“Don’t worry, lawyer. You can still be my favorite.”
“Your favorite?” I asked, leaning in slightly, brushing my thumb against her inner thigh.
“Yeah,” she said softly.
“Your favorite what?”
She paused, clearly deciding whether to give me a real answer or just another smart-ass remark. Either would have fit her perfectly, but somehow I found myself wanting the truth this time, or something close enough to it.
I wasn’t even sure what I was asking.
“Favorite”was vague. Favorite lawyer? Favorite mistake? Favorite husband? That wouldn’t be saying much, considering her track record.
Valentina always did this to me—turned my own careful lines into questions I didn’t know how to ask, let alone answer. And yet I kept pushing—pushing myself, really—as if maybe this time I’d hear something that would actually stick. Something that mattered. That was how far gone I was. Waiting for a woman whose favorite language was sarcasm to suddenly tell me something genuine.
I’d learned long ago not to hold my breath. And still, here I was, holding it anyway.
“My favorite exception,” she finally murmured.
“Exception,” I echoed quietly, trying to hide how much the word affected me. “To which rule?”
She tilted her head. “All of them.”
Valentina pushed away from the table, leaving the scent of her perfume lingering behind her. My gaze dropped, involuntarily tracing the curve of her waist and the subtle sway of her hips as she crossed the room. She was maddeningly unaware—or worse, perfectly aware—of the effect she had on me.
She paused in the doorway, looking back at me with eyes full of playful challenge. “By the way,” she said softly, “the striptease offer still stands, lawyer. You know, since it’s your birthday.”
Before I could respond—before I could even pretend to resist—she slipped through the doorway and disappeared from view.
I stared after her, my pulse thrumming heavily beneath my skin. The ghost of her laughter seemed to echo through the empty space between us.
Valentina had always been a test of restraint. Everything about her, from the way her dark hair spilled over her shoulders to the dangerous curve of her hips beneath silk, challenged me. She was temptation. Reckless impulse wrapped in a body that could derail even the most disciplined man. And I’d spent years becoming exactly that: disciplined, untouchable, above it all.
There were worse ways to lose control—and none of them looked as good as her.
So I followed.
It was my birthday after all.
CHAPTER 36
VALENTINA
There were a few things they didn’t tell you aboutgetting your shit together.
One: It was exhausting.
Two: Nobody clapped for you.
Three: No matter how much you fixed, there was always something left to unravel.
It had been a weird couple of weeks.
I’d been keeping my head down—which, let’s be honest, wasn’t exactly my specialty. I’d gone to myAA meetingslike a good little recovering disaster, even if I still spent half of themsilently judging everyone in the room,including myself. I made it through the meetings without slipping, without talking too much, without snapping at Greg when he askedhow I wasreallyfeeling.
But mostly, I’d gone because Ihadn’twanted to go. I figured that had to mean something, but Jesus, nobody had warned me howquietlife got when you stopped drowning it out. It turned out getting sober meant getting clear, and getting clear meant having to look at your life. And honestly? It wasn’t exactly a masterpiece.
The past two weeks had felt like living inside someone else’s reality—someone more responsible, more boring, more mature. Someone I barely recognized.
