They call me the Bad Bitch. A lesser woman might get her panties in a twist over it, but me? I’m the one who does the twisting. Whether it’s in the courtroom or in the bedroom, I’ve never let anyone – much less a man – get the upper hand.
Except for that jerk attorney Lincoln Granade. He’s dark, mysterious, smoking hot and sexy as hell. He’s nothing but a bad, bad boy playing the part of an up and coming premiere attorney. I’m not worried about losing in a head to head battle with this guy. But he gets me all hot and bothered in a way no man has ever done before. I don’t like a person being under my skin this much. It makes me want to let go of all control, makes me want to give in. This dangerous man makes me want to submit to him completely, again, and again, and again…
I rose and grabbed her up in my arms. She made a surprised noise as I pushed through to her bedroom and laid her on the covers. She scooted underneath them as I slid in next to her.
“Presumptuous much?” she asked. The challenge was back in her voice. But I knew her secret. She wanted me to break her will, to accept her challenge and defeat it. I would do it again and again. As many times as she’d let me.
I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her into my chest. She moved to protest but I kept my arm around her. She settled in, breathing deeply against my chest. Her exhaled breaths tickled against my skin.
We were silent for a long while. So long that I thought she had fallen asleep.
“Did you know that I was never very popular with your persecutor friends?” Her voice was barely a sound.
“My prosecutor friends, you mean?”
“They don’t really like me.”
“I can’t imagine why not.”
She snorted and pinched my nipple hard. “You had that coming.”
I nodded. She was right.
She continued, “I’m smart. I’m pretty—”
“You are exquisite, not pretty.” I ran my hand along the smooth skin of her back.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re a bad bitch—”
She laughed against me, her mouth grazing my skin. “I know they call me that. All of you over there at the courthouse. I don’t care. I like it.”
“I know you do. You’re strong. Shit like that doesn’t get to you.”
“It used to. I used to hate that word. Bitch. I used to be …” she seemed to struggle with the right word, “sensitive? I guess it was sensitive. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I wanted to help people. All that shit. The reasons we go to law school in the first place. I wanted to be that person. The shining beacon. You know?”
“I do.” I knew exactly what she meant, though I was astonished – and pleased – to hear that she ever wanted to be that sort of lawyer.
“Of course you do. You’re doing it, just not the way I wanted to do it. I wanted to help people, not white collar criminals, but people who’d been railroaded, taken advantage of, or let down by the system.”
She had more layers than a birthday cake. I wanted to taste them all.
“What stopped you from doing those things?”
She shook her head against me, as if chiding herself. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not what I do. Now I’m on the defense.”
“You could have fooled me earlier this week.”
She laughed. “That? I had to give you a shot right out of the gate. See what you’re made of.”
“And what am I made of?”
She traced her nails over the lines of my ink before digging her fingernails into the skin over my heart. “Hmm, not sure just yet.”
I rubbed her back in silence for a while, waiting for her to tell me more about herself or even myself. The music continued playing in the living room, the whine of violins combining with the more tangible notes from a piano. I looked around her bedroom in the soft light.
There were no pictures of any family or friends. Nothing to distinguish this room from a tasteful hotel suite in some swank high rise.
“Don’t you get lonely here?” I asked.
I could tell she wanted to deny it by the way she tensed. But then she softened. “I have work. And there are people there. Lots of them, actually. I’m surrounded by people all the time. This city makes sure of that. But, even so. I do get lonely. Sometimes. Do you?”
I cave in to no one. My hardass exterior is what makes me one of the hottest defense lawyers around. It’s why I’m the perfect guy to defend the notorious Bayou Butcher serial killer – and why I’ll come out on top.
Except this new associate I’ve hired is unnaturally skilled at putting chinks in my well-constructed armor. Her brazen talk and fiery attitude make me want to take control of her and silence her – in ways that will keep both of us busy till dawn. She drives me absolutely 100% crazy, but I need her for this case. I need her in my bed. I need her to let loose the man within me who fights with rage and loves with scorching desire…
I’m your classic skirt chaser. A womanizer. A total d*ck. My reputation is dirtier than a New Orleans street after a Mardi Gras parade. I take unwinnable cases and win them. Where people see defeat, I see a big fat paycheck. And when most men see rejection, it’s because the sexiest woman at the bar has already promised to go home with me.
But Scarlett Carmichael is the one person I can’t seem to conquer. This too-cool former debutante has it all—class, attitude, and a body that begs to be worshipped. I’ve never worked with a person like her before—hell, I’ve never played nice with anyone before in my life, and I’m not about to start with her. This woman wasn’t meant to be played nicely with. It’s going to be dirty. It’s going to be hot. She’s about to spend a lot of time with the biggest d*ck in town. And she’s going to love every minute of it…
About The Author
Christina Saunders is an Alabama girl who loves to tell stories that are always hot and sometimes dark. In addition to being an unrepentant book hoarder, she has a particular affinity for dirty jokes and foul mouths. She lives with her husband and two sassy daughters, who put up with her antics and outlandish writing habits. She’s also indie-pubbed under the pseudonym Celia Aaron.