As he sits to sign it, I drift to the windows taking up one side of the suite. The view is even better than on the terrace. Below the hotel, the dark waters of the Vltava flow under the Charles Bridge, and I watch as people cross its Gothic surface. The red-tiled roofs of Malá Strana spread out below the enormity of the palace on the hill and all its spires.
Darkness rises behind me as Matvei’s looming figure approaches. I can see the reflection of his eyes in the glass, causing a shiver to run the entire length of my body. I watch as he leans down and kisses my neck, shifting my hair to get better access. My breath catches, electrical currents running under my skin.
“Your hair is so soft.” Matvei’s fingers tangle in the golden strands as he continues kissing my neck. Using his other hand, he slips the strap of my sundress off my shoulder and follows the line down.
I can’t help the sigh that escapes, raw, pent-up desire growing from spark to fire.
“Your skin is so soft.” The words are a vibration against my collarbone, and I watch, fascinated, as this frightening enigma of a man engulfs me. One hand moves to cup my breast, a thumb brushing over the hard nipple pushing through the thin fabric of my dress and bra.
A gasp ends in a drawn-out moan as my body melts into the man behind me, opening up entirely in preparation for what I know is to come.
How am I so entirely powerless in the arms of this man? How does he drive me to new heights of pleasure I didn’t think were possible? I’m in danger of becoming obsessed, addicted to him. And that’s one thing I know I can’t do. What happens here must stay here.
But at least I know I’ll get my fill, especially as I press back against him and feel how hard he already is.
He nips my neck, his hand sliding down and under my sundress, gripping the outside of one of my thighs. I turn my head, his mouth claiming mine before his kisses trail ice and fire across my skin again.
“My brother is an idiot for giving you up.” His words are a dark whisper in my ear. “And by the time I’m done with you, you won’t even remember his name.”
7
SONYA
“What about the Marcus case?”
I rifle through the folders in front of me until I find the tab with the correct name. “We filed the emergency injunction for the restraining order. Given the evidence we have, I believe the judge will approve it.”
“Good.” My boss’s voice is tight. “The sooner we can do that, the sooner she can get out of town until the trial.”
“I’m just glad the judge set the bail so high and didn’t believe any of his bullshit.”
A sweet sense of satisfaction runs through me. It’s a terrible case, and my boss and I both know my client will have to ultimately move across the country to get away from the man, and even then there’s no guarantee. As it stands, we’ve established a small security detail, comprised of off-duty police officers who donate their time to keep her and her son safe.
“I think her sister lives in California,” my boss says. “She’s got somewhere to go for a while, at least.”
“Good. I don’t want her or Anthony to have to suffer until the trial. I can’t imagine the kid going to school and having to hear about how his father tried to kill his mother.”
“Okay, what about the Marston case?”
I try to focus on the next case, but my mind is still on Sylvia Marcus. I met her in the hospital, recovering from being beaten so badly she nearly died. Her son had been placed in temporary foster care while she was recovering because her in-laws, powerful and wealthy, had been implicated as well. I’d seen the bruises on her neck, the contusions on her head. I’d read about the number of stitches she had to get, the rod in her leg, and other things I didn’t want to think about anymore until the trial.
It's always the same story and always horrible. But to me, each client is like my first all over again, and I feel their pain just as deeply as I did the first time.
I find that in my line of work, people often blame the victim. Why don’t they just walk away? Didn’t they know who the guy was before they married him? But they’ve never walked in her shoes. They’ve never been a woman who has nothing and is suddenly offered comfort, money, and shelter by someone who pretends to be Superman but ends up being Lex Luthor, or worse. They’ve never found themselves with their self-esteem being chipped away, their sense of self degraded until they don’t know who they are anymore. They’ve never been completely powerless, having to choose between violence and being out on the streets because they no longer have anything that belongs to them.
Even knowing all this, I still fell for Samson’s charisma and good looks. Somehow, he got past my armor and managed to keep his authentic self from me. I’m just glad I dodged that bullet.
Never mind the questionable choice I made to sleep multiple times with his mobster brother—a literal killer and a man whose name sends shivers down the spines of not just police officers, but the criminals they arrest.
Still, my body betrays me. As I think about Matvei, a blush spreads all the way up from my toes to the top of my head, matching the heat rising with the memories.
“Sonya?”
I’m shaken from my reverie, realizing my boss is staring at me. “Sorry.” I clear my throat and give him the file he requested.
The outside door to our small office opens and closes. I hear the receptionist greet whoever just walked in.
“So this one is kind of a special case. We’re going to have to proceed carefully because even though we have evidence of assault, he’s called the cops on her before, too. It’s a power move, but it’s still on record, and you know some people will look for any excuse to?—”
