Page 48 of Passionate Defense

“Yes, sir.”

She slid the silk up to her shoulders and stilled. A wave of heat swept through her as his eyes tipped down. Gently, he weighed both breasts in his palms before moving to her nipples. He pinched them firmly, rolling each tip between his thumb and forefinger, increasing the pressure until she leaned into him, gasping in delight.

“This isn’t helping my problem, sir,” she breathed.

He arched a brow but released her only to reach under the bunched-up material and pull down a lightly padded band of stretchy fabric which he slid over her breasts. She hadn’t noticed the built-in shelf bra which gave her the support she needed.

Ethan stepped back and the silky fabric glided down her torso, to drape as it was meant to. With her facing the mirror once more, his mouth grazed her ear while gazing at their reflection. “It’s eighty degrees out there, beautiful. Still need a sweater?”

“I feel like an idiot.” Her eyes filled with tears, ashamed for not trusting him. “I should have known better.”

“Yes, you should have. You underestimate me, Lanie. My intention is to love and cherish you, not embarrass you. It seems we have more lessons in trust to learn. Some are much harder than others, hmm? But I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself later tonight.”

Chapter 12

ETHAN CASUALLY TOSSEDhis keys to the eager valet then, with his hand low on Lanie’s back, escorted her into Mariano’s, a popular Italian restaurant in the bustling nearby town of Brighton. The hostess informed them that some of their party had arrived and had been seated in the cocktail lounge.

Pausing in the doorway, he did a sweep of the crowded room but saw no sign of Beth and Steven. Occupying a table for four was a woman in her mid-forties in a conservative navy-blue “interview” suit, her hair pulled back in a tight, rather dowdy-looking bun.

This had to be Sarah Masterson.She embodied the clichéd image of an accountant—staid gray pantsuit, dark-rimmed glasses, and with her badly permed hair, in dire need of a stylist. Ethan could easily imagine her poring over piles of spreadsheets and ledgers in a dimly lit room somewhere with her fingers flying over an old-fashioned adding machine.

“Steven and Beth are usually the first to arrive,” Lanie murmured, as they made their way to the table. “I hope everything is all right.”

“Ms. Fischer,” the woman rose as she greeted them, smiling warmly. “I’ve been looking forward to our meeting.”

“As have I,” Lanie replied. “But how did you know I wasn’t Mrs. Anderson?”

“Your picture has been in the paper several times recently.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. She didn’t favor the notoriety for her or her clients. He’d advised her to get used to it with any high-profile criminal case, and because she was beautiful, and the cameras loved her.

“It’s Mrs. Fischer, actually. But please, call me Lanie.” She laid her hand on his arm, as she said further, “This is my husband, Ethan. Mrs. Anderson’s husband will also be joining us. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Heavens no,” she replied.

The server arrived as soon as they sat, and they ordered—a glass of white wine for Lanie and his usual dirty martini.

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