Page 9 of Feel Me

CHAPTER 3

Declan

Melissa is slow to leave. It doesn’t take a genius to know news of her father’s condition is killing her. But like always, and like me, she tries not to give too much away. She wants some say in how I re-staff SACU. Fine. I’ll give her a say, and maybe a little more, as long as she respects my position and remembers my legal staff answers to me.

In a way, I think I owe it to her. But I owe it to her old man more.

Miles earned my respect from the moment I met him and sat down to interview for the position of Assistant District Attorney. I expected a team of A.D.A.s to be there, maybe even the chief, too. But it was just me and him with only a desk between us.

“Tell me,” he’d said. “What was your best memory from childhood?”

I wore my best suit, had a professional shave and cut that morning, and stopped by church and said a prayer to Saint Jude. I was prepared to respond to any legal scenario, and reference my long list of accomplishments. I wasn’t prepared for that question. Who the fuck asks a question like that?

Miles Fenske. That’s who.

I considered him, my need to “wow” him making me scour through my long list of memories to find the one thing that would most impress him. I could have told him it was when I scored the winning touchdown that secured our Catholic High School as regional champs. I could have slipped in my stint as class president or when I found out I beat out Jay Takahari to become valedictorian. But that wasn’t what Miles was looking for. He was looking for the man behind the attorney he was considering hiring.

“When my father died and I told my mother we were going to be all right.”

Miles paused. He wasn’t expecting that one. I wasn’t either. I didn’t know why I chose that moment, at least not right away.

“Why?” he’d asked.

“I knew we had to be,” I answer without giving it much thought. “She and my younger siblings were counting on me as one of the oldest, and I wasn’t going to let them down.”

“And did you?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. Failure wasn’t an option.”

It was the truth. I didn’t let them down. They needed clothes, books, fuck even toys, we found a way. We made it right.

I watch Mel open the door, racking my brain to figure out how to make things right with her.

The opportunity Miles is offering me is one I’ve earned, and am grateful to have. But I wasn’t blowing smoke when I told Mel I wouldn’t cave because of who she knows. Thing is, she won’t cave either if she feels anyone has wronged a victim. But what’s going to set her off? She has to know some cases are too weak to try and the best we can do is plead it out. Will she understand, or should I anticipate a verbal ass kicking from the governor?

It’s going to be a kind of dance between me and Mel, making sure we don’t step on each other’s toes. I’ll avoid her feet if I can, but bottom line, I’m the one who leads.

She doesn’t respond when I tell her I’m sorry about her dad, not that I’m going to push. Instead, I watch her slowly walk out, my gaze trailing down her back until it fixes on those two round globes that make up her ass. They press against the fabric of her dress just right, like whoever designed it made it specifically for her and that eye-popping body.

I wish I didn’t want to drag my hands along her gorgeous curves or taste that pouty mouth But I do. Just like I want to feel her body pressed against mine.

Shit. What the hell is wrong with me? As pissed as I was about being placed in SACU yesterday, I woke up hard this morning. Hard for Melissa.Melissa, who can barely stand being in the same room as me.

My eyes scrunch tight as I try to shake away the dream I had about her. We were at a black tie event, the kind where waiters walk around with silver trays packed with champagne and anyone who’s anyone in politics works the room flexing their egos. I was supposed to give some kind of speech. I opted out, returning my place with Melissa’s hand tight in mine.

We had sex in my living room. I can’t remember ever having a dream this graphic. She lay over my leather ottoman on her hands and knees, the skirt of her black beaded gown hiked up to her waist, my mouth buried against her. I tugged off my jacket and tie, managing to pop open the front of my shirt before I couldn’t take it anymore and shoved my pants and briefs down to my ankles.

In those romance movies women like to watch, my thrusts would have been slow and sweet. But there was nothing slow or sweet about what we did. It was sexy, primal; me grunting hard and her hips circling fast. Her hair fell in messy waves around her heated face as she clamped down, turning her head enough to see me, and show me the sexy way she bites down on her bottom lip.

I wasn’t a gentleman in my dream. I was the epitome of an alpha claiming what belongs to him. She loved it, calling out my name and begging me to go faster.

My problem is, I loved it too. A little too much.

I groan, thinking about how hot she made me and entertaining why she made me so hot. Melissa is different. Curvy hips, round perky ass, with what I’m guessing are some serious double-Ds. I usually date the model types, those who spend more time on their hair, shopping, and make-up and less time on anything that really matters. Why? Because they’re not looking for anything serious, and neither am I.

When I take a long hard look at all the political giants I know, every last one of them has a devoted wife, looking adoringly back at them?standing by them, raising their children, spearheading charities, and working tirelessly on their husbands’ campaigns?usually alongside the skanks their husbands are fucking when they’re not around. I’m not exaggerating. It’s what men of power are almost expected to do. But I swear to Christ, I’m not going to be one of them.

My mother, God love her, was one of those “devoted wives” women, working her fingers to the bone to support her family and raise seven children. Adoration lit her eyes whenever my father kissed her, but sadness dulled them each time he stepped foot out of the house. She knew the minute his shift ended at the post office he’d head straight to his mistress’s house and into her bed. All those weekends, when he should have been coming to our games or helping her around the house, he’d spend with that other woman, giving her everything my mother needed and deserved.

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