I appreciated that he didn’t suggest I borrow the money from Blake; I’d invaded his life enough as it was.
“There’s nothing wrong with public defenders.”
“There’s nothing wrong with them except they’re drowning in cases. Your trial will require someone’s full attention. Time. Resources. Expertise.” He leaned in, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. “You need someone who will stop at nothing to keep you out of prison. Someone who’s willing to fight dirty. Someone who gives a damn whether you live or die.”
“And that’s you?”
“That’s me.”
“Why?” The question came out as a whisper.
His eyes searched mine. “You really want to know?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Because when I look at you, I don’t see damaged goods.” His hand came up, hovering near my face, but not quite touching. Like he was asking permission. “I see someone who survived hell and came out swinging. Someone who took every terrible thing that happened to her and turned it into fuel to protect others.”
His fingers finally grazed my cheek, and I had to bite back a sound.
“I see someone who built a home for kids who needed one. Who fights for them every single day. Who loves sofiercely, it scares her.” His thumb traced my jaw. “I see strength that takes my breath away. Courage that humbles me.”
My throat tightened. Tears burned behind my eyes.
“I see you, Faith. The real you. And she’s magnificent.”
“You can’t mean that,” I whispered.
“Watch me.” His other hand came up, framing my face. “You can fire me if you want. Find another lawyer. But you’ll be making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Because you’re that good?”
“Because no one—and I mean, no one—will fight for you the way I will.” His forehead touched mine. “Not just for your freedom. For you.”
“Why?” I asked again, needing to hear it.
“You know why,” he said softly.
And, God help me, I did. It was there in every look, every touch, every time he showed up when I needed him. Even when I didn’t know I needed him.
“That’s not … we can’t …” I tried to find the words to explain why this was impossible. Why falling for my lawyer while facing murder charges was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
“I know.” His hands stayed on my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “I know all the reasons this is complicated. Messy. Potentially disastrous.”
“Then why?—”
“Because I can’t walk away from you.” The confession sounded like it was torn from him. “I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried to keep this professional. To maintain boundaries. But every time I try … I can’t stop myself from breaking all the rules.”
“Ryker …”
“I’m sorry I left when you were at your most vulnerable. But I’m not walking away from this case. Not from you.”
We stood there, too close, breathing the same air, the tension thick enough to cut.
Finally, I nodded. “Fine. You’re still my lawyer.”
“Good.” But he didn’t move away. Didn’t drop his hands from my face.
“Ryker?”
