Page 3 of Pen Pal

I was ushered into the legal visitation room. When the door closed behind me, I was on autopilot as I shuffled to the chair and sat, my eyes lifting to meet Gerald's.

"Hi, Lorenzo," he began. "Ready to go over your case?"

I could smell a hint of perfume, and my eyes searched the room. The intern wasn't here, but she had been. Did she step out, or did she get cold feet?

A knock sounded on the door, and it creaked open as the click of heels sounded behind me. Her perfume wafted into the room, and I stiffened. She smelled fucking divine.

The instant she walked into the room, I knew that she didn't belong here. Not in a place like this, where the damned went to rot behind bars. She walked in like a spark flickering in a place drenched with gasoline, too delicate and clean.

She rounded the table and stood by Gerald, not daring to take a seat as my heart nearly stopped.

She radiated with a light no one could touch, and I felt like a moth drawn to her flame. She had light, sandy hair and stormy eyes swirling with curiosity. She wore a fitted suit, her curves perfectly highlighted by the fabric, brown and plain, trying her damnest not to stand out.

My fingers curled against the table, metal biting into my skin. I could already feel the shift in the air—every set of eyes on her, tracking her movement as the door stayed open behind me. But none of them mattered because she was already looking at me.

The door clicked shut behind me, and she was alone with us. A greedy, money-hungry son-of-a-bitch, and a murderer.

She hesitated a fraction of a second before moving forward, sliding into the seat next to Gerald. Her pulse fluttered at her throat, but she forced herself to meet my gaze.

She was a brave little thing.

I smiled the kind of smile that had gotten me out of numerous dangerous situations, the kind that promised trouble.

"Lorenzo Ricci," she said, her voice steady, challenging.

I leaned forward, elbows resting on the cold table between us. "And you are?"

Her lips pressed together like she didn't want to tell me.

Interesting.

"You already know who I am," she replied instead. "I'm your lawyer's intern."

Mine.The word rolled through me, slow and dangerous.

She didn't realize what she'd done. She didn't know that stepping into my world—sitting here, speaking my name—meant that she was already tangled in my web. And I never let my prey go.

"You don't look like an intern," I mused. My gaze dragged over her—the crisp lines of her blouse, the way her hands tightened into fists against her skirt. "You look like something I could ruin."

Her breath caught. She hid it well, but I saw the way her fingers twitched and the way her throat worked as she swallowed.

"Let's keep this professional," she said, her voice clipped and stern.

I smirked.Oh, my little lawyer, you think you have a choice?

She shifted, reaching into her bag for the files she brought. I reached out just enough for my fingers to brush hers.

She froze, and I swear I felt it—like a current running through her, like recognition.

Her lips parted slightly, but she snatched her hand back before I could get a real grip.

So she felt it, too. The pull, the tension, the fact that no matter how much she pretended that this was just another case, she was already losing.

She could fight it all she wanted. She could keep her voice cool and her eyes sharp, but I saw her. I didn't lose the thingsthat I wanted.

"My name is Amara Branson," she conceded, pulling some papers from her bag.

"Amara," I enunciated, testing her name on my tongue. "My little lawyer." It suited her; pent-up, frustrated, putting up a front she thought that I couldn't see. But I saw right through her, and she was easy to read.

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