Shattered Trust (Shattered #2) (6 page)

After we introduce Stone to the staff, Hartley shows him the security system. Last night, Madison confessed she’d been the one to turn it off shortly before her grandfather was murdered. She’d been expecting Philippe and didn’t want him tripping it. It’s a sad state of affairs that no staff member noticed the alarm had been disabled that night.

As Stone becomes acquainted with the system, Madrigal glances over her shoulder at him. “He seems quite . . . competent, don’t you think?”

“
Seems
competent? That man is staring at competent in the rearview mirror. He’s an ex–Navy SEAL, for God’s sake.” Charlie had e-mailed me Stone’s résumé as well as a write-up of his company.

“Will you need me for anything else, Mr. Stone?” she asks.

“Not tonight. I’ll just familiarize myself with the equipment. But we’ll need that room as soon as possible.”

“I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning. Or do you need it tonight?”

“No. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

“Good night, then.”

“Night.” And with that he turns his attention back to the alarm equipment. It’s hard to get a bead on him. His expression gives nothing away.

When she takes the curving staircase up to her room, I follow her. I’m about to say good-night and head back to my own space downstairs when she tugs on my tie and lowers my head so she can nibble my lower lip.

“You’re not jealous of Hunter Stone, are you?” There’s a spark in her eyes, the witch.

How did she pick up on that? “Of course not.”

“Why don’t you come in for a minute?” As soon as I do, she walks to the window and draws the curtains. “Nobody will bother us here.”

Tucking my hands into my pockets, I nod at the door. “Maybe we should hang my tie from the knob?”

“I doubt Olivia will understand.”

“Maddy will. She seems pretty savvy. And she’s trying to stay in your good graces.”

She wrinkles her nose as if she finds the maneuver distasteful. “That would be a bit obvious, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t that the whole point?”

Chapter 8

Madrigal

Giggling, I fall back on the bed. “You’re jealous of Hunter Stone.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” I glance at my fingernails before peering up through my eyelashes at him. “He is quite yummy, I must admit. But honestly, Steele, he doesn’t do a thing for me. I can’t stand men who issue commands right and left. I had enough of that with my grandfather.”

Sitting up, I tug on his tie and lower his head so I can kiss him. “I may like Mr. Stone. I may even find him attractive in a primitive male sort of way.”

He growls and pulls me toward him, a maneuver I just adore.

“But you’re the one who gets me wet. Now what are you going to do about it, Mr. Steele?”

“I’m going to get you naked and lick every inch of you, Ms. Berkeley, that’s what I’m going to do.”

Dressed for success as he is, it takes him a while to lose his clothes, but finally he’s standing in front of me in his Skivvies and nothing else, with all that lovely, lovely skin on display.

I’m wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and it takes him no time at all to rid me of them. All that’s left are my bra and panties.

“Mmm, I love this bed,” he says after making himself at home on it.

“I know you do. You’re such a perv. Making out with the school cheerleader.”

His eyebrows take a hike. “You were a cheerleader?”

“We’re making believe, silly.”

“Are we?”

“Yes. That’s what you wanted to do in this room, isn’t it? Imagine you’re a teenager in another teenager’s room? Maybe you’re the star quarterback who sneaked into my room, and I’m the high school cheerleader. We have to be real quiet in case somebody hears us.”

His mouth curls up in that wolfish grin that turns me on. “You’d do that for me. Make believe?”

“Yes. If that’s what you want.”

“No. What I want is you, my beautiful Madrigal, just as you are.” He threads his hand through my hair and tilts my head to the side so he can nibble his way down my throat.

Breathless, I ask, “But what if that’s what I want?”

He stops tasting me only to stare at me. “You want to be the cheerleader making out with the football captain?”

I shake my head. “No. I used to dream about one of the NSYNC boys sneaking into my room, though.”

His hand circles my jaw while his thumb presses against my bottom lip as if he wants me to open for him. “Which one?”

Sucking his thumb into my mouth, I nip the tip. “Lance, of course.”

He climbs full on the bed, pushes me down, and plants his massive arms on either side of me. “You do know he’s gay.”

Loving this power play, I brush my hand across his abs, tweak one of his nipples. “I do
now
. I didn’t know it then.”

His eyes flash with heat. “How about we do away with fantasy and go for the real thing?”

I turn serious. “That’s important to you, isn’t it? That I want you and no one else.”

“Yes.”

“I do. I want you and only you. I’ve only had one serious boyfriend, and he was a weenie.” I hold up my little finger and giggle.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re normally not this giddy.” Turning me over, he playfully slaps my bottom.

“Ouch,” I say, even though it doesn’t hurt. Twisting back, I toss my hands around his neck. “I’m happy, I guess.”

He playfully nibbles my breasts through my bra. “Why?”

“Because I really, really like you being here with me.”

“And I really, really like being here with you.” The heat in his eyes tells me he’s ready to drive this up another notch.

“Turn off the light, Steele.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s better in the dark.” Somehow I feel less inhibited, more powerful in the shadows.

He rises and flicks off the light switch. While he’s gone, I ditch my bra and panties.

When he starts to crawl back into bed with me, I remind him about a condom.

“Right.” He digs around in the dark, curses.

Even though I’d tossed my playfulness to the side, I can’t help but giggle.

“What’s so funny?” he asks when he returns to the bed.

“Reminds me of our first time. You stumbled over something in that hotel room on your way to retrieve a condom.”

“I banged my shin on the corner of that blasted sofa. It hurt like a son of a bitch.” When he slides me under him, his cock brands itself on my skin. “Now, Ms. Berkeley, shall we get down to business?”

“Yes, please.”

“Kiss me.”

“You want me to kiss you?”

“I just asked, didn’t I?”

“Very well.” I pull down his head and peck at his lip. He tastes of something sweet, like licorice. Strange. I didn’t know he liked such a thing. I only have a second’s warning before he devours my mouth. I knew he wouldn’t wait long to take control of the kiss.

He kisses his way down my body, pausing to worship my breasts. “I love your tits, your nipples.” He licks the sides, and they grow heavy with need as he nips and nibbles the tips. Craving attention, my core heats. I wiggle under his assault and tug on his hair. “Lower, Steele.”

“Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

He pursues his eager exploration until he arrives at my clit. When his wanton tongue rasps at my pearl, I moan.

“Ambrosia.” Not wasting time, he slides a finger into my sheath and finger-fucks me. When I arch, he presses down on my midriff to keep me just where he wants me. I squirm as the sound of his erotic assault and the perfume of my need waft around us.

Eager to be impaled by him, I demand: “Steele, now.”

“No. Not until you’re mindless with passion. Not until you beg me to fuck you.”

I’m ready to beg right now, but I sense it’s not a regular supplication he’s after. He wants me to turn over every inch of me to his keeping so he can do what he will with me.

When he slides a second and third finger into me, I buck under him while his mouth devours my core.

He then flips me so I’m facedown on the bed and raises my head. “Look at us.” The floor-length mirror that stands on the other side of the room bears silent witness to our passion. I gasp at the picture we make.

“You want me, Madrigal?” he asks as he strokes his massive cock between my cheeks.

“You know I do.”

He teases my opening a bare inch. I buck back to take more of him, but he’s a wily bastard and retreats.

“Beg me.”

“Please fuck me.”

“Hard and fast?”

“Yes, please.”

He notches his cock in me and thrusts. Then he pulls back and thrusts again, deeper, faster, and infinitely harder. In and out while he clutches my ass. I love it when he does that. It’s like he can’t get deep enough inside me.

Finally we come. Him first, me second. We’re drenched in sweat. He rises and goes to the bathroom to toss away the used condom, wash up, and slip back into bed with me. “This bed is really, really small.”

“I know. We’ll need to find a bigger one if we’re to sleep together.”

“Are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Going to sleep in one together?”

I brush my hand across the stubble on his chin. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“I would.”

“Well, there you go. And we’ve certainly got enough beds in this house. Finding one won’t be a problem.”

For a few minutes, we breathe in unison. Happy that we are together, I clutch him to me while he rests his head on my breasts.

“Do you believe they haven’t had sex?” I ask, running my hand through his hair.

“Your sister and Philippe?” His voice rumbles from my chest.

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s nineteen and believed she was eighteen, the age of consent. So . . .”

“God. I hope they used protection. He should have asked for her ID.”

“He did.”

I come up on my elbows. “You mean she has a fake ID?”

“Apparently. You’ll have to take it away from her. She can’t be allowed to use it. Aside from the fact it’s illegal, she can get into a world of trouble flashing false identification.”

I plop back on the bed. “God. I was never this much work.”

“When you visit the doctor with her, you might want him to draw blood and do a pregnancy test.”

“You don’t think—oh, God, what if she is?”

“Don’t jump off that bridge unless you have to, sweetheart. If she is, we’ll handle it. Together.”

In future days, I would look back fondly on this night. Because it took no time at all for things to turn bad.

Chapter 9

Trenton

Monday morning comes too soon. Much as I hate to leave her, I must. Duty calls me back to the law firm. As we stand in the foyer, I hold her close to me. “I have to go to the office.”

“I know.” The corners of her lips twist. Perhaps she resents our separation as much as I do.

Needing to touch her, I brush the back of my hand across the satin softness of her cheek. “How will you spend your day?”

She curls her arms around my waist, rests her head against my chest. “Studying for the bar exam, after I make a doctor’s appointment for Madison. Hopefully, I can get one for tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest.”

“Do you have a lead on a doctor?”

“Yes. I know someone whose sister is a doctor at Georgetown University Hospital. I’ll start there.”

“If you need help, let me know.”

She gets that mulish look on her face. “I can handle this, Steele.”

I kiss her lips, squeeze her arm. “I know you can. Don’t study too hard for the exam. Chances are you already know most of it and only need a refresher course.”

“I never studied domestic law, and that’s one of the topics we’ll be tested on.”

“You want me to put you in touch with someone from the Virginia bar?”

“No, I can do this.”

The urge to help her burns right through me. But she resents my offer, so I dial it back. “Okay.”

During the drive to the office, I think about the best approach to take with her. Maybe the best thing I can do is just be there for her instead of constantly offering my assistance. I laugh. Easier said than done given my type A personality. I crank up the hip-hop station, hoping to drown out the control freak in me.

When I get to the office, a message waits for me. A management meeting is scheduled for nine o’clock, and my presence is requested. Since Mitch’s arraignment is tomorrow, I fill in the time by dialing the Loudoun County Commonwealth’s Attorney’s office to find who’s been assigned to Mitch’s case. The receptionist takes down my information and promises that someone will get back to me.

When nine o’clock rolls around I make my way up the elevator to the west conference room on the ninth floor. With its view of the mall and the monuments, the room is one of the loveliest in the firm and just big enough for the ten or so members of the management committee. When I step in, a sense of foreboding rolls over me. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but my nemesis, Dick Slayton, is seated at the head of the table, which tells me nothing good can come from this.

“Good morning,” I say.

A few of the partners mumble greetings in return, but no one meets my gaze, not even Joss Stanton.

“Please, Trenton, take a seat,” Dick says.

Unbuttoning my jacket, I sit near the foot of the table, as far away from Slayton as I can get.

Dick clears his throat and combs back the little hair he’s got left on his head. “We understand Holden’s death was ruled a murder and not a suicide.”

“That’s right.” I relax into the seat. Maybe all they want is a sit report from me. Understandable given the circumstances.

“And Mitchell Brooks has been arrested in connection with the murder and asked you to represent him.”

I nod. “Yes, he has.”

“You’ll need to decline representation.”

I snap upright. Didn’t see that one coming. “Why the hell should I do that?”

“Holden Gardiner was the founding member of this firm. You can’t represent his accused murderer. It’s morally incomprehensible you’d even consider such a thing.”

“Isn’t the accused presumed innocent until proven guilty? Besides, there’s no conflict of interest.”

He shrugs, a clear dismissal of my argument. “Maybe not legally, but morally there is. It’s very simple, Trenton. If you want to represent Mitchell Brooks, you can no longer be a member of this firm.”

Disgust pours out of my every pore. “And this is the decision of the management committee?”

“It is. We took a vote this morning. It was unanimous.”

It’s a power play, plain and simple. Dick never wanted me in the firm and has always resented the hell out of me for being made partner. Rising to my feet, I drill my closed fists into the conference table. “If you expect me to drop Mitch’s representation, you’re sadly mistaken.”

The son of a bitch smirks. “I expect you’ll represent him no matter the harm to your career. You never were able to look out for yourself. Always trying to save those poor souls who couldn’t afford representation. You refused to look out for the bottom line.”

How he can make that argument is beyond me. He’s the one who insisted on hiring high-priced lawyers for his practice group who contribute very little to the financial welfare of the firm. “You do realize that many of my clients will follow me? The moment I hang out my shingle somewhere else, they’ll flock to my new firm en masse.”

He waves his hand as if the thought does not bother him one whit. “So be it. I don’t really care.”

“You will when their money flows my way. This firm is already on shaky ground. When my clients turn to me, you won’t have enough money to run it.”

Leaning forward, he steeples his hands over the conference table. “So you’re leaving?” He voices the question as if the answer means less than nothing to him.

“You know damn well I’m not going to turn down representing Mitch.”

“I thought that would be your decision. Good-bye, Trenton.” He thinks he’s won. Son of a bitch.

On the way back to my floor, I wrestle my emotions under control. I’ll be damned if I allow my temper to show. I walk into my office to discover my computer has already been disconnected as well as my phone. Someone from support services helps me pack. Even after all these years in the firm, I have few mementos. My law school diploma, a photo of Mitch and me, a Montblanc pen he gave me when I passed the bar. It takes no time at all to stuff everything into a file box. Someone from Human Resources shows up to take my office key card. I walk out of the place where I’ve worked for eight years with my head held high. Not one person meets my gaze. Nobody wants to witness my walk of shame, but I know there are plenty of eyes peering out their glass-enclosed offices while I wait for the elevator that will take me away from this fucking place.

Once I reach the garage, I drop my pitiful box of belongings in the backseat of my Jag. Driving up to street level, I hand my parking pass to the attendant. I most certainly will never use it again, and he can sell it to someone else for the remainder of the month.

“You’re not coming back, Mr. Steele?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Good luck, then.”

“Same to you, Harry. Same to you.”

I pull into the E Street traffic, hang a left on 15th, and head on home to my Crystal City condo. There I’ll plan my next move, but only after I get good and drunk.

Hours later, a strident buzzing wakes me. “What the hell?” Somebody’s calling from downstairs. Sitting up, I press the button that connects me with the concierge on the first floor.

“Mr. Steele, there’s a Madrigal Berkeley here to see you, sir.” It’s Tommy. One of the guards at the front desk.

After drinking two bottles of wine and falling headfirst into bed, I look like shit and stink worse, but I can’t leave her hanging downstairs while I clean up. “Send her up, will you, Tommy?”

“Yes, sir.”

I meet her by the elevator. Her eyes look crushed. As soon as the door opens, she walks forward and embraces me. “I’m sorry you’re no longer at Gardiner.”

Her kindness touches something deep within me. I’ve had so little of it in my life. Dropping my chin on top of her head, I say, “How did you know?”

“I dialed your cell. When you didn’t answer, I called Joss. She told me what happened.”

In the state I’d been in I had no wish to talk to anybody. “I turned it off.” A thought occurs to me. “You didn’t come by yourself?”

“No. One of the Stone Security guards drove me here. I sent him home after he dropped me off.”

Which means she intends to stay. A slow fire starts in my belly. “You’re spending the night,” I rasp out.

“Yes. Have you had dinner?”

“No.”

“You need to eat. Should we order in?”

I love how concerned for me she is. “No. I’ll make something. Have to shower first. I reek.” She, on the other hand, smells of lavender and rose.

“Okay.”

After emerging from the bathroom a lot fresher than before, I head for the kitchen, where I find her perched on one of the stools. Before I fix dinner, I decant a bottle of wine and allow it to breathe. In less than thirty minutes I have chicken roasting in the oven and pasta bubbling on the stove. I scoop up a portion with a wooden spoon and offer it to her. “You want some?”

“I already ate.”

“So that whole order-in suggestion . . . ?” Rather than toss the morsel back in the pan, I gobble it. Predictably, my stomach rumbles with gratitude.

The corners of her lips turn up. “I wanted you to eat. I know how much you value food.”

She’s picked up on that, has she? And here I thought I’d hidden my food obsession so well. “Where’s Madison?”

“At home. There are two guards there—Hunter Stone and another operative. She’s well protected. Right now, you need me more than she does.”

I do need her. She just doesn’t know the extent of it.

“So Joss didn’t explain much. She only mentioned you left the firm.” Propping her elbows on the counter, she drops her chin on her hands. “What happened?”

“Dick Slayton sandbagged me. He called me into a management committee meeting this morning and gave me an ultimatum—either I drop Mitch as a client or my services are no longer needed at Gardiner, Ashburn & Strickland.”

“And you chose Mitch.”

“Of course. If it hadn’t been for him, I would probably have been killed in the mean streets of DC, the victim of gang violence.”

After the chicken browns nicely, I fold it into the drained pasta, pour two glasses from the bottle I’d decanted, and pull up a stool next to her. As I do, she climbs down from hers. Soon she’s washing the pans and cleaning up the kitchen. “You don’t have to do that,” I say.

“I want to.” She points to my plate. “Eat. You need it.”

Used to eating fast, it takes me no time at all to devour the meal.

I toss the dish and the cutlery into the dishwasher, grab her hand and the bottle of wine, and head for the living room. “It’s too warm to get a cozy fire going.”

“I don’t need a cozy fire,” she says, dropping next to me.

“What do you need,
bella
?” The low fire in my belly has become a roaring furnace. I ache for her more than my next breath.

She rests her hand on my chest. “You.”

I wrap my hand around her nape and pull her toward me, but soon kissing her is not enough. I lift her off the couch and drop her into my lap, and then I push my cock into her belly so she can feel every inch of me. With open mouths we devour each other, stealing each other’s breath, tasting one another.

“Take off your shirt,” she commands.

She doesn’t have to ask me twice. One-handed, I strip off the Henley. As soon as I do, she nibbles her way down my chest to the ring that adorns my right nipple.

“When did you have this done?”

“In college.” I lie back on the couch and straddle her legs over my cock. In that position, she can suckle my nipple to her heart’s content and pleasure herself by riding my erection.

“Why?” When she curls her tongue around the ring and tugs, I hiss in a breath.

God almighty
. “A friend of mine worked at a tattoo parlor. He needed the practice.”

As she palms my right pec, she shivers. “And you offered yourself as a guinea pig?”

“Yes.” My gaze follows her every move, wondering what she’ll do next.

“Did it hurt?” She trails her hand down my flank.

“A little.” Not wanting her to reach the Promised Land just yet, I clamp my hands on her hips and roll mine beneath her.

I know I’ve sparked her sweet spot when she gasps. “And the winged tattoo?” With a trembling finger, she traces the symbol branded on my chest.

The answer tamps down the heat blazing between us. “That’s in memory of my brother.”

“When did he die?”

Hoping to avoid the subject, I sit up and kiss her hard. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“No. But I’d like to know.”

I have no defenses against her honest curiosity. And it’s not a surprise. I knew she’d ask about it one day. “We were taken away from our father when I was eight and he was six. I begged Social Services to keep us together, but they put us in separate foster homes. I tried to keep tabs on him, but it was hard. We kept getting transferred from one home to another. When he was ten, he was arrested for selling drugs. Promising to keep him safe, the authorities talked him into turning state’s evidence against his gang. After he testified, they returned him to juvie. Before they could relocate him, he was killed. They never found out who did it.” The pain of that memory, vivid as it ever was, cuts me to the core.

“I’m so sorry, Steele.” Fast and furious tears flow down her face.

“Hey.” I brush the moisture away. “I don’t want you crying over me.”