LITMIR.BIZ

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definitely sound. She tilted her head. “Does that help?”

      He lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “It would, except I never date a woman who goes by a man’s name.”

      Her wide smile at his fictitious—and ridiculous—dating guideline was alluring. “That’s an awful lot of rules you got there,” she said. She turned to go and then paused, shooting him a mischievous look over her shoulder. “Give me a call when you want to break one.”

      An amused scoff of doubt escaped as he watched her head out onto the courthouse lawn. When was the last time he’d engaged in a harmless flirtation? Too long, apparently. It was definitely time for him to start dating again if he was noticing a little hellion on heels. Hardly the kind of woman he needed in his life.

      An old VW Beetle parked in front of the courthouse began to blast a song loud enough to fill the bustling courthouse lawn. And one minute his sexy assailant was crossing the grassy grounds, the next she was stepping out into a dance routine. Stunned, Blake struggled to make sense of her actions until, one by one, she was joined by adolescents in a clearly choreographed routine. Soon, more than a dozen youth were engaged in a dance number good enough to be aired on a professional music video.

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake, a flash mob,” Sara said as she came to a stop beside him. Her voice was loaded with disapproval. “Don’t kids these days have anything better to do?”

      Blake stared at the group and, in particular, their leader, passion oozing from her every movement. Her earlier playful tone couldn’t be taken seriously, but the earnest enthusiasm on her face now was mesmerizing.

      “They’re just having fun, Sara,” he said with a distracted tone.

      There was a time when he used to live to have fun, having entirely too much of it along the way. But just because he’d crashed headfirst into reality when his father had died, leaving the responsibility for his madcap family on Blake’s shoulders, that didn’t mean the rest of the world needed one of life’s hardest lessons at the age of twenty.

      “No harm in that,” he went on.

      There was harm, however, in the way he was appreciating the fluid movements of the hazel-eyed girl/woman. She twisted, twirled and moved to the Latino hip-hop song—an odd choice given her cowboy boots—with a supple grace that was capable of contorting her body into almost impossible positions. Her dancing fired his imagination, turning his blood to molten metal.

      “No harm? Tell that to the police. They don’t look amused at all,” Sara said. “They look ready to make an arrest.”

      With effort, Blake shifted his gaze to the two unsmiling cops rapidly approaching the dance group, his mind filling with an interesting image of his hit-and-run perpetrator in handcuffs. And not in a professional capacity.

      What the hell was wrong with him?

      Blake gazed at the aforementioned policemen as one of them stopped to address the dancers engaged in the routine—a routine that currently involved undulating on the grass in an impressive dance move—while the other cop made a beeline for the beat-up VW Beetle blaring the music. And, for the first time, Blake noticed the leg encased in a long cast sticking out from the passenger seat of the offending car.

      A weary groan of frustration escaped his lips, and his entertainment in the scene came to a screeching halt.

      There was no doubt in his mind who the leg belonged to, because it was highly unlikely there could be two casts in Miami emblazoned with a red dragon from hip to toes. A cast tattoo, his sister had called it.

      Hand on the VW’s hood, the police officer hunched over to speak with the hidden occupant, the cast engulfing the leg like a plaster anchor. One that Blake had thought would keep Nikki from landing in hot water—like getting thrown in jail. At least until he’d wrapped up his current case.

      And there was nothing Blake hated more than being wrong.

       Six hours later

      “I came to arrange your release from jail as a favor to my sister, Ms. Lee,” Blake Bennington said, and Jax winced, saying a prayer of thanks, again, that she’d been the only one arrested today. The black interior of the limo and the lawyer’s dark good looks were a sharp contrast to his cool gray eyes as he went on. “Arguing the merits of the Miami Police Department with you wasn’t part of the deal.”

      Beside him, Jax squirmed against the plush leather seat. Calling her new friend, Nikki Bennington, for advice had seemed logical. When the law student had shared that her brother was less than amused by today’s escapades, Jax couldn’t have cared less about some unknown stuffed shirt. Until she’d learned that Nikki’s deal with her brother meant he’d informed his chauffer to bypass a charity event and head for the jail to help. Before Blake Bennington had arrived, Jax had vowed to honor the generous gesture by holding her tongue to keep the peace.

      A peace that had been most profoundly disturbed.

      The hairs on her arms still stood on end from the initial electrifying sight of her hit-and-run victim materializing to offer assistance. After hours in custody, she should have been too spent to feel anything. But it wasn’t every day a girl was rescued from behind bars by a tuxedo-clad man more gorgeous than James Bond…leaving her body both shaken and stirred.

      “I wasn’t arguing the police department’s merits,” she said, trying again for a conciliatory tone, which was pathetic at best. “I was just…” She forced herself to meet his gaze, the now familiar imposing form creating a jolting sizzle.

      The attraction was horribly inconvenient, especially with the disapproving vibes he exuded. Keeping her opinions to herself wasn’t her usual style, and much, much harder than she’d originally thought.

      She hiked her chin, aiming to bring a diplomatic end to their debate. “I was just questioning their priorities.”

      Blake tipped his head. “And I’m sure the police would love to accommodate you and your priorities,” he said smoothly, clearly not meaning the words. “But they have a job to do and are bound by the letter of the law. So for future reference—” a single brow lifted, a perfect match to his wry tone “—disturbing the peace, no matter how innocently it’s done, is illegal.”

      Jax bit her tongue at his tone, reminding herself to think of Nikki. Think of Nikki. During their previous run-in, Blake had appeared approachable, almost relaxed, but the moment he’d shown up to arrange her release, his intense lawyerly attitude had shown up, as well. Yet through it all the man had remained so cool. So calm. And now he was so right, damn him.

      One more statement pleading her point of view and then she’d happily remain silent. “I didn’t plan this event with the intention of breaking the law.”

      As if preparing for an interesting story, Blake leaned back, his posture one of a man in control. One arm thrown along the seat behind her. One leg crossed over the other. And two eyes focused on her as if daring her to impress him with her explanation.

      “Then what was your intention?” he said.

      “I work as a music therapist at South Glade Teen Center, an after-school club for kids. The county pulled their funding…”

      Her heart rate jumped, fear squeezing her chest. The club provided a safe place for the kids to be themselves. To belong. Without the facility, her high school years would have been unbearable. Shifting from foster family to foster family, South Glade had been the only constant, the one place she’d truly felt at home. Losing it now wasn’t an option.

      Seeking calm, she rubbed the small tattoo that partially disguised the two well-healed scars on her wrist. Warrior wounds, she liked to call them. Symbols of her past. They reminded her of who she was.

      And how far she’d come.

      She straightened her shoulders and pushed the panic aside. “So I wanted to gain a little positive publicity for our cause.”

      “By

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