Lovers in law Read Online Free PDF Page B

golden rule prohibits me dating
either a colleague or a client. But strictly speaking, Radford
Byrne was neither. We were two professionals from different
branches of the law working on one case. Once it was over, we need
never see each other again. There’d be no awkward moments in office
corridors, no accusations of sleeping my way to the top and no
reason to explain why I’d gone out with him but not Mike.
    In fact, this one degree of
separation could be the very thing that would ultimately bring us
together.
    Or so I told myself.
    But I didn’t want to rush into
anything. I had to play it very cool next time I saw him.
    I therefore didn’t know whether to
be relieved or disappointed to find Radford in court on Wednesday
when I arrived at chambers. I was psyched up for that first
encounter – had a witty riposte ready and waiting – but instead I
was shown into his empty office and told to work alone.
    Not that I didn’t have plenty to be
getting on with. One of the expert witnesses I’d interviewed had
touched upon an area of building defects we hadn’t fully explored
so I got down to some serious research. Nothing concentrates a
girl’s mind more than compiling evidence in a building negligence
case. A couple of hours making a list of further questions on site
specifications, materials analysis and stress tolerance levels
drove all thoughts of Radford’s sexy body out of my head.
    Unfortunately. Because I
missed the excitement.
    Rather than upset Radford’s
meticulous filing system, I began laying out the new evidence
across the floor, making neat piles according to where they might
fit in the case. So there I was, three hours later, on my hands and
knees with my backside in the air, when the door opened and Radford
walked in.
    “Well that’s a lovely big smile,”
he said, staring pointedly at my bum as he flung his court gown
across a chair. “I hadn’t realised it was my birthday today.”
    “Would you have made that kind of
comment to Mike?” I asked, forcing down the thrill at his obvious
appreciation of, what many men have called, my best feature.
    “No. But I don’t find Mike’s arse
half as appealing as yours.”
    I deserved that, I supposed. It was
my own fault for kissing him. In my experience, that sort of thing
always gives a man ideas.
    I sat back on my heels and watched
Radford shrug off his jacket, catching a glimpse of a Saville Row
label. I expected nothing less: he struck me as a man with
expensive tastes.
    The movement stretched his shirt
tight across his broad chest and drew my attention to the way his
body narrowed to a taut waist and trim hips with tightly rounded
bum cheeks. I deliberately kept my eyes off his groin, terrified I
might give myself away by unconsciously licking my lips at the
thought of what off-the-scale delights lay inside his trousers.
    The world might have entered the
digital age but formal court dress for British barristers was still
stuck somewhere in the eighteenth century. A black gown, horsehair
wig, wing collar and white bands instead of a tie. It’s not a look
that would have suited every man but Radford carried it off with a
certain panache.
    He untied the bands, removed his
shirt’s detachable collar and undid his top two buttons. When he
sat down next to me I saw his hairy chest where his shirt gaped
open and wanted to rip the rest of his buttons off for an
uninterrupted view.
    I adore hairy men and don’t
understand the obsession many have with waxing their chests. Let a
man look like a real man, I say, and give a girl the chance to run
her fingers through untamed territory.
    And I doubted there’d be anything
wilder than Radford’s body once it was unleashed.
    Apparently unaware of my impure
thoughts, he stretched out next to me on the rug, appearing even
taller lying down than he did standing up. Again the image of him
sprawling naked on crisp. white sheets popped into my head and I
gave a heavy sigh which had Radford looking up at