Katie Rose (18 page)

“Charles, please,” she begged, “I need you to love me. Please.”

“I will, darling, I will.” His voice was filled with a husky promise. “Put your hands on my shoulders. That’s it. Trust me, Winnie.”

His reassurance made the emotion inside of her grow golden and melting. She did trust this man, really and truly trusted him. He loosened the drawstring on her drawers and pulled them to the floor, giving him even greater access to her most secret place. All her inhibitions gone, she closed her eyes and felt the sweet, seductive pressure of his thigh against hers.

“Lift your hips. That’s it. Let me, sweet Winifred. It will be all right, I promise.”

Eagerly, she positioned herself on the edge of the desk and lifted herself toward him. She felt his hard male shaft poised against her soft fullness. Slowly, torturously, he entered her, and to her delight, her desire began building once more.

“Hold on to the desk, darling,” he whispered, his voice strained. “It’s going to be a rough ride.”

Excited by his words, she did just as he suggested. Clasping the sides of the desk, she felt him fulfill his sensual promise, sliding into her again, this time with a hot, penetrating thrust. Winifred gasped, feeling her body expand to accommodate his fullness. He slammed into her again, this time impossibly harder and even more wildly exciting. The books crashed to the floor, followed by the candle and the research work. Everything was forgotten in those few minutes except what was happening between them—all their senses were riveted on the splendor of their loving. Each thrust brought Winifred to a higher plane of
sheer, erotic pleasure. Rocking furiously against him, she felt the pressure explode into a frenetic volcano of sheer, unadulterated bliss.

That moment of pure, perfect eroticism obliterated all reality. She heard Charles’s hoarse cry, then opened her eyes to see his head thrown back, totally immersed in the moment, even as her own body sang with hot sweaty delight. For a second, joy flooded through her, that she could do this to him, that she had the gut-wrenching ability to tear him from himself in the most intimate way possible. But even that thought was short-lived as she gave herself up to the riot of sensations that consumed her.

Time hung suspended, even as the moon rose outside the window. When Charles finally collapsed and held her tightly in his arms, Winifred knew that she had experienced the utmost in a woman’s pleasure. Making love could never be so wild, so uninhibited, and so … erotic. No other man would ever fulfill her the way Charles did, she was certain, nor would any other man ever understand her the same way. It was a frightening thought, with implications she didn’t dare to examine.

Charles lifted his head and gazed at her tenderly. Pressing a kiss to her throat, he smiled down at her.

“I take it you didn’t think it was so bad,” he said softly, through the light shining in his dark eyes.

“I thought it was wonderful,” Winifred sighed, blushing brilliantly. “Truly wonderful.”

“Good. You are so sweet, so sensual. My darling Winifred.”

All along, Charles had been concerned with her own pleasure as much as his. Few men were this way, she knew from the whispered conversations of other women. She thought of how he had tried to help her, the hours he had spent teaching her, the support he
had given her even at his own expense. A welling of emotion rose within her, and tears stung her eyes.
My darling
. No other man ever called her that.

Even as the tender feelings warmed her, panic started somewhere within her. What on earth was she doing? Quickly she sat up and began to button her dress. She was becoming far too involved, even after all her precautions. She had a case to win, everyone was depending on her—Horace and Mrs. Black—and here she had given herself to the prosecutor!

“I had better go,” Winifred whispered suddenly, frightened by the feelings that roiled within her. “Egbert’s waiting. He must have finished his dram by now.”

“Are you certain you have to leave?” Charles questioned softly. “Winifred, I really think we should talk. I want to tell you how I feel about you, about this. After tonight, surely you are thinking the same way I am. There is no need for you to continue with this case, no need for us to be on opposite sides. We could be together. You could come back to the office, if you so desired. Once the publicity died down, it would be a perfect time to …”

Winifred gazed at him incredulously. “What makes you think I would consider such a thing? Did you think, just because we made love, that I would forget all this like some simpleminded maid?” Her eyes narrowed in outrage. “You have never taken my ambition seriously, have you? Were you waiting all along for me to back down? To confess that I was not capable of being a lawyer, that I was just another helpless woman—”

“I never said that!” Charles answered hotly. “You’re making too much of this.”

“Am I?” Winifred gazed at him with new eyes.
“Isn’t this why you came here tonight? To seduce me into abandoning the Black case?”

“Of course not!” he insisted with righteous anger. “How could you even conceive of such a thing?”

“It seems entirely too coincidental to me,” she answered logically. “First you show up, barging in here, making all kinds of accusations, and the next thing I know …” She gave him a haughty look. “Well, I am certain you recall.”

“I refuse to dignify that absurd accusation with a reply,” he said, furious now. “I seem to remember that you were an active participant. You certainly did not need much encouragement from me! If I had to quantify the passion, I might even think it was the other way around!”

His last words came as a shout. There was something dangerous about the way he looked at her, and something in his expression that appeared to be hurt or disappointed.

Winifred faced him stubbornly. “Charles, I refuse to get drawn into this. We are both adults. We are also on opposite sides of a court case. There is no commitment between us, nor do I think either of us desires one. What happened between us tonight was simply physical release of the accumulated tension between us. I read all about it. We are programmed through evolution to reproduce, so of course our mating instincts—”

“Is that what you think this is all about?” he thundered. “Mating instincts? Woman, you tempt me—”

He took a step toward her, then seemed to think the better of it. Instead, he picked up his coat and slammed his hat onto his head with such force that the crown nearly met his eyebrows.

“Where are you going?” she cried.

“Out.” He swore silently, adjusting his hat brim. As he approached the door, he spoke without turning to face her. “I will win you, Winifred, come hell or high water. You can pretend all you want that this means nothing, but I will show you otherwise. One last thing. I know you want to help your client, but using manipulative journalism to do so is wrong. This woman is guilty of attempting cold-blooded murder. The case goes to trial on Tuesday. I don’t care if the jury must be illiterate, I will see this case tried fairly. Mrs. Black is guilty as charged, and she will be punished for her crimes.”

Her heart tightened. He didn’t understand—he never would. Until he could see this case from a female perspective, he would always think of Mrs. Black as just another murderer.

Winifred spoke, her voice firm. “As I said before, may the best attorney win.”

C
HARLES STORMED OUT
, the memory of their lovemaking still burning in his memory. How could she, after what happened between them, revert so quickly to her ambition? Her last words stung him. He had thought that taking her to sensual fulfillment would make her more sweetly reasonable.

What had gone wrong? He had her right where he wanted her, in every possible way, but still Winifred had pulled the rug out from under him—again. Didn’t she feel anything for him at all?

He was certain she did. The look in her eyes, the softening, their emotional connection—it could not possibly be faked. Yet she almost looked, well afraid, when he tried to discuss feelings. But that was ridiculous. Still, he reminded himself, he was dealing with a charlatan spiritualist, a woman of uncanny ability to
get what she wanted. What did she mean about no commitment between them? Was she thinking of making love with someone else? Jared Marton, perhaps?

The flash of jealousy that went through him made him furious. She couldn’t have meant that—she was just being obstinate. Yet Horace had warned him that Jared had visited her, ostensibly to offer his help. Charles knew all too well the character of his coworker. As much as he liked Jared, the man was a notorious womanizer.

Yet he had misjudged everything else, and all of his plans so far appeared to have backfired. Instead of growing less enamored of becoming a lawyer, Winifred was now much more so, especially with the Black case. Her need for independence, far from diminishing, seemed to have grown. Frustrated beyond measure, Charles realized that more than another man, his adversary was a courtroom!

Even as he swore, he secretly admired her. As a lawyer, her tactics were effective, even if they were wrong. Already the Black case was becoming the talk of New York. Even before the trial began, Winifred was getting her message out. And he was certain that the reporters enjoyed looking into her hazel eyes much more than they did reviewing the facts.

Yet the facts would stand. Charles calmed down as he thought of this. They had to. And when she lost the case, as she surely would, she would come running back into his arms, begging for forgiveness. He would lovingly sit her down and explain the facts of life to her: that she couldn’t continue marching with the scandalous suffragettes and defending hapless murderesses. Then he would forgive her and take her into his arms, and she would promise to be obedient. His confidence returning, Charles climbed into his carriage.
When he looked up, he saw her light still blazing at the window.

W
INIFRED HEARD
his carriage pull away, then nearly collapsed onto her desk. A thousand emotions whirled inside of her, all of them begging to be explored.

How on earth had she let this happen? The last thing she had intended to do was make love to Charles, particularly after his behavior at the march yesterday. Yet he had hardly touched her, kissed her, before she melted into his arms.

More than that, she had turned into a wanton. She looked at the desk where Charles had made such exquisite love to her. Appalled at her own behavior, she covered her mouth with her hand, remembering all too vividly the way he’d positioned her there, then driven into her over and over, making her want him so badly that she shook even now, thinking about it.

“My Lord!” Winifred gasped, fanning herself as the heat suffused her. No wonder Charles has accused her of actively encouraging him! He could easily have said much more than that, Winifred realized to her shame. Once again, the gentleman in him didn’t allow such behavior. She knew that most men wouldn’t have restrained themselves.

And now she would have to face him in court.

The thought scandalized her. How could she face him at all, let alone before a judge, defending Mrs. Black? True, her work would be behind the scenes—she would not actually be speaking in the courtroom. That was Horace’s job. Still, she would be there, would see Charles each and every day, would have contact with him.…

Winifred groaned out loud. This was a fine mess.
But she forced herself to remember Charles’s proposal that she drop the case now, just because he made love to her—and grew infuriated all over again. How could she have fallen for his seduction? Charles Howe obviously had no respect for her ambition, or her ideals. Well, she meant exactly what she had told him, and if anything, she was even more bent now on winning. All she had to do was keep her mind on the case. What had happened with Charles was purely physical and was nothing to concern herself with.

It was, as she had told him, simply a mating instinct.

O
rder! Order!”

Judge Culvert entered the court and immediately rapped his gavel. The courtroom was filled with spectators and reporters, whose disheveled hair and harried appearance betrayed their battle to get inside. The doors had been forced open from the rest of the crowd outside. Deputy sheriffs stood by the entrance to the courtroom, holding back the mob, while the reporters scribbled furiously. Before the proceedings had even begun, the Black case had already made headlines.

Within the bar, counsel had already arrived, along with the stenographers, talesmen, witnesses, sheriffs, and others. The judge, a man of about sixty years, with thin, silvered hair and a stern, immobile face, appeared annoyed at the disruption and ordered the sheriffs to gain control.

Winifred sat in the first row, watching intently as Horace Shane conferred with a junior counsel. Much as she would have liked to sit with them, they had all agreed that if she did, her presence would draw too much attention. From the corner of her eye, she could see Charles, looking devastatingly handsome in his
dark blue court suit and sparkling white shirt. He looked businesslike, confident, and—sexy. Immediately, visions of their torrid lovemaking sprang into her mind. She quickly looked away. Good Lord, the last thing she needed was to be harboring seductive thoughts about the prosecution! She had to keep her mind on the case, or all would be lost.