“I see.”
He colored. Lowering his voice to a wet hiss, he said, “I have every reason to believe my future wife was a virgin when we met. How many do you suppose there are these days? Wouldn’t you want to protect that asset?”
Jules made sure her face betrayed nothing. He sounded very sure about the virginity, too sure for a man who claimed he had not been “fully intimate” with the woman in question. How she was supposed to stop Brigham from convicting himself was a sobering prospect. They could keep him off the stand, but in a case like this, with a Pollyanna plaintiff like Rhianna Lamb, the defense strategist thought it would be a mistake and Jules agreed. Somehow she had to find a way to cast this client sympathetically. It would be essential to undermine the object of his one-sided fantasies. A virgin rape victim was every defense attorney’s worst nightmare, and this client couldn’t wait to proclaim Lamb’s virtue.
“How often did you and Ms. Lamb actually date?” Jules asked.
Brigham resumed picking his teeth as he considered the question. Jules must have showed her faint distaste because he said, “Excuse me. Mommy is always telling me to confine my oral hygiene to a bathroom.” He lowered the pick and rolled it between his fingers. “This was a gift from my late father, a small heirloom handed down in my family. I believe it belonged to Thomas Jefferson originally.”
Jules nodded, disinterested. “Your dates with Ms. Lamb?”
“Well, I was seeing her almost every day until she…left town.” Rage made his eyes gleam pale silver-gray, the pupils near pinpoints. “I blame the police for that, filling her head with ridiculous distortions of the truth. They have their own agenda.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
“It’s everywhere. Political correctness.” He got busy with the toothpick again. “The feminists run things now, and they’re out of touch with the way normal men think.”
Jules studied the files on the tabletop as she counted to ten. “Tell me something, Mr. Brigham. Are you comfortable having a woman represent you at your trial?”
His eyes narrowed as if he suspected a trick question. “Why not? You come highly recommended.”
“I’m also a feminist.”
A bark of laughter expelled the toothpick from its parking spot between a couple of teeth on the lower jaw. Brigham pounced on the tiny silver spear before it could roll across the table. Snatching it up, he tenderly inspected it.
“I’m not threatened by women like yourself,” he declared in a condescending tone. “In fact, I have the utmost respect for those of you with accomplishments that set you apart. The thing is, my mother considers herself to be a feminist, but you don’t hear her blaming men for everything wrong in this world.” As proof of his enlightenment, he said, “When I marry Rhianna I will give her the choice to be a stay-at-home wife or have a suitable job.”
“You still wish to marry Ms. Lamb?”
“I’m willing to overlook her mistakes, and I take full responsibility for my own failings.” He gave a pained sigh. “She wasn’t ready, and instead of being patient and understanding, I became overwhelmed. But Mommy has spoken to me about this matter and it will not happen again. I guarantee it.”
“Are you saying Ms. Lamb’s allegations are true?”
“No! Absolutely not. I’m saying my behavior was not without blemish, but the police blew it up out of all proportion and persuaded her to press charges.”
“You did not rape her?”
He flushed dark red.
“You will be asked that question when you take the stand,” Jules said without emotion.
“I know.” He mumbled something beneath his breath. “I realize the prosecution will try to trick me into incriminating myself. It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Jules reminded herself that she was being paid a pile of money to keep this client out of prison, whether he made it easy for her or not. And just in case she needed a bigger incentive than usual, Audrey Brigham’s performance bonus was two million dollars. The sum would be split between members of her son’s defense team for a not-guilty verdict, with half earmarked for Jules.
Focusing once more on the information she needed to gather, she said, “Getting back to your dates with Ms. Lamb. Is there one that was especially memorable for you?”
He pondered for a moment, as though weighing many such occasions. “We had lunch together when she got her promotion to senior buyer.”
“Can you tell me about that?”
“It was destiny. We ran into each other at a café. There were no tables and she asked if she could share mine. The connection was instant. I carried her parcels to her car. From that day forward, I knew we were meant to be together.”
“How did you know that?”
“I took one look at her face and I realized she was the woman I had been waiting for, the angel of my hopes. It was love at first sight.”
Holy crap.
Ladies and gentlemen, this case should never have come to trial. It should have been resolved in private like any other personal misunderstanding between adults. If Ms. Lamb were a different type of woman, more experienced in the ways of the world, more knowledgeable about men, she would have handled this situation very differently. I have no doubt of that. But Ms. Lamb did not know how to be assertive. She is a kindhearted person. She did not want to hurt Mr. Brigham’s feelings by saying no, clearly and unambiguously. Because of her decency and sweet nature, she sent my client mixed signals that would give any man the wrong impression. And here we are.
Chapter
Five
Jules was not a daydreamer. But that didn’t prevent her from lapsing into vivid sexual fantasy when she was supposed to be all over Werner Brigham’s defense prep. In the ten days since her brief sojourn in Palm Springs, these slips in concentration had made her crazy, and they were only getting worse. She was waking up in the middle of the night, lying sleepless with need until she got herself off. In meetings with the chief defense strategist, a woman who bore a fleeting resemblance to Kate, all she could think about was sex. Three days ago, she had stalled her Mercedes at a set of lights, causing a rear-ender. She didn’t even bother to dispute responsibility. In a sea of rush-hour traffic, she had been miles away, deep in fantasy, thrusting her tongue inside a woman she knew nothing about. A woman who didn’t want to see her again.
Her imagination had embroidered a vivid tapestry of sweaty, relentless sex that made her so moist, so constantly, she had to increase the changes of underwear in the overnight bag she kept at work. This week, certain that someone would detect the musky evidence of her arousal, she’d swapped her panties for fresh ones each lunch hour. Disastrous scenarios rotated in her mind: Herself exuding pheromones that caused chaos in meetings. A married partner hitting on her in an elevator. The hunky butch who made the FedEx deliveries losing control and locking her office door so they could fuck on her desk.
Despite the frigid air-conditioning, Jules’s skin felt hot and damp most of the time, as if she’d just stepped out of a humidifier. This afternoon had deteriorated into another fight for control over her libido, and she had escaped from a meeting after her nipples got so tight she knew everyone was looking at them. Normally, she would have had her jacket on, but she kept breaking into a sweat, so she’d taken it off. What a nightmare. Even Carl Hagel, a man so in love with himself he sought his own reflection in wineglasses, had been talking to her breasts.
Jules was astonished that a casual fling could have reduced her to this state. It wasn’t as if the sex had been spectacular. It was good, no question about that. But Jules never expected much of one-night stands. No one could possibly figure out another person, sexually, in the course of a few hours. In her experience, the buildup was usually more exciting than the event.
Admittedly, Kate had been unusual compared with the norm. Jules had been surprised that she was into light bondage, but she had a sense something else was going on. Kate didn’t seem remotely familiar with BDSM conventions, and Jules had concluded that she was just experimenting. She’d probably chosen to play out a long-standing fantasy with a stranger because she felt ashamed or self-conscious. Some people didn’t want a regular partner to know they had a yen for kink.
Normally, Jules wasn’t at home playing bottom in a D/s scenario, but she’d been intrigued by the request and had decided to indulge Kate. She seemed such an unlikely dominant, Jules had wondered if a completely different person would emerge during the ritual of power exchange. In the end, she had no idea whether Kate had found what she was looking for by acting out her fantasy. Jules could imagine her playing the scene over and over in her head without knowing why she was compelled by it, and expecting some kind of revelation when she finally explored her desires in real time. Judging by the next morning, she must have been disappointed.
Her own reaction was quite the opposite, a fact that surprised Jules. She supposed it made sense that she could enjoy surrendering responsibility for a change, but she would never have gone there with a sexual partner who had something to prove. Kate was another story. She didn’t seem driven by a need for ego gratification. In fact, Jules suspected something about the bondage scenario had made her feel safe. The moment the restraints were tightened, her unease vanished and she lowered her guard. Her dominance was not harsh or calculated, only a confident assertion of her needs. She was open and tender, and in their most naked moments, Jules felt an affinity with her she’d seldom experienced with any lover.
Maybe that was why the encounter preyed on her mind so relentlessly. She wanted to have sex with Kate again, to find out if she’d simply imagined that fleeting connection. Yet that desire alone could not explain the depth of her erotic fixation. Staring at the spectacular city and mountain view from her office window, she tried to talk sense to herself. She’d had one-night stands before. The experiences were quickly folded away and forgotten, and there were plenty more where they came from. She certainly didn’t dwell on any of the women involved, or ponder ways to engineer a repeat encounter. Why was the interlude with Kate any different? Sure, being tied up was a novelty, but it was no big deal compared with some of the play Jules got into.
Maybe she should hit a bar and find a woman to have sex with. Obviously the encounter with Kate had triggered a hunger she’d been smothering for too long. Jules often neglected her personal needs, prioritizing work ahead of all else. Gym workouts did not substitute for physical contact with another woman. That was why she’d decided to go to Palm Springs almost as soon as she’d returned from England.
While she was overseas she was living in a college town, but very few of the lesbians she met were available. Everyone seemed to be in relationships. Jules wanted to avoid complication, and she was busy in her spare time anyway, studying and traveling. Somehow she just didn’t get around to having sex with a succession of women, as she’d anticipated.
A disconcerting thought crossed her mind. What if her preoccupation with Kate wasn’t about sex, or even strong attraction? Another plausible explanation presented itself. Ego. A woman had said no to her and all hell was breaking loose. It would have been funny if her work wasn’t affected.
Jules laughed. Was she so competitive by nature that she had to have a rematch? She wasn’t used to rejection, and she didn’t like it one bit. How often did she offer a woman something more, after they’d slept together? Never. Jules seldom had girlfriends and her recent attempts at “long-term” relationships hadn’t made it past their first anniversary. She liked to believe that she didn’t have the time or energy to keep a partner happy, but she knew there was more to it than that. If she was completely honest, her failures came down to making poor choices.
It was one thing to avoid settling down in her twenties, but Jules was thirty-three and she wanted to be a success in every aspect of her life. Having the perfect relationship was an essential ingredient. With that goal in mind, she had stumbled into several live-in relationships with women who seemed to have the makings of good corporate wives. She hadn’t been in love with any of them, but that detail hadn’t bothered her. She didn’t suffer from illusions about love and romance. If magic happened that would be a bonus, but she didn’t expect any lightning bolts, and so far none had materialized.
Jules was convinced that if two people shared similar goals and ideals they could build something worthwhile together. Her parents were a perfect example.