Page 37 of Broken

“I’m not trying to be an asshole. You’re like the best criminal defense lawyer in the country. How can someone with no money afford you?”

“I’m fortunate enough that my defense clients pay me well enough that I can take on more pro bono cases than most without relying on my father’s fortune to subsidize our firm. There are cops at every station in the city who know me and the type of work I like to take on, so they call me when they get a case like today’s.”

“So did he do it? The guy whose case you took on today?”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

Her brow pinches in a frown.

“The world isn’t black and white, Mel. No such thing as inherently good or unequivocally bad. I might respect the law because it’s my job, but the law and justice are often two very different things. What if it was Yasmin’s dad? And her family who needed looking after today?”

She rolls her lips together before offering me a single nod. “Then I’d say it doesn’t matter to me either. You’re doing the right thing.”

I close my eyes and finally let the weight of the day leave me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain.”

“Don’t be. I enjoy coming home to be reamed by my pint-sized siren.”

She laughs softly, and her breath dusts over my cheek. “I guess we both need to figure out how to fit into each other’s lives without driving each other crazy, huh?”

“It’s only our first day, and look at us now. I think we’re doing pretty good.”

“Yeah.” She closes her eyes, her hand still on my chest. “What happened to the third guy? If her dad only shot two of them?”

I swallow. “He died a short time later.” I don’t tell her that he was murdered, or how, because that’s definitely not my story to tell, and thankfully she seems too tired to ask. A few moments later, her breathing evens out and she’s asleep again. Instead of getting up and going to my own room, I watch her sleep. And that’s all I do for the next several hours—watch her chest rise and listen to her soft breaths in the quiet room, and I’ve never felt closer to anyone before in my life.

Chapter

Twenty-One

MELANIE

It’s been a little over two weeks since our wedding, and despite our shaky start, we’ve settled into something of a routine. Nathan’s working hours are pretty much the same as mine, so he and Tedward drop me at work most mornings and often pick me up after. We flirt, and electricity sizzles beneath my skin every time our hands or arms brush. I constantly wonder whether I should just go for it and kiss him, but I always stop myself just in time. I’m sure he must feel the sexual tension simmering between us too—at least I hope it’s not all one-sided. But if he does, he still behaves like the perfect gentleman.

Tonight, Nathan’s driver picked me up alone after work, and the smell of garlic and tomatoes greets me when I walk inside the penthouse, making my mouth water. I head to the kitchen to find Nathan standing at the stove, dressed in gray sweats and nothing else. Now my mouth is watering for an entirely different reason, and I take a moment to drink him in.

I could tell from the way he fills out his designer suits and shirts and the feel of his solid chest beneath those clothes thathe had a good body. But in the flesh… Damn. And I only have a view of his back. Muscles ripple across his broad shoulders as he stirs something in the pot.

By some miracle, I let go of the doorframe and don’t fall over. “You’re home early,” I say in a breezy tone, despite the way my legs are shaking.

He spins around, and I grab onto the counter for support. Those sexy gray sweats hang low on his hips, revealing a set of chiseled abs beneath his defined chest. I allow my gaze to drift lower—to the area which gray sweatpants were specifically designed to accentuate, and nobody will ever convince me otherwise. Yeah, just as I suspected, he has a huge appendage.

I quickly avert my attention to his face, but I’m not quick enough. He smirks at me, his dark eyes flashing. Dammit.

Fortunately, he’s too much of a gentleman to point out the fact that I was very clearly just eye-fucking him. “My trial finished early, so I decided to cook dinner.”

“It smells delicious. What are we having?”

“Paprika chicken and patatas bravas.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Sounds fancyanddelicious.”

He shrugs, turning back to the stove. “It was a recipe of my mom’s.”

“She was Spanish, right?”

“Sí. My father met her in Valencia.”

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