I am finally free! At a quarter to eight, Sarah strutted down the narrow staircase, being extra careful not to let her three-inch black patent-leather heels trip her, while she savored the look on Colt’s face. His square jaw had gone slack. His eyes were zeroed in on her chest—men, they so love boobies—and his posture was rigid as if his body had gone into high alert and his brain waves were scrambled.
She smiled with satisfaction. He likes the new look. Wild. Sexy. Bad girl. Sandra Dee, eat your heart out. In all honesty, though, this was the same look that had caught Colt’s eye the night at the club.
She sauntered up to Colt, a sex-kitten smile on her candy apple red lips and a promise of “fun” in her eyes.
“Sarah,” he said, more serious than a heart attack, “what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” she said coyly.
“You know what I mean.” His lust-filled eyes swept over her body, making her feel vulnerable, exposed, practically naked.
She lifted her chin. “I decided to get all leathered up. Don’t you like it?”
“Uhh…well…” He shook his head, his face flushing. “It’s not what I’m used to.”
“Ah! That’s because you’ve never seen me let go.”
He reached out and grabbed a lock of her hot pink hair, running the strands through his fingers. “Of what?”
“The old Sarah.”
He gave her a pained look. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“You lived for an entire year free from your past. Didn’t you find it liberating?”
“I found it challenging. I happen to like who I am.”
“Well, I used to think I liked who I was, too. But now I know I’ve wasted my adult life, trying to be perfect and upstanding. Look where that got me.”
“I understand. More than you know, Sarah. But…” his voice trailed off.
“But what?”
“Never mind.” He blew out a quick breath. “Let’s go have some fun.” He turned and headed for the waiting limo. “It’s going to be a long night,” he mumbled.
“What was that?” She’d heard him, but didn’t understand what he meant.
“Nothing.” He opened the back door of the limo and waved his hand. “After you.”
Sarah studied him for a moment, wondering if she should push for a real answer, but the thought quickly vanished as her mind shifted to something more important: Him. Sexy, sexy him. The way his jeans rode low on his hips. The way his chiseled pecs and ripped biceps stretched the fabric of his black T-shirt. The way his long hair fell down to his broad shoulders. And those hazel eyes. Intense at times and filled with adorable mischief at others. She wondered what his eyes looked like when he was in love. They probably sparkle and light up like—
Wait! No. I’m not interested in any of that. Fun only.
How about limo sex? That’s fun, right?
She smiled and slid past him, intentionally letting her hip brush across the front of his jeans as she passed. A rush of heat hammered through her body and flooded her core.
She slid into the seat and waited for Colt to follow her inside. Instead, he simply stood there, holding open the door.
“Colt?”
He didn’t answer, but she clearly saw his torso and—yum, yum—hips.
“Colt?” she called out again, leaning forward to see his face, but he was too tall.
All right. She slid over to see what was up. The moment he came into view, she understood something was wrong. His jaw muscles flexed, his hazel eyes were locked on the horizon, and his fists were clenched.
She hopped out and stood in front of him. “You okay?”
He glanced at her, but nothing more.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “No.”
“Then why are you standing there?”
He cleared his throat. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
His eyes moved down to meet her worried gaze. “I’m sorry, but I can’t show you a good time. Not like that.”
Oh. So he didn’t want to get frisky tonight. That sure stung a little. More troubling, however, was the irritation or frustration or something rather sizzling in his eyes. “Do you want me to go home?”
He gave her a hard look. “No. Not at all.”
Okay. Confusing. Sarah was about to ask him to elaborate, but pulled back. She sensed if she did, things would get heavy. For example, maybe he’d finally realized what she had. She wasn’t going to be around for much longer and why bother getting closer? However, they could still have tonight to simply enjoy each other. If that meant no sex, she supposed she could handle it, though she really wished he would change his mind.
Maybe he will. The night was still young and their chemistry was off the charts. She could easily see herself spending the rest of her life with—
Whoa. Hold on there, Jail House Betty. Remember? Fun only?
“I understand.” She stuck out her hand. “Fun friends?”
He looked at her hand like it could possibly be a land mine.
“I get it, Colt. This isn’t…” she inhaled and exhaled, “the ideal situation for anyone. But I’m here and you’re here and you made a commitment to help me live a little before I go to prison for sleeping with you.”
He gasped, and his eyes filled with guilt.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I meant that as a joke.”
“It wasn’t funny.” He looked severely agitated.
Great. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel bad. Yes, technically she was going to prison for sleeping with him, but that had been her choice. Not his. She would never blame him for any of this.
“Maybe this was a bad idea.” She shook her head at her heels. “I’ll just go back to San Fran—”
“No. Nope, I’m fine. My apologies. I owe you some fun, and you’re getting fun.”
“But—”
“I insist.” He gestured for her to get back inside the limo.
Did that mean he’d changed his mind about the sex? Don’t push it. Let’s just see how things go.
She tilted her head and smiled, reaching to stroke his chin. “Thank you, Colt.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome, Sarah.”
She slipped into the back of the car, and he followed, shutting the door behind him.
After about twenty minutes of awkward silence, Colt tapping away on his phone, Sarah felt like it was time to turn this night around. Set the tone to “wild and crazy” versus “we’re so complicated that a Rubik’s Cube’s got nothing on us.”
Sarah put on a smile determined to make it happen. “So, where to first?”
“We’re going to a party—I’m confirming we’re on the guest list.”
How exciting. “Anyone I know?”
“Jim Ripper.”
“Oooh!” She clapped. “The lead singer of the Iron Crossed? I love that group! Jim is an incredible singer.”
Colt gave her a disapproving look.
“Not as good as you, of course.”
“Uh-huh.” He lifted his brows, not believing her. But Colt really was the best. His deep voice sounded smooth and sensual regardless of whether he belted out rock anthems or strummed an acoustic guitar while singing a carefully crafted love song. His voice was an aphrodisiac. Move over Lady’s Viagra, there’s a new fluffer in town. Not that Colt was new.
But my leather pants sure are. She tugged at the side seams, trying to unwedge those bad boys from her crack. They weren’t nearly as comfortable as she’d thought. Probably require a little breaking in, that’s all.
“Hey, are these clothes okay for the party?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah. You’ll fit right in.” He kept his eyes forward, as if avoiding temptation.
Sarah smiled. She loved that he was into her new look. The expression on his face when she’d exited the plane had been priceless.
“Good,” she said, feeling her nerves building a bit. She’d never been to a Hollywood party. “They’ll have tequila, right?”
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.”