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I sign a book for a man who raves about my column and Reese’s skill in the courtroom. He watched “every moment of the trial on TV.” I smile and sign his book “Cat Summer” which is pretty darn surreal. The next person in line is quick to attack Dan. “He was horrid in court,” the sixty-something woman says. “Horrid. Don’t you think so, Mr. Summer?”
“He put Kelli Ward in prison for life,” Reese says. “I forgive him for being a jerk for that reason.”
“I hope Nelson Ward has found peace.”
“He has,” Reese says. “And with this book, we hope his story gets heard.”
I hand a signed book to her, and she leaves us with a break from the long line we’d managed the past hour. I reach for my bottle of water, when Reese nudges me. “Look,” he says, motioning to his mother, who looks stunning in a knee length emerald dress. “She’s flirting with a guy twenty years younger than her.”
“And he’s flirting back. I love it.”
“I do not love it,” Reese says. “I’m supposed to go help her install a new television tomorrow. I don’t want to show up to her apartment and find a guy my own age, or any age, running around naked.”
I laugh. “I doubt he will be running around. I still can’t get used to her apartment being my old apartment but I love it. My mom wanted to start fresh there, I did start fresh there, and now she’s teaching here, and starting fresh in that same apartment.”
“And flirting with young kids.”
“He’s not a kid,” I laugh again.
“Holy fuck,” he says.
“What now?”
I follow his lead and find his sister, who is an absolute brunette goddess, in conversation with Gabe who has actually become friends with Reese. Flirty conversation. “Oh my,” I say. “They are cuddly.”
“I have to stop this.” He tries to stand.
“You will not. Let them have fun.”
He looks over at me. “Isn’t that like saying one and done? It never works.”
“Right. Someone either gets hurt or gets married. She lives here now, too. Maybe we should go break them up.” We both stand and start walking in that direction, Mr. and Mrs. Summer to rescue one dirty rich one night stand at a time.
Cat Does Crime: Christmas Day
In closing: Contrary to popular talking heads in the media Santa did not steal Christmas, or any other holiday. I did. At least where Christmas is concerned since that is what I celebrate. Christmas is right here in my house, with a tree decorated in silver, in case you wondered. I hope whatever it is that you celebrate is alive and well in your house, too, because this time of year is about family, friendship, and a whole lot of eating. We need more family and friends in this world. We need more pumpkin pie, actually, but that’s for another day. For those of you who have written in asking how becoming Cat Summer changes me or this column, I hope you have had a few months to see that it changes nothing. For the record, if Reese Summer missteps in a trial I will not only tell him, I will tell you. Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and until then, —Cat
PART TWO
Two Years Later…
Chapter forty-one
Cat
Day one: The day before the second biggest trial of the century…
No matter how many times I wake in my husband’s arms as I do now, it never gets old. Reese is mine. Yeah. Never gets old. Today though there will be no lingering and making love as we do so many mornings. He’s starting what could be the second biggest trial of his career, on edge, and overworked, and the minute the alarm goes off, I expect him to jump out of bed. He doesn’t. He wraps his arm around me right along with all those sinewy muscles, and his lips press to my ear. “How about a morning fuck for luck?” he murmurs, his hands sliding over my belly, cupping my breast, and teasing my nipple.
“Your luck or mine?” I murmur, covering his hand where it’s pressed to my breast. “Because it feels like mine.”
He slips his cock along my now slick sex and presses inside me. “Mine,” he says. “The luck and you.”
I bite my lip at that possessive, sexy comment that I would have pushed back on long ago, but not now. Now I am his and I like it. He presses into me again and I arch against his hand squeezing my breast, and the hard length of him buried inside me. There is this raw burn between us, his raw need, that edge in him he gets right before a case, and even before it happens, I know it’s coming. I’m flat on my stomach and he’s driving into me, hard and fast, intense. He’s intense. It consumes me. He consumes me and I lose myself in every drive, pump, and touch. I don’t know where he begins and I end, and somehow we’re in that shuddering, over the edge, sweet spot together, his low guttural moan so hot, I’m clenching tighter. He stills on top of me and then rolls to his side, taking me with him.
“I will never start a trial without doing that, ever again,” he murmurs near my ear.
“Today is not your trial day.”
