Page 33 of The Woman on the Jury

“For how long?” I asked.

“As long as it takes,” he said. “Your first guard is waiting for you in the lobby. Don’t worry. You can’t miss him. So go get dressed,” he said, walking past me.

Then he stopped short, and turned back toward me.

“But first…” he said, his hand reaching out, fingers teasing the edge of the robe where it slipped down between my breasts.

I would love to pretend that I didn’t brush him away because of fear. But I would be lying through my teeth about that.

I think I froze at first from surprise.

Then, as I felt his knuckles tease my skin as his fingers drifted down, yeah, it wasn’t fear or surprise that was coursing through me.

It was a pulsating, aching need.

I didn’t even have time to analyzewhyit was that sort of white-hot desire.

Because the next thing I knew, his fingers were in the tuck of my belt, yanking it free.

And just like that, the robe split, exposing me completely.

Cosimo towered over me, smelling way too damn good, his dark gaze looking down at my body, naked save for my panties that I’d washed in the sink and blown dry before my shower.

And was that… heat in his gaze?

His breath escaped with a kind of muted growling sound.

Then his head was shaking.

“Even better than I imagined,” he murmured.

Then he was out of the door.

I hadn’t even covered myself up when he’d pulled the door open wide.

I couldn’t seem to do anything but lean on the wall for support because my legs felt a little shaky.

I always thought that was an exaggeration of fiction. Shaky legs. I’d never felt it before.

Until now.

The need that was coursing through me was bordering on painful, and I pressed my thighs more tightly together to ease the ache between. I tried like hell to come up with a single rational explanation for why I was reacting to what should have felt like a violation like I was.

I couldn’t seem to come up with anything.

So I just forced myself to move back into the bathroom, ignoring that pressure deep in my core, and getting myself dressed.

Finished, and somehow not even the tiniest bit less turned on, I made my way downstairs, stopping in at the buffet to grab something to toss into my bag for later.

I’d checked out on my phone while I waited in line at the buffet, so I walked right past the desk, and looked around the lobby.

Cosimo was right.

There was no mistaking him.

The expensive dark gray suit. The shined shoes. The watch. Even the posture. And, of course, the slicked back black hair that kind of reminded me of greasers in the 50s.

“Ah, hey,” I said, feeling weird addressing him. Which was funny because he was clearly, rank-wise, beneath Cosimo, and I’d had no problem first approaching him.

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