“Thank God she wasn’t still hanging out in her underpants.”

“Her body trembled as she finally caved. “Touch me, Kyle. Now,” she begged.Thank fucking God.”

“AS IT TURNED out, Rylann wasn’t quite as good as she’d thought she was.Over the last five years she’d prosecuted cases, she’d become quite skilled at reading defendants and their lawyers at the initial courtappearance. Given Quinn’s obvious nervousness, she’d originally predicted that his lawyer would be calling her within two weeks to negotiate aplea agreement.Instead, it took him two weeks and three days to make that call.”

“I love you,” she said softly.Jason's arms tightened around her. He grinned sleepily. “I know.”Taylor drifted off contentedly. Until through the darkness, she heard a low, sneaky whisper. “Mrs. Taylor Andrews . . .”She didn't bother to open her eyes.“Still not gonna happen.”

“She looked for the deposition transcript she had dropped, she turned around and——the entire audience in the galley cried out in shock.Unbeknownst to Payton, when she had fallen her skirt—those damn slim-fit skirts she liked so much—had torn at the seam and now gaped open, and sweet Jesus, she was wearing a thong and two tiny white butt cheeks peeked out from between the folds of her skirt—J.D.’s jaw nearly hit the floor.”

“You’re right,” she acknowledged. “I don’t know you,really. We spent all of about thirty minutes togethernearly a decade ago. Still, I think the Kyle Rhodeswho walked me home and gave me the shirt off hisback would do the right thing no matter how pissedhe was at my office. So if that guy is hanging aroundthis penthouse anywhere, tell him to call me.”

“Come with me to the Pacific Design Center.”“Why?”“Because I need help picking out a new couch,” he said, peering up at her uncertainly. “Isn’t that what friends do?”“Okay.”“Okay.” “Should we go?”Taylor went back inside her apartment and grabbed her keys. As she followed Jason out to his car, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey—can I drive the Aston Martin?”“No.”“But isn’t that what friends do?”“No.”“My, my, you’re awfully grumpy today . . . Is something wrong?”“Buckle up, sweetheart,” he told her. “This ain’t no PT Cruiser.”