Lawyer Up (2 page)

“Enough!” he ordered, before pushing her off and rolling out of the way. “Get on your hands and knees. Now.”

When she was compliantly on all fours once again, he positioned himself behind her, grabbed his dick, and shoved it back inside. Holding on to her hips, he sighed with relief as he slid back home—it had been mere seconds outside her embracing warmth, but it was too long. Throwing his head back, he took a deep breath as his eyes drifted shut.

It was his turn. He began to powerfully, repeatedly plunge into her pussy, each thrust an added layer of sensation building on the last. Everything centered on this woman kneeling beneath him. She was the key to the ecstasy that his body ached for. He rode her faster, drawing ever closer to the precipice—enjoying the feel of her bucking and shuddering beneath him—until at last he arched and froze.

“
Yes
!
” he cried in a moment of white-hot ecstasy. “Fuck yes!”

As if time stood still, he could feel the physical euphoria coursing through his body in multiple waves of pleasurable sensation that washed everywhere at once. Even his fingers and toes tingled. Then he felt her clench down on him one last time, and she cried out.

Not wanting the experience to end, he rested his forehead on her back for just a moment. Then he flopped onto the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes to shut out the light. Everything was too bright after such a radiant explosion—he needed darkness and a moment to reclaim himself. Primal satisfaction filled him as well as a very male pride in what they had created together.

Of course, he had no experience in paying for sex, but still, this had to be unique, special, more than just two bodies slamming themselves together—the kind of experience that didn't come often in life and wouldn't soon be forgotten, possibly ever.

It was a singular, incandescent moment. He knew this deep inside.

YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT

“All right, ladies,
wake up
!” The booming voice startled Beth instantly awake. Stiff and sore from sleeping on the cold concrete floor of the holding cell, she needed a few seconds to remember what was going on—and why.

“Ladies!” repeated the deputy as he walked up to the holding cell. “You're in luck… Well, one of you is, anyway. For reasons I sure don't get, this here high-priced lawyer wants to help one of you pro bono. That means
for
free
,” he added condescendingly. “So! You each have thirty seconds to make your case. Whoever he chooses wins big-time.”

Stunned, Beth watched the stampede toward the bars as women started calling out reasons the well-dressed attorney should choose them.

“Please, sir, this is my first arrest…”

“I'm innocent! It's all a big misunderstanding…”

“My pimp will pay you back…”

Others sidled close to the bars and whispered offers of a good time later. “I'd be so
personally
grateful,” murmured one pretty young woman in short shorts.

“Hey, handsome,” called another more boldly. “I promise you a rockin' good time like you've never had before.” Glancing at the deputy, she added, “Playing chess, of course, Your Honor-ship.”

“Right.” The deputy laughed. “Well, Mr. Bateman, I don't know why you'd waste your time on them. They're mostly repeat offenders, but who do you pick?”

Looking around, the lawyer hesitated, seeming unsure who to choose, and the clamor grew louder. Watching him, Beth wondered why he was really offering to help hookers for free. What was in it for him? She could see that he was good-looking in a California-surfer-dude-turned-lawyer sort of way, his expensive, finely cut suit in contrast to the unruly mop of sun-bleached, sandy hair that crowned his head.

Although Bateman looked to be in his mid-thirties, a lock of hair falling across his forehead lent his slightly weathered look a cute, boyish charm. He was no public defender. Why was he doing this?

It didn't matter, Beth realized, starting to move forward. Might as well try to get him to listen to her story—after all, she
was
truly innocent of the charges.

When she drew closer, his eyes shifted and locked with hers for a moment. She could see then that he had deep green eyes and dimples that increased with his slightly cynical smile in response to the lewd suggestions being thrown at him. Mr. Bateman was a fine-looking man, Beth realized as she opened her mouth to call out to him.

Then Beth heard the one she'd nicknamed Tall One singsonging, “Mr. Bateman, I'm not really a hooker. I'm a waitress, see,” as she moved toward the lawyer.

Beth's mouth dropped open in disbelief when the hooker reached into her pocket and pulled out a cap embroidered with the Pretty Starlets Diner logo, then plopped it on her head. It was Beth's cap, part of her waitress uniform, lost in the mad scuffle of the arrest roundup late last night.

“Where'd ya get my hat?” she cried angrily.

Throwing Beth a triumphant smile, Tall One strutted right up to the steel bars directly in front of Bateman to plead her case, telling him how she was just heading home from work at 2:00 a.m., and couldn't a good-looking, intelligent man like him see that she didn't belong here?

Beth's head dropped and she turned away, defeated. What was the use?
He'll never believe me now
, she bemoaned silently.

“You there,” she heard the lawyer suddenly call out. “What's your story?”

Beth noticed cell mates frowning at her as she realized the question had been directed at her. She turned back to look at him but couldn't think of a single thing to say. Ignoring the threatening scowls of the others to focus on the lawyer, Beth was overcome with despair and burst into babbling incoherence, her light brown eyes welling with tears. She felt like an idiot—this was her one chance to make her case to this important lawyer, and she was blowing it. Hungry and thirsty, scared and exhausted, Beth was physically unable to stop herself from crying.

Standing there in the cell, feeling alone in the world, Beth pleaded with her eyes, silently reaching out to the stranger standing on the other side of the steel bars. She just had to reach him somehow!

* * *

Jon felt the woman's eyes on him like a physical touch, pulling on him, willing him to see her need. The impression was so real that he stepped backward, unconsciously trying to break the link. Sensation skittered down his spine to touch some primitive part of him.

He wondered what her story was and why she wasn't clamoring vociferously and crudely to get his pity. Something about her seemed different, a little less jaded perhaps.
But
she's a real mess
, he observed, looking at her dirty, tear-streaked face.
And
what
is
that
getup
she's
wearing?

The look was sort of
Pretty
Woman
retro, and he wondered if she expected Richard Gere to come to her rescue. She wore shiny, black vinyl thigh-high boots, from which one heel seemed to be missing. A micromini and a barely there tube top finished the look, but the band of sequins didn't adequately cover her magnificent bosom. Jon was a healthy, red-blooded man like any other, and even worse, he hadn't had a good lay in nearly two years. Her incredibly curvaceous figure in the skimpy, formfitting clothing reflexively drew his eyes.

Wow! She must make a mint with that
body!

Shaking off that ignoble thought, Jon again wondered what had reduced the woman to her current state. Her inconsolable tears stirred a long-suppressed masculine reflex to shield a woman in need. Annoyed by his reaction, Jon told himself that the woman's tears had nothing to do with his decision. He was a changed man, determined that no one would ever play him for a fool again…the way his ex-wife had. “Pretty Woman” was as good a choice as anyone else, nothing more. Pointing to her, he told the deputy he would help the crying one.

But inside, Jon felt foolish, admitting that he was flat-out lying to himself. There was something about the woman currently staring at him in disbelief that made him want to help her. Learn what had brought her to this state and help get her back on her feet—if that was even possible. She looked so forlorn and sad, even as those amazing gray-blue eyes silently beseeched him. He felt it again, that strange connection that pulled on him. Jon couldn't take it anymore and looked away.

Was he so stupid that he'd fall again for the wiles of a woman, no matter how pretty? Were those tears all an act and she was just playing him? After all, the jailer had mentioned the women were mostly repeat offenders. Jon had made his choice and wouldn't disappoint her now, but he had to get his head on straight. He could not let this woman, or any other, get under his skin.

He nodded yes as the officer double-checked his choice.

Stepping forward, the deputy said, “You over there, come on. You've got yourself a bona fide lawyer.” He unlocked the door to let her out. “But don't think you're going to pay him back with in-kind services, if you get my meaning…at least not here in
my
jail,” he warned severely. To the rest he said, “Don't worry, I'm sure your pimps will get you all lawyered up in no time.”

Jon watched his new client sniffle and attempt to straighten her blond hair as she shuffled forward in her broken boots. When he finally got a close look at her, he was surprised to realize that she had a very pretty face underneath the smeared, tearstained makeup. Her exceptionally large breasts jiggled enticingly in that excuse for a top, grabbing his attention and making his mouth water with inappropriate desire that he couldn't seem to tamp down.

Having the deputy mention “in-kind services” only made it worse, and against his will, Jon's groin tightened. He had never hired a prostitute in his life and had no intention of starting now, but in a flash, erotic images flooded uncontrollably into his mind: his mouth sucking on her tits, her full lips sucking his dick… Hell, both of them sucking on each other at the same time!

Jon just barely kept himself from groaning aloud as he forcibly dragged his eyes back to his new client's face. Realizing that she watched him, he became embarrassed and wondered if his base thoughts were written all over his face.

Trying to ease his conscience, Jon reminded himself,
She's a prostitute, for fuck's sake. Wouldn't even be here if she hadn't been out plying her trade last
night.

And then he was right back there in the dirt again. Images of her providing all manner of sexual services for countless, faceless, groping customers raced through his mind. The thought of all those men using her like a fuck toy made him slightly sick, his gut clenching.
What's that about?
he questioned. Why did he feel protective about someone he didn't even know?

Shaking his head a little, Jon silently told himself to get a grip. She was no different from the rest of them in the holding cell, all of whom took money from complete strangers in exchange for being used every which way. Strangely, it reminded him of his cheating ex-wife.
At
least
prostitutes
deliver
what
they
promise
, he thought—unlike his former wife.

As he followed the deputy and his new client to a meeting room, Jon questioned his sanity, wondering why he would agree to help any woman for free or otherwise, given his current feelings toward them in general. His divorce had been final for six months now, but the pain of Val's infidelity still burned. Add to that her lies in the divorce proceedings and how she had somehow outmaneuvered him in the settlement, and he seethed with impotent bitterness. That's what he got, Jon supposed, for marrying another attorney.

He knew, of course, that not all women were liars and cheats, but his wife had effectively taught him distrust. As a result, he had spurned all women and the sexual gratification that came with them. It really hadn't been a problem…until today.

I'll get her cleared of the charges and back on the streets in no time.
I
will
not
let
myself
care
about
this
stranger.

He told himself that repeatedly as they entered the small, windowless room. After they were seated across from each other at a small table, Jon picked up her file and skimmed it quickly.

Then he requested, “Tell me your full name and everything you can remember about last night. You don't seem to have any priors, so this should be an easy case. But…I must warn you. Tell me the complete truth. If I find out you're lying, I'm done, and you'll have to get another lawyer…or your pimp can. Do you understand?”

The woman before him swallowed nervously. Perhaps he should tone it down, Jon thought, but he couldn't successfully help her if she lied to him.

“Uh, my name is Beth Marsh. No, I mean it's Bethi-Ann Sikes. The other is my stage name.”

“So you're an actress?” Jon let his doubt register in his tone and expression.

She leaned toward him earnestly. “I was trying to be, and I also work nights as a waitress at the Pretty Starlets Diner to pay the bills. It was—”

“Come on!” he interrupted. “I've already heard that story, remember? Not to mention, I've never seen a waitress uniform in my life that looked like
that
.” Jon indicated her attire with a sweep of his hand. “Certainly you can come up with a better alibi. Budding actress working tables to pay the bills… That's a bit of a cliché, don't you think?”

Adopting his most sincere face—the one that always got him results in the courtroom—he added, “Look, I'll help you no matter what your situation is, but I really need the truth from you. Okay?”

“Please, I am telling the truth. That other girl stole my story and my cap. If you'll just call the restaurant, Pretty Starlets Diner on Hollywood Boulevard, they'll tell you I'm a waitress there.”

Bateman listened as Bethi-Ann explained. Her earnestness seemed genuine, but her outfit told its own story. Outside of maybe a strip club, he'd never seen a real waitress dressed in such an outrageous, revealing getup. Anxious to get to the office, he cut her off. “It doesn't really matter. You have no priors, at least not in LA, so it should be easy to get you released on bail, and we can develop a more realistic defense before your court appearance. Do you have any money for bail, or is there someone I can contact?”

“No, I haven't been paid yet this week… Wait, I have some cash tips in my pocketbook—not a lot. The cops took it when they booked me.”

“I'll check with the officer in charge and hopefully get you out by lunchtime. In the meantime, just sit tight and definitely don't cause any trouble in the holding cell. That's the quickest way to get your bail revoked before you even set foot out of the jail.” He stood to leave.

“Mr. Bateman, please call the diner. They'll confirm that I was working there last night.”

Something in her tone—a sincere or innocent quality perhaps—stopped Jon in the process of gathering the file and his things. He looked down at her and was struck again by how pretty she was underneath the grime, but her moist, shining eyes were what held him. He stared into their gray-blue depths and this time found himself leaning toward her, rather than away.

The odd connection between them was back, stronger, an intangible thread that drew him to her. For a brief moment, Jon truly believed in her innocence, and he felt an absurd desire to sweep her into his arms and defend her against her demons like a knight in shining armor.