When he saw Nicoletta, guilt suffused him.
He tried to justify his lust for Gia. He shouldn’t feel guilty about that.
Until he and Nicoletta left San Francisco they each shared another’s bed.
He was fucking Old Man Hollingsworth and Nicoletta was boning that gimp cop. But those liaisons were all a means to an end.
For their plan to work, they needed a police commander in their corner and they needed an inroad to Hollingsworth and his millions.
Nicoletta raised a delicate eyebrow as the police paraded Gia Santella to the elevator.
James finally seemed to get wind of what was going on and his wheelchair whirled 180 degrees in time for him to view the elevator doors closing with his ex-girlfriend inside.
So sad. Too fucking bad, Charles thought.
He was suddenly filled with pure hatred for the good-looking cop.
The man was not only fucking the woman he loved, but he had fucked the woman he lusted after. Some motherfuckers had all the luck.
But that was about to change.
If Charles knew one thing in life it was that he was responsible for creating his own luck.
And Gia Santella’s arrest was nearly the last piece in the puzzle.
Thirty-Two
The San Francisco jail smelled like piss, sweat, and stale alcohol.
They stripped me, frisked me, and then shoved me in a small room with a glass panel in the door. At first, I pressed my face to the glass trying to see something—anything—but there just a blank wall across from me. I could hear other people grumbling in other rooms nearby.
At least I wasn’t in some concrete-floored cell with a bunch of drug dealers and prostitutes. As the hours passed, I thought, then again, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. At least I’d have someone to talk to.
I was slumped in the corner asleep when the door finally opened. I had no idea how many hours later it was, but suspected it was close to noon the next day since my stomach was grumbling.
I stood and brushed the lint and dirt from the floor off my dress.
It was my attorney. He was boring looking. Gray hair. Gray suit. Gray complexion. He must never leave the inside of a court room. I didn’t care what he looked like. I wanted him to make sure I never stepped foot inside a jail cell again.
He handed me a card. He didn’t bother to greet me.
“They have a video of you killing Maxwell Carlton. It’s you. Your face. The whole works.”
“So, I heard,” I said dryly. “It’s not me.”
He shrugged.
“Come on; you made bail,” he said. “Your cop friend somehow convinced the judge to grant it and Dante paid it. There was a hell of an argument in chambers about it. The district attorney is usually a much more reasonable fellow, but he seems to have a dog in this hunt. I’m not sure why, but it’s not good. He’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure the charges stick and there is a conviction.”
Then the attorney went on to say the judge released me under house arrest to James. I had to stay at his place.
Shit. That was a mistake.
I frowned. What was James up to?
“I’ve got a friend working to expose the technology that created the video. It’s called Deepfake. Look it up. I’m going to need you to build a motherfucking watertight defense case for me based on flaws in that technology just in case I don’t find the real killer first.”
He paused and looked at me.
“I never lose,” he said.
I looked right back at him and said, “Neither, do I.”
We locked eyes and he gave a slow nod.
That’s right, motherfucker, don’t you dare underestimate me. This is the real deal.
My life and freedom is on the line here.
As we made our way to the lobby, I saw him through the glass panel in the door before he saw me.
James.
Thirty-Three
As soon as the door to his apartment closed behind us, I raced for the shower.
When I was done, I came out to find James waiting for me in the bedroom. I walked over and let the towel drop.
He pulled me onto his lap. I wasn’t surprised. The heat between us had been pure fire as we drove from the jail to his place. There was an urgency there I didn’t understand and didn’t question.
The contact of our bodies sent a pulse of fiery desire through me. I turned to face him, my knees bent and my legs straddling him. I ran my fingers through his hair, letting my fingernails race over his scalp. My eyes never left his. They were dark pools of desire. He groaned.
“James…” I began.
He put his mouth on mine before I could continue. It was as if we’d never been apart. Our bodies responded as if they were one.
I’d forgotten how hot the chemistry between us had always been. James knew how to touch me in ways that drove me wild. He knew my body better than almost anyone ever had. Nico was the exception. It was different with Nico and I because our lovemaking was infused with such intense emotion—insane soulmate-type love stuff—that the physical aspect almost took a backseat to us expressing our deep, all-encompassing love for one another.
With James, the love was there, but it was less the focus. With James, it was truly about the physical act itself, striving for intense heights of pleasure.
Then we were in his bed with the black leather headboard. I lost track of time, completely outside my head and entirely in my body.
When we were done, I snuggled up to him and put my head on his shoulder. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through my hair. I sighed contentedly.
And then I blew it. With my big mouth.
“You know, if we got married, you couldn’t testify against
