Chapter Three

Across the pub, Ian King gazed at The Honorable Ms. Justice Whittingstall.

After taking another swig of his ale, he glanced down at the single long-stemmed lavender rose laying on the ancient, dark-wood bar. Fifteen minutes earlier on his way home, he’d spied her entering the pub and had impulsively followed her inside after buying the rose from a corner shop.

She laughed, the throaty sound traveling across the pub to tease him with its lusty sensuality. The lady was formidable and strong—which he liked—but when laughter softened her expression, she became soft and feminine—which he liked even better.

He’d secretly desired her for months and had recently launched a sometimes not-so-subtle flirtation with her, his tried and true method for winning beauties to his bed.

It had got him nowhere. Her humbling public reprimand was still fresh in his mind. But why had she resumed their sexy banter? Perhaps she wasn’t completely immune to him, after all.

The judge had made an impression on him from his first appearance in her court two years ago. That she was older than him had been apparent, but somehow it only added an element of experience to her allure. The efficient manner in which she ran things—so authoritative and firm, she could have been a Domme—and her dry sense of humor made him look forward to the days when he was on her docket.

But what really drew him to her was her incredible legal mind. Brilliant and sharp. It was always a thrill to spar with her over legal minutia. That she sometimes bested him didn’t matter, because he’d learned so much from her.

She was a frontal cortex thinker, and he longed to go up against her in a game of chess.

Then he’d seen her jogging by the Thames a few months back, and the impact of her lusciously curvy bod in skintight Lycra had made him want to play other games with her. Naughty games.

If he’d known it was her, he’d have made a move right then, but away from the Royal Courts and out of her hideous boxy suits, he hadn’t realized why she looked so familiar. By the time he’d recognized her, it was too late. After that, visions of her bouncing tits and that great ass as she’d run by him had haunted his dreams.

Tonight as he watched, she reached one hand behind her neck to pat her strict, always tidy bun. Why did she wear her hair like that? Was it habit, left over from years of concealing it under the ugly horsehair wigs that were still worn in some English courts, but thankfully not theirs anymore. What would her hair look like down and flowing around her shoulders?

An image of it loose and spread out on a pillow while she gazed up at him with eyes full of passion, her sultry voice begging him, hit him like a sensual tsunami. He groaned aloud.

He’d found himself thinking about her way too often over recent months. His fascination had grown into an absurd obsession, and he never obsessed about women—rather, more the other way around. Girls had chased him since he was a teen.

Advancing in his career was all that had ever mattered to him. All that still mattered. He hadn’t worked every waking minute studying and practicing law since passing his A-levels to fall in love and settle down, even if that’s what his member-of-the-peerage father expected. The fact that he served in her court was yet another reason he should cease and desist this madness.

Ian wanted to reach a rung on the legal ladder where he could really help people, and he wanted to do it on his own, without any assistance from his illustrious family. As a result, he had no time for wooing a clingy girlfriend—especially not a judge—and wasn’t ready for a “proper” marriage. He didn’t need romantic love in his life. At all.

But his body needed physical love, and that was a hard puzzle for a man who only wanted to win in court and not at courting love.

Standing here watching Victoria and unsuccessfully trying to hear her conversation, he admitted she’d disrupted his orderly rules and beliefs. She’d intrigued him, plagued him, and distracted him to the point that he’d abandoned his “no wooing” rule and bought the rose now lying before him.

He needed to raise the bar, since his usual flirty methods hadn’t worked worth a bloody damn. Tonight, he’d take a first step and ask her out on a real date. The fact that she’d consistently rejected his flirtations—today’s encounter being the single deviation—didn’t even weigh in his deliberations. He hadn’t achieved this much in life this quickly by playing it safe. And he never conceded a battle before giving it everything he had—not in the courtroom nor in the bedroom.

He tipped his mug back and finished his Adnams. Grabbing the rose, he moved to join the three women, since it didn’t seem he would catch his quarry alone.

But then Victoria rose and headed in his direction.

He turned away, hiding among the crowd until she drew near.

Most likely, he didn’t have a chance with her—she was so far out of his league—but he would give it one last A-levels try.

He waited, ready to step into her path.