Timeless by Brynley Bush Page B

intoxicating.
    Feeling my eyes on her, she looks up from the case file she’s reading and smiles at me. Damn, but she’s gorgeous.
    “Do you want some help?” she asks sweetly. “You’ve been feeding me all day.”
    “Maybe in a minute. I like feeding you. Keep reading. I’d like your input.”
    “Okay,” she says simply.
    I go back to searing the chicken breasts I’d taken out of the freezer, and after a few minutes she sets the file down on the table and comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and laying her cheek against my back. I love that even after I’ve punished her, pinned her to the back of the couch, and fucked her hard, she still has enough confidence to come to me this way. I cover the chicken and turn around so I can see her face.
    She deserves so much more than I have to give her.
    “Listen, Ari,” I begin, but she silences me with a finger pressed to my lips.
    “Don’t,” she says, her voice low. “I know this is just for tonight. But I still want it. With you.”
    She doesn’t break eye contact with me and my dick strains against my jeans.
    “Are you sure?” I ask, searching her luminous eyes.
    “Positive,” she says.
    I can see the truth in her eyes, and the yearning behind it that matches mine.
    I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Alright then. Get to work. You’d better keep up your strength,” I tease lightly, handing her a pair of salad tongs. I turn her around, press her into the edge of the counter and playfully smack her ass that’s still bare under my shirt with one swift upward stroke, appreciating the way her taut, pert, little bottom reverberates under my hand before letting her go so she can toss the salad.
    She turns back around to face me. “Ouch! My bottom’s sore.” But she’s laughing and then her eyes are widening as my hand closes around her throat and my mouth is devouring hers. And then she’s not doing anything but kissing me back, her sweet hot mouth sucking on my tongue like she’s never wanted anything more.

    While we eat, I ask her what she thinks of Bridget’s statement.
    “It seems pretty straightforward,” she says, “but I agree with you. Something’s not quite right. Something about her injuries…” She trails off as she picks up the file again, looks at the picture of Bridget immediately after the attack compared to a current photo of her, and then shakes her head as she sets it back down again. “She’s pretty. Is it possible the guys who attacked her didn’t even know about the jewelry at first?”
    “Anything’s possible,” I admit. “But if that’s the case, they probably bought a lottery ticket after they left her place.”
    “It’s odd that you have no leads at all on the guys who attacked her.” Ari skims Bridget’s statement again. “They both have brown hair, brown eyes, five-nine give or take a few inches, no facial hair, right-handed, no distinguishing birthmarks or moles…These guys could be anyone.” Ari shakes her head. “Maybe she’ll screw up somehow. Or maybe the driver will. Either way, you’ve got to figure out who the attackers were and prove either Bridget or her driver knew them.”
    I sigh. “Yep. If I don’t figure it out soon, my client’s going to end up paying the claim. But thanks for taking a look.”
    Our conversation turns to a few of her cases, and I realize how nice it is to be with an intelligent woman who understands what I do and with whom I can discuss work. In many ways she reminds me of Mila Black, one of the newest partners at my firm and my favorite work associate, although I’m not supposed to admit to that. The fact that she’s married to a fellow SEAL who happens to be one of my best friends and has given me the status of honorary uncle to their newborn baby daughter Lucy doesn’t hurt either. Ari has the same quick mind and spunky confidence that I’ve always admired in Mila.
    We take our time over dinner and wine, and then move