Leather Pants

  Colt glanced at her, irritation written all over his face. Did he not like the idea of her getting smashed? “Yes. They’ll have tequila.”

  “Then I’m ready!”

  “That makes one of us.”

  Sarah laughed. Why was he being so serious? She shrugged it off as the limo pulled up to the biggest house she’d ever seen.

  The limo door flew open and a red-vested valet held out his hand for her.

  She looked at Colt, who had the expression of someone going to the dentist.

  “Hey. You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I love working on a Friday night,” he said glibly.

  He thought of this as work?

  “Beats sitting through a murder trial.”

  He made a little shrug. “Can’t argue with that.” They popped out of the limo and made their way inside.

  Sarah had never seen so many famous people in one place that wasn’t her TV. Movie stars, television actors, musicians, and famous athletes. Strolling through the lavish, castle-looking mansion was like walking through a wax museum, only these people were alive. And they all loved Colt. Every two seconds, someone came up to give him a hug or a kiss on the cheek or take a selfie with him. Of course, being the gentleman that he was, Colt attempted to introduce her to people, but they only seemed interested in asking him for a favor or telling them about some project he might want to get in on.

  Sarah simply stood there, feeling both invisible and awestruck by the celebrities at the party. But most of all, she watched how Colt became another person. He spoke very little and kept a serious face, coming off as tough and very badass. The Colt she was accustomed to was strong and sometimes serious, yes, but he was also filled with energy and a sprinkle of goofiness. This guy was low-key and chill.

  After almost an hour of people mobbing Colt, the two made their way outside, where a DJ spun house music under a big tent and the crowd mingled by the bar.

  This is not the kind of fun I needed. These people, despite being dressed for fun, looked like they were there to do business—rub elbows, make an appearance, and show off their very expensive jewelry and outfits.

  She and Colt were almost to the bar when a flock of identically dressed women besieged him. They looked like they might be Playboy bunnies with their huge boobs, short-shorts, and low-cut pink tank tops. “Colt! Ohmygod. We are all huge fans. We almost died when you were shot,” one said and the other women agreed, chattering about the event.

  “Yes,” Colt said to one woman, “that’s what I said.”

  She giggled. “Can we get a picture with you?”

  “Of course,” said Colt.

  The woman gave Sarah a look, as if she were a tick that had hitchhiked on Colt’s arm and needed to be picked off, followed by squashing.

  Too busy signing autographs, Colt didn’t seem to notice that Sarah had been edged away by the she-mob.

  “I’ll just be over there,” Sarah muttered to no one, pointing to the bar. Okay. Fine. I guess I’m on my own to have a little fun. I need tequila.

  She bellied up to the bar and ordered a shot. The moment it landed in front of her, she threw it back and tapped her finger on the counter. “Another—wait, make it two more.” The bartender, a young brunette, didn’t bat an eyelash.

  “Judge Alma, you’re the last person I expected to see at my party,” said a deep voice.

  Sarah turned her head to find the Jim Ripper staring down at her. His long black hair was loose around his face, and he wore his signature black eyeliner and leather vest. He almost looked like a motorcycle gang member, but he was too clean and too pretty. Green, green eyes, clean shaven, and he smelled fresh.

  “Mr. Ripper, it’s so nice to meet you. But how do you know me?”

  He gave her the once-over. “I admit your new look didn’t make it easy to recognize you, but I’d never forget those eyes and lips.”

  She smiled, tilting her head, trying her best to remember meeting him.

  “What? Don’t you remember?” he said. “You defended my little sister about five years ago. She was arrested for a DUI.”

  Really? Sarah did not recall, but she’d worked a lot of cases in the Public Defender’s Office and as a private attorney before being elected to the bench.

  “Katie Reiner. Accounting major at Berkeley. Nineteen? Long blond hair?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Katie was a college student who got into an accident driving home late at night. There’d been alcohol in the trunk of the car, and the officer had given her a breathalyzer, which she’d passed, but he still arrested her for driving under the influence because she’d been under the legal drinking age. “I had no idea Katie was your sister. How is she?”

  “Great. Thanks to you. You know that alcohol wasn’t Katie’s—she had no idea it was even there.”

  “I remember,” Sarah said. “It belonged to a friend or something.”

  “Her stupid older brother.” Jim smiled. “And you believed her and made sure the charges were dropped.”

  The bartender delivered Sarah’s two shots, and Jim gave her a look.

  She shrugged. “I needed something to take the edge off.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.” He grabbed one of the shots and held up the glass. “To Judge Alma.”

  “Call me Sarah.” She grabbed the other shot and tapped the glass against his.

  “To Sarah. The woman who made sure justice was served.”

  He had no idea how good it felt to hear that. Helping innocent people—like her father—stay out of jail was the reason she went to law school. She suddenly wondered at what point becoming a judge had become more important than that.

  “Thank you.” She threw back the drink while feeling the effects of the first shot in her stomach—a warm, burning sensation—and a glow in her heart.

  “So. What brings you to my party?” Jim asked.

  Sarah simply stared at him, trying to let it sink in that she was standing at the bar, chitchatting with Jim Ripper, surrounded by the world’s most famous people. Too surreal for words.

  “I came with Colt Young,” she finally replied. She glanced over in Colt’s general direction, but he was shielded by the groupie mob.

  “Interesting,” said Jim. “I never would’ve guessed you two would be a thing, but yeah, I guess it makes sense. You almost died together. Trip, man. What a fucking trip.” He bobbed his head.

  “Oh, we’re not a thing. We’re just…” she didn’t really know what, so she went with, “friends.”

  “Well, then,” he held out his elbow, “since your friend is busy, would you like to open the dance floor?”

  Sarah glanced over at the large platform underneath a tent where the DJ spun. No one was dancing. “You’re asking if I’d like all these people to stare while I try to dance in these heels?”

  “That’s the idea. You scared, Judge?”

  “I’m not a judge anymore. But, hell no. I’m not scared.” I’m terrified. But I’m doing it anyway. “Lead the way.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Colt kept trying to get away from the horde of aggressive women while being respectful—after all, these ladies were his fans—but they did not make it easy. They insisted on photos and autographs, to which he could’ve said no, but unless someone behaved rudely, he made it his policy to treat his fans like loyal customers. After all, where would he be without them?

  From the corner of his eye, he’d seen Sarah walk off to the bar, but she was gone by the time he’d finished with the twelve ladies—none of them his type, none of them real like a certain woman he was desperately trying to resist.

  He scanned the crowd, searching for her hot-pink-streaked hair, but didn’t see her. Had she found someone else to show her a good time?

  Maybe it’s for the best. There was no way in hell he would be able to keep his hands off her for much longer. The moment she’d brushed against him, getting into the limo, it had taken all of his self-control not to climb in after her, peel off those hot-as-si
n leather pants she wore, push her down on all fours, and fuck the hell out of her from behind. The only thing that had saved him was thinking about how crushed he’d be if he finally showed her the real him and she wasn’t interested.

  No, that’s not going to happen. Sarah wasn’t shallow like that.

  Yeah, but you were wrong about your brother. Your own brother. He could be wrong about anyone.

  Colt went back inside to find his date and mingled his way through the packed living room, dodging several “ex-girlfriends” (fabricated relationships with fabricated endings), and politely declining a few more selfie invites.

  Where the hell could Sarah be?

  A waiter strolled by, carrying a tray of empty drinks. Colt grabbed his arm. “Hey, have you seen a woman in black leather pants with hot pink in her hair?”

  The waiter—a thin guy in his twenties—grinned. “She about this tall,” he held up his hand about shoulder height, “and wearing a really, really tiny tank top?”

  Colt held back a jealous growl. “Yesss.”

  The waiter smiled appreciatively as if savoring a very hot memory, one he might use to get off later tonight.

  Asshole. I’ll kill you.

  “She’s dancing with Big Jim.” The waiter sighed. “Such a treat.”

  Colt’s nostrils flared. “What the hell do you mean by ‘treat’?”

  The waiter stepped back, sensing he’d crossed a line. “Uhhh…sorry, sir. I only meant that she’s, uh…” he cleared his throat, “a very good dancer.”

  Good dancer? He laughed. If her dancing was anything like her singing, then what the waiter had really meant was “entertaining.”

  “Thanks.” Colt turned around and made his way back through the crowd, this time chucking his politeness policy out the fucking window.

  When he got outside, there was a huge crowd gathered around the tent. Many were cheering; most held their cell phones in the air and were taking videos.

  Oh, fuck. It was Sarah. What’s she doing? Colt pushed his way to the front and there he saw something he could never imagine in a million years.

  No fucking way.

  Sarah had never had so much fun. Not when she was a teenager. Not when she presided over her first criminal trial, and not when she’d given the valedictorian speech at her graduation from Harvard. Top of her class.

  But this—letting go and feeling alive, oblivious as to what anyone thought about her—was euphoric.

  She and Jim had hit the floor, and before she knew what was happening, the other guests joined in, laughing, dancing, and yelling as the DJ amped up the beats, driving the crowd into a frenzy. Within minutes, Jim had her up on a go-go platform, conducting the partygoers like an orchestra of mayhem. She danced faster, raising her arms in the air, and the crowd followed. She jumped up and down like a crazy pogo stick and they screamed in hysterics, pumping their fists in the air, urging her to go faster. She didn’t know how much longer her body (and those spiked heels) would hold up, but she was having the time of her life.

  “Go. Go. Go!” chanted the crowd in time with the bass.

  Sarah closed her eyes and did just that. Hips, hands, chest, heartbeat. She let it all go, her worries drifting away. There was her, the music, the freedom.

  “Sarah,” a deep voice echoed in her ear at the exact time a powerful pair of hands gripped her hips from behind, nearly causing her to crash to the floor.

  Her eyes flipped open. Staring at her were two hazel eyes laced with irritation. Colt. He’s so beautiful. Even hotter when he’s angry.

  “What the hell are you doing, Sarah?”

  His words snapped her from her blissful state. “I’m dancing. What the hell are you doing, Colt?”

  “They’re filming you,” he growled. “And you’re going on trial. What do you think the jury will do when they see you acting like this?”

  Sarah looked out over the crowd. Hundreds of smart phones were directed right at them. She looked at Colt. Looked at them. “Fuck ’em!” She held her arms up in the air and hollered, “Hell yeah!”

  The crowd cheered back.

  Suddenly, she felt her body being yanked down off that platform and scooped up into two very strong arms.

  “What are you doing, Colt?”

  “We’re leaving,” Colt growled over the music as the crowd booed loudly.

  “Why?” she asked, bouncing in his arms. Ooh, he’s so strong.

  “I didn’t agree to this.” He growled, weaving through the gawking partygoers snapping off photos.

  “Agree to what?” He looked genuinely upset, but why?

  “Colt,” she said sternly “put me down!”

  He glanced at her and did as she asked.

  She pulled him to the side of the yard, out of earshot of the gawkers. “What’s going on?”

  His body posture—clenched fists, straight back, tight lips—signaled he was very unhappy, but he didn’t speak.

  “Colt, I’m talking to you. What was that? And why did you have to ruin my good time?”

  “Good time?” he seethed. “You call making an ass out of yourself a ‘good time’?”

  What a jerk. “I was not making an ass out of myself. I was dancing. Okay—and making the most of being left alone for a gaggle of horny groupies.”

  “Those women are fans—they’re how I make a living.”

  “You were drooling over their giant boobs and getting your giant ego stroked.”

  “No. I was working.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. You were working and I was dancing, but I still don’t understand why that was a problem.”

  “Sarah, you cannot run around acting out like a wild teenager. You’re a grown woman who’s in a lot of trouble.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what’s coming? It’s bad, Colt. Really, really bad. And what they do to judges in prisons? I’ll be lucky to survive a year. So excuse me if I want to behave immaturely and do tequila shots and dance. This is my last chance.” She had a few weeks until the pretrial. From there, it would be a grueling road preparing for trial, followed by the actual trial.

  Followed by orange jumpsuit time. Yippy-fucking-ki-yay.

  “You are not helping yourself if you run around acting like the immoral slut they’re accusing you of being.”

  Sarah’s mouth hung open. “How can you—man-whore of the year—say that to me?”

  Colt parked one fist at his side and blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His voice quieted. “I can’t stop hoping you’ll get out of this somehow, Sarah.” He reached out and ran his thumb across her lower lip.

  Her anger evaporated like a puff of steam. Goddammit. Why does he have to be so likable?

  Needing him to truly understand the situation, she used her tell-it-like-it-is judge voice. “It’s not going to happen, Colt. They’re going to make an example out of me.” Wright had on his lead-filled boxing gloves, and he wanted blood. She suspected he’d involved the governor, too, because everything for her case had been fast-tracked. It normally took months for a pretrial in a case like this. “Judge Wright has turned this into a politically charged witch hunt, and I’m ripe for the burning.”

  Colt looked down at his boots, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.”

  She reached out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. His strong, strong arm. “It’s not your fault. I brought this on myself.”

  He scoffed. “That’s not true, but even if it was, don’t you think you deserve a second chance? You’re a good person, Sarah. You help people. And you helped me.”

  Her heart felt toasty warm. “I’m glad I could do that for you. It means a lot that I could give you back your life and your music.”

  He chuckled bitterly. “That’s the funny part. I remember everything, but I still can’t play any of my old songs.”

  “What? That’s awful. What did the doctor say?”

  He shrugged. “To give it time.”

  “I’m so s
orry, Colt.”

  “Strangely, I’m not. I’ve started writing new songs.”

  The brain is a magical place. “If there’s anything I can do, anything at all.”

  “You can not go to prison and stay in my life, being a good influence.”

  Dear God. He’s so damned sweet. She wanted to grab him and never let go. “You know what? After everything that’s happened—losing my bench, getting shot, facing trial—the one thing I’ve come away with is that there are no guarantees. All we really have is this moment, so you’d better enjoy all of it before the clock runs out.” She’d already decided; if lucky enough to survive the shit storm down the road, she would not waste one single moment of living, which included her career. Perhaps she’d go back to helping people the old-fashioned way, such as working at a legal-aid center, giving advice to people who couldn’t afford a lawyer. Or she might be able to teach after a few years. Who wouldn’t want to learn from my mistakes?

  “I’ve almost died three times in twelve months, and I lost my memory. I get what you mean,” Colt replied and flashed a devilishly charming smile.

  A comforting calmness flooded the air between them. She couldn’t remember it ever being like this. No tension. No pretending. Just talking. And we’re not bleeding. Not bleeding is really awesome.

  “I’m glad you didn’t die, Colt. Otherwise, I would’ve missed out on all of this excitement.” It sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t. Somehow losing everything, except the really important things—her friends, family, and health—made the little things that much more precious.

  “I still think you should let me try to help,” he said.

  “You’d be wasting your money. You can’t hire a better lawyer than the one I already have, and you paying for my legal defense would only raise eyebrows.” It might look like he was trying to help her hide what they’d done.

  “But we’re allowed to be seen together in public?”

  “We were together that night, and I won’t deny it to anyone. But I will deny there was any criminal intent on my part.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “Absolutely. You were horrible.” She cracked a smile.