Nightfall by Anne Stuart

protect herself from the threat. Until it was too late for her to escape.
    He'd schooled his impatience. For two days he sat in that green leather chair and watched her out of hooded eyes, listened as she and Sean argued about the form of the book. It amused him to realize she remained oblivious to Sean's plan for the book. She had to suspect, she was too bright not to, but she continued to view it as a means to proving his innocence. Funny, when the only innocence in that entire apartment rested in Cassidy's troubled green eyes.
    He'd kept out of her way, hoping to lull her into a false sense of security. He heard her at night, sneaking around on tiptoes, raiding the refrigerator, heating milk to banish her sleeplessness, but he'd stayed in his room, awake, listening to her movements, remembering the way the thin cotton had flowed against her tall, strong body, the way she'd wrapped her arms around her, protecting herself from him. He wanted to go out and drink warm milk from her lips, he wanted to pull that nightgown up around her strong hips and feel her against him. He stayed where he was, listening to her move about in the kitchen. He didn't wonder what kept her awake at night. He knew very well. He'd done his best to keep it that way.
    He was running out of time. There was a limit to how long he could wait for her. Sean was writing like mad, like a man possessed, secretly, when he knew Cass wouldn't disturb him. At the rate he was going, the first draft would be finished long ahead of Richard's looming court date. Sooner or later Cassidy was going to get a look at it, and then all hell would break loose.
    He needed to make certain he had her first. He needed to test her, tease her, bind her to him, before it was too late. She was the only one who could give him what he needed. It didn't matter that it could require the ultimate sacrifice from her. He was willing to make that sacrifice. He had to ensure that she would be willing, too.
    "Bellingham called," Sean announced out of the blue, three days after Cassidy had arrived in New York.
    Richard looked up from the book he was reading. They'd made an uneasy trio the last few days, Cassie organizing and reshuffling paperwork, Sean absorbed in his laptop computer, Richard reading voraciously, everything from astronomy textbooks to mystery novels to the true crime books by Joe McGinniss. He'd watch her when she wasn't looking, knowing she'd feel his eyes on her, making sure she couldn't catch him at it. This time he glanced at her openly. Her fiery hair was bundled at the base of her neck, she was wearing little or no makeup, and she had a spattering of freckles across her high cheekbones. She was wearing a cotton sweater, deliberately baggy, he suspected, and khakis. He wanted to see her legs again.
    "Who's Bellingham?" she asked.
    "Mark Bellingham's my lawyer," Richard replied.
    "Not according to your court transcripts. You were represented by Harrison Matthews and his horde of assistants. Pretty impressive credentials—I didn't realize Matthews had ever lost a case."
    "You haven't read far enough into the transcripts," Richard replied coolly. "I doubt if Matthews has lost a case. My father-in-law hired him for me. Once he decided I was guilty, he withdrew his financial support, and Matthews withdrew from the case. Mark took over. He was more than competent, and he had the added advantage of being an old friend."
    "Why didn't you get a mistrial declared?" Cass demanded. "You must have set records for going through the court system as it was—surely you could have demanded more time…"
    "I didn't want it."
    She stared at him. "Why not?"
    "Time wasn't about to make any difference. Either the jury believed me innocent or guilty. Spending two years fucking around with the judicial system wouldn't change it."
    "It might have."
    "Maybe I didn't care."
    It silenced her, if only for a moment. He wanted to pursue it. He could see the reluctant sympathy in those expressive eyes of