought she was being provocative, because he
lowered his lips to her neck and flicked his tongue across the sensitive curve.
Goose bumps waltzed up her spine.

Mitch's voice was filled with soft urgency. "There's only one
thing that beats slow dancing."

She knew
exactly
what he meant. His sex, hot and hard,
pressed against her. She couldn't resist putting both arms around his neck and
snuggling against him. Stop, she told herself, but she honestly couldn't. Being
in his arms was so erotic, and yet comforting. Through this whole ordeal she'd
yearned for someone to hold her, to reassure her things would be all right. A
weak, childish reaction to be sure, but she couldn't help herself.

His strong hands were caressing the small of her back. Then a hand
roamed lower, fondling her bottom. They weren't moving now; this was only a
parody of a dance. Not that anyone around them cared. There was so much kissing
going on that this could have been a high school prom. Royce couldn't stifle a
low moan as he held her against his rigid arousal. And then he was kissing her,
his tongue moving with the same slow, evocative rhythm of the music—and his
hips.

"Let's get out of here."

Mitch didn't give her a chance to protest; Royce didn't want to
leave. Being cuddled felt too good. And now she'd have to find the words to
tell him no. How could she, after giving him every reason to think she wanted
to make love to him?

Royce braved a glance at Mitch as he drove the Viper through the
steep streets as if he were on a Le Mans course. Royce, boy oh boy, you've
really done it this time. Shamelessly arousing a man, knowing you weren't going
to make good on the implied promise, was inviting rape. Less honorable men
wouldn't take no for an answer. But Mitch was honorable, she assured herself.
Despite his cynical nature he placed a high value on his reputation. His word.

He parked the Viper in the garage under her apartment and guided
her out the side door, his arm anchored around her. Why doesn't he say
something? She stopped at the stairs leading up to the apartment behind his
home.

"Good night, Mitch. Thanks for dinner." She moved away
from him and put her foot on the first step.

His strong hand clamped over her arm. He swung her around, his
hands now on her upper arms, and walked her backward until the force of his
weight thrust her up against the building. His legs straddled hers, permitting
no chance for escape. His lips were dangerously close to hers.

"Angel, you started something. You're going to finish
it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"Like hell you didn't." He pushed the brunt of his
arousal, hot and blatantly aggressive, against her. "You want it
bad."

A frantic need to remember she hated him swept over her. Where was
the memory of her father? I hate Mitch, she whispered to herself. It wasn't
quite true, but it did give her courage. I hate him, she repeated to convince
herself. "What you're doing is unethical. You could get in trouble with
the bar association."

"Now you've got me scared."

"Let me go, Mitch."

"We're way past the talking stage."

He tried to kiss her, but she was too quick for him. She kept her teeth
locked, her lips squeezed shut. She never knew a man could move so fast. Before
she could stop him, he had her halter top undone and his hands were greedily
exploring her bare breasts. The pad of his thumb grazed a nipple once. Twice.
Oh, Lordy.

Mitch pulled back and wantonly gazed at her exposed breasts,
following every sensitive curve with his eyes. The moon would have to choose
that moment to peek from behind a cloud to reveal her full breasts and raised
nipples.

"Five years. A helluva long time to wait. You better be worth
it, Royce."

That did it. Now she did hate him. Was she the prize in the
One-That-Got-Away Sweepstakes? "I'll hate you for this."

"Uh-huh. I love the way you hate."

"Go to hell."

His hands were on her breasts again, erotic hands molding her
sensitive flesh and toying with her nipples. "Remember, angel, we're
already in hell."

What did you expect, Royce? Mitch is as contemptuous of sex as he
is of life. Still, his attitude infuriated her. She wanted him to... to what?
Be sweet? Be loving? Dream on, Royce. This is hell, remember?

Mitch's mouth covered hers, commanding her lips to open with an
assertive thrust of his tongue. His kiss was hot and rough—and thoroughly
arousing. He used his hand under her derriere to bring her up on her toes. He
pressed his arousal into the notch of her thighs until it fit snugly into the
cleft. She couldn't resist moving against it—just a little— cuddling him,
savoring the heat and the hardness for a moment.

"You don't just want to get screwed, angel. You need
it."

The words hit home. Screwed? "You cocky jerk, don't do me any
favors." Both hands on his chest, she shoved him hard.

He grabbed her wrists in one hand and pinned them over her head.
"I love charity cases."

She swapped hostile stares with him. She had half a mind to
scream. It would serve him right if the neighbors called the police. His eyes
roved leisurely over her exposed breasts as they lifted with each angry breath.
Almost of their own volition her nipples tightened even more, offering
themselves to him.

He dropped her arms and they fell to her sides. He nudged her chin
upward and forced her to look into his eyes. "I'm not crazy about screwing
alfresco, Royce, but I don't know if you can make it up to my bedroom."

She opened her mouth to curse him, but his hand was under her
skirt. Between her thighs. She'd felt the throbbing moisture building all
evening, heightening these last few minutes.

He actually laughed, a low, smoky sound that was unspeakably erotic.
His talented fingers burrowed inside her panties, stroking her where she needed
it most. Exquisite sensations overpowered her, rendering her incapable of
protest. Guilt and common sense were swept away in a rush of desire while his
questing hand took even more liberties.

Unexpectedly, he stopped, his hand intimately cradling her, not
moving but caressing her softness with an erotic touch. She bit the inside of
her lip to keep from begging him to finish what he'd started.

"Last chance, angel," he said with an insolent grin.
"Tell me no and I'll stop." He took her hand and pressed it against
his fly, forcing her fingers to curl around his erection. "Otherwise, I'm
going to let you hate me until I get you out of my system."

Son of a bitch, Mitch cursed under his breath. Royce had him
nervous there for a second. He thought she might actually tell him no. Jee-sus,
he would have had blue balls for a week, but he would have backed off. Instead
he'd gotten to her. She hadn't said a damn thing.

Close enough for government work. In seconds he had her out of
what clothes weren't already half off. She was even sexier than he'd ever
imagined, standing in the silvery moonlight filtering through the branches of
the chestnut tree, her blond hair tumbled across her bare shoulders, her
breasts rising and falling with each breath.