CHAPTER ONE

“Mr. Hadley, I’m representing you today.” The woman on the other side of the Berkeley courthouse table wore a conservative blue suit that made her look ten years older than Clinton Hadley suspected she was.

Trouble was…

He needed a real old lawyer—or at least a battle-scarred one—like the one he’d hired last month. Thinning white hair, outdated wire rimmed glasses, willing to lie, cheat, and deal to get Clinton Hadley out of jail in time to quarterback the Wolves against the Vipers on Sunday.

Trouble was…

This woman had long, thick brown hair that he wanted to touch. Her clothes, her glasses, her cleavage (none shown!) were all in style and up-to-date. And she gave him a conservative smile, the kind that said she’d never lied, cheated, or double-dealed to get anyone out of jail. Ever.

“I’m Brenda Thomas from Wilson, Wilson and Wyatt.” The conservative smile vanished. In its place was a look he’d seen too often on rookies lining up across from a veteran offensive tackle, trying too hard to look confident.

He was in trouble! Big trouble.

“Where’s my lawyer?” The one Clinton wouldn’t trust playing poker with. Those things the jail had called eggs made an illegal move up his throat.

Her “confidence” never wavered. “Mr. Wilson sends his regrets from the Bahamas.”

Clinton’s agent was also on vacation this week. Had everyone deserted him during the most important time of his life? Didn’t anyone stay at home for Thanksgiving anymore?

“I’ve been in here since Saturday night,” he said. It was Monday morning.

She bit her bottom lip. Was she nervous?

Try sitting where I am, sweetheart!

She set her cell phone on the table. “We’re scheduled to appear in front of Judge Kowalski in fifteen minutes.” To her credit, there was no fear in her voice.

“Great.” There might have been some fear in his. There was no time now to call the lawyer he’d fired at the end of the summer. “Last month, Judge Kowalski told me to settle down, get married, and stay out of trouble.” After his backup started a brawl at a club.

“I guess you didn’t take his advice.” Ms. Thomas opened a folder and flipped through the pages. “Sadly, the getting married part would’ve helped. Judge Kowalski is notoriously softer on family men.” Her fingers—long, slender, ringless—drummed over his arrest report.

She flipped the folder closed with a sigh, slid her readers down her nose and examined him over the top of those black rims like the university librarian the first time Clinton had asked for a reference book on aerospace engineering. “Tell me what we’re dealing with. The truth.”

“It’s nothing.” Nothing he was going to share with someone he hadn’t hired.

“So there were no drugs?”

“No, ma’am.” As quarterback of the Wolves, Clinton found no time or interest or purpose in doing anything like that.

“No naked women?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No taunting, blind punches thrown, resisting arrest…?” She blinked at him expectantly. He was in jail, after all.

“Well…” Clinton was going to have to tell her something beyond what she could read in the arrest report. “Here’s the thing…”

Ms. Thomas pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Guilty or not?”

“What?”

“Were you guilty of breaking and entering the county impound lot?” She stared at him as if she was ready to pack up her little leather briefcase and leave him in jail.

“I was trying to get to my car.”

“Which had been towed after you were cited for street racing on Friday.” She checked the time on her cell phone. “What was so important that you had to show up at the impound lot at two a.m., be refused access to your car, and sneak onto the lot?” She did begin packing her things then—cell phone, pencil, file folder.

The eggs in Clinton’s stomach performed an illegal motion.

“The judge will want to know if you were hiding drugs in the car. That’s how this looks—like police missed the drugs when the car was impounded and you went back to retrieve them, got upset when you were refused access, punched a tow truck driver and resisted arrest.”

Clinton wished his backup quarterback Lewis Stevens hadn’t confessed he’d hidden a baggy with Viagra beneath the passenger seat of Clinton’s impounded race car. He wished he’d told Lewis off after the nightclub incident, and found a good woman to settle down with like the judge recommended. “Things got out of hand the other night.”

“Only because you didn’t have something in your hand. What was that something, Mr. Hadley?”

* * *

The trouble with being a lawyer raised by lawyers in a family where everyone was a lawyer—from Brenda Thomas’ second cousins to her great aunt—was that just about everyone in the court system was related to her somehow or within three degrees of separation.

Take Judge John Kowalski. He was her father’s best friend. They’d gone to law school together. The Thomases spent every Thanksgiving holiday with the Kowalskis at their sprawling vacation ranch northeast of Santa Rosa. And the Kowalskis spent New Year’s at the Tahoe cabin owned by the Thomases.

That connection didn’t mean Brenda was going to find any leniency with “Uncle John.” In fact, given that she’d just returned to practicing in the San Francisco Bay area after years of working in New York, Uncle John might use this case to make an example of her.

Brenda wouldn’t blame him if he did. She didn’t much care for Clinton Hadley’s attitude. He was hiding something. Clients who withheld information from their lawyers deserved what they got. When he’d complained about being held in jail two nights, she’d had to bite her lip from saying, “Boo-hoo.”

But she couldn’t just go through the motions. She had to try to get her client free, if only for the fact that she hadn’t been at Wilson, Wilson and Wyatt very long. She was so new, her health insurance hadn’t kicked in yet.

The case was called. Almost as one, the media shifted in their seats, filling the court with the sound of creaking plastic, shuffling feet, and the click of record buttons to capture every word spoken about the football star.

Brenda sat next to her client, feeling like a dwarf next to his tall, muscular frame. But at least, she was a freshly showered dwarf.

“I need to play in Sunday’s game,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll do anything to make it happen.”

His warm breath planted a stake of awareness in her spine. She wasn’t used to feeling attraction to clients who were larger than life and had a secret. Maybe it was because she didn’t know his. Maybe it was because she was disappointed in him. She’d always admired Clinton Hadley as a squeaky clean quarterback in a competitive league where players would do anything to stay on a roster. He’d been in trouble with the law several times over the past few months, maybe even since the playoffs last year when a brutal sack had earned him four broken ribs. Make no mistake. His arrests and run-ins with the law were small things. But in her book, small things added up to one thing where athletes were concerned: train wreck ahead.

She glanced up at Clinton. Finely chiseled features, crisply cut black hair, dark brown eyes that could dissect a defense in less than ten seconds. He was known for his ability to adjust a play on the fly, to take risks, to think outside the box. What line had he crossed?

He caught her stare and smiled. It wasn’t a smile that found humor in the situation. Or one to charm. It was the same smile he gave competitors when he was under center calling a play. It said, “I’ve got this.” It said, “Bring it on.” It said, “You have no idea what’s coming your way.”

Clinton Hadley didn’t have this. And an attitude like that was detrimental to Brenda’s success. Marbury Wilson had been clear on the phone this morning. Clinton had to make the game on Sunday, or she’d be fired. And considering the way she’d left her last job, only the most desperate firm would touch her if Marbury let her go.

Uncle John stared down at Brenda. The furrows he’d earned over years of serving on the bench deepened. He brushed back his peppery hair and reviewed Clinton’s file once more before reading the charges aloud. “I’ve seen you in my courtroom far too often, Mr. Hadley. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Clinton said in a firm voice.

The district attorney’s grin found humor in Clinton’s plea and a back door into Brenda’s competitive streak. “Your Honor, I’d like to call the arresting officer to the stand.”

Clinton leaned down to whisper in her ear again. “He’s going to tell the truth.”

She noted Clinton’s smile, his intensity, his air of complete domination. In any other circumstance, she’d be happy to see a man with an ego like that go down. “Maybe you should try it sometime,” she whispered back. “The truth, that is. I hear it’ll set you free.”

His dark eyes glittered and she felt another stake of awareness.

“Not guilty. Not taking the stand either.” He shot a half-glance over his shoulder to the media in the peanut gallery.

He valued privacy over freedom? If he wanted to play on Sunday, he didn’t have the luxury.

“You leave me no choice,” Brenda whispered. “But to throw you on the mercy of the court.” He’d given her nothing to defend and now wouldn’t even defend himself.

Instead of her statement putting the fear of Judge Kowalski in him, his gaze turned calculating.

Brenda listened to the policeman’s testimony, only occasionally objecting to speculation he made and leading the witness by the public defender, who’d been in her brother’s fraternity in college. She was making a pitiful showing, but what had she been given to work with?

And then came her turn.

She stood. “Your Honor, as pointed out by the arresting officer, there were several events that occurred during the night in question that contributed to the escalation of tension.”

Uncle John nodded for her to proceed.

“The clerk at the yard refused my client access to his vehicle for the simple fact that he had no car registration. That document was in the vehicle and the clerk refused to accompany my client to the vehicle to retrieve it.” Forget that there’d been a line out the door that night at the impound lot, which was normal for a Saturday in the Bay Area. And forget that Clinton had been belligerent and impatient with the clerk’s response.

Uncle John’s eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t forget either fact, but he didn’t stop her from trying to make some kind of case out of nothing.

“My client was wrong to try and retrieve his registration by sneaking into the yard when a tow truck entered.”

Uncle John’s assessing gaze turned on Clinton.

“But the tow truck driver did try to taze him.” And missed. “And then took a swing at my client.” Which he’d dodged.

“Your client disregarded protocol and bent the rules and struck a man trying to do his job when he was caught.”

Sadly, all true. “My client has been going through a difficult time, Your Honor. He’s under a lot of pressure, with his every move analyzed by the media.” She gestured to the packed seats behind her.

“Maybe it’s time your client learned there are consequences to his actions. A week in jail sounds like it’ll give him time to realize his success on the football field doesn’t entitle him to—”

“I’m guilty, Your Honor,” Clinton said in a loud voice as he came to his feet.

The courtroom erupted. The district attorney grinned. Uncle John called for order.

“What Ms. Thomas says is true. I’ve had a difficult few months, but things are beginning to turn around. I’ve fallen in love and I can guarantee you that this woman will keep me out of trouble and out of your courtroom.”

“Really, Mr. Hadley?” If Uncle John hadn’t said it, Brenda might have, with a bump in the sarcasm and a raised brow.

“Yes, sir.” Clinton had just the right touch of sincerity in his tone, just the right softness in his eyes to be believed.

Not by Brenda or Uncle John, but perhaps by a rookie lifestyle reporter.

“It happened so quickly and unexpectedly, I don’t think even the media knows. I’m getting married.” He turned to Brenda. “I’m getting married as soon as she’ll have me.” And then he dropped down on one knee and took Brenda’s hands. “I’ve waited for someone like you my whole life. Say you’ll marry me. Now. Today.”

* * *

“You’re an idiot,” Clinton’s attorney whispered to him as they walked through the courtroom halls behind Judge Kowalski and the district attorney. “It’s time to tell the truth.”

“I have to play in Sunday’s game.” There was more than a loss at stake. There was his pride. “If I have to marry you to do it, I will.”

Ms. Thomas had ditched her glasses and her smoothly modulated, lawyerly tones. Her eyes flashed and her words were sharp. What she hadn’t ditched was her desire to get him off the hook. He’d seen the competitive look in her eyes when she watched the district attorney present his case. He’d use that if he could.

“Marrying the client is not part of Wilson, Wilson and Wyatt’s service.” It was almost impossible to comprehend, but—for all her conservative ways—his lawyer was attractive. She had a fire in her eyes that threatened to burn him with angry intensity. “There’s only one way I’ll go through with this.”

He nearly tripped on the smooth marble. “Which is?”

“Tell me what was in the car.” She gripped his bicep through the thin cotton of the shirt he’d had on since Saturday. “And don’t lie.”

Clinton considered calling the proceedings to a halt. For like two seconds. And then he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “My back up quarterback left Viagra in the car.”

He expected sex jokes. Even a censorious glance. He didn’t expect an eye roll or her next words.

“Are you one of the idiots that believes Viagra gives you better performance on the playing field?”

“No.” He straightened and looked at her more closely. Yep, this was still the conservatively buttoned up lawyer he’d met barely thirty minutes ago, not some sports reporter. “Lewis does.”

She still had hold of his arm. She tugged on it to slow him down. “I can use this in your defense.”

Clinton clapped a hand over hers and sped up. “No. That kind of thing will follow me around for years. No one will believe they weren’t mine.” Not just in the media, but on the field, in the locker room. There’d be fans in the stadium holding signs they couldn’t show on TV. It would impact his endorsement deals and his future in sportscasting or coaching. “You said if I told you, you’d go through with this.”

“That wasn’t the best deal of my career. I wish I had more time to make you see reason, but…” She glanced ahead and laughed like she’d just gone off the deep edge. “If we’re going to do this, there’s something you should know. You might change your mind. God knows, I should.”

What he knew was she was walking with him to the county clerk’s office with a pack of rabid reporters. “You didn’t call me out in front of the judge earlier. You’re not going to do it now.”

“I should,” she said again. “I should as soon as we step through that door. You’d thank me someday.”

“Marbury Wilson guaranteed me his firm would do anything to defend me. It was why he won my business. Come clean now and I’ll fire your firm.” With freedom so near, he prayed she wouldn’t back out now.

“There’s always pro bono work,” she muttered, frowning as they passed through the doorway.

“Here we are.” Judge Kowalski stood in the county clerk’s office in his black courtroom robes surrounded by the district attorney, his bailiff, and the media. “If you truly love each other, now’s the time to commit.”

“And the case?” Ms. Thomas was no dummy. She wanted to know the stakes.

“If Mr. Hadley really loves you and you stay married for a week—” The judge’s expression indicated he doubted this had a snowball’s chance in the desert. “—I’ve talked to the district attorney about time served and community service.”

His lawyer’s eyes narrowed. “The length and specificity of service?”

“An eight hour shift at the impound lot during the Saturday night rush—ten a.m. to six a.m.”

“With all the other belligerent drunks, reckless speeders, and double parkers who’ve had their cars towed and aren’t happy about it.” The district attorney grinned.

“For the record,” Ms. Thomas said with authority Clinton doubted she was feeling. “My client was none of those things when he was arrested.”

There was a moment of silence, like the calm before an expected downpour.

Clinton took his attorney’s cold hand and moved into line. There was a bulletin board of wedding photos on the lobby wall. Happy couples who truly loved each other. Had they been in church, Clinton was sure lightening would have struck and the resulting downpour would have drowned them.

In a matter of minutes, it was done. Clinton was married. The eggs sat like an overinflated ball in his stomach.

“Go on,” someone from the media urged. “Kiss her.”

Clinton stared into his wife’s dark brown eyes and couldn’t remember her first name. Time seemed to slow. Or maybe it was the realization that the woman who stood before him was quietly, classically beautiful. And a complete stranger.

He took a lock of dark brown hair and rubbed its silky softness between his fingers, hesitating.

“I’ve never known you to be trigger-shy before,” she murmured.

He grinned. And that grin led to a kiss so tender and so brief, he had no chance to register more than the softness of her lips matched the softness of her hair.

The judge hugged Clinton’s lawyer…er, wife. “We’ll see you Wednesday night, my dear.”

“Yes, Uncle John.”

The world—which had slowed moments ago—spun at an alarming rate.

Uncle John?

Judge Kowalski, aka Uncle John, tweaked her nose. “You come prepared to tell the whole truth. This is a story everyone will want to hear.” And then he scowled at the media, who’d been taking pictures with flashes at a blinding rate. “Show’s over.” And then he scowled at Clinton and took him aside. “I’ll be watching you from now until Sunday.”

Uncle John? Uncle John would be watching him?

Clinton had been thinking the marriage stunt might get him off the hook or at least provide him with a better bargaining chip. He hadn’t thought beyond the county clerk’s office and marrying his lawyer.

Brenda led him down the hall to a side door marked Authorized Personnel Only, and to the parking lot and a shiny black BMW. “Get in.”

“Uncle John?” And here he’d thought the worst of it was over. It was his turn to laugh somewhat hysterically. “Oh, there was something I needed to know all right.”

“I tried to tell you.” She didn’t wait for him to buckle up to put the car in gear and back out. “That was wrong in so many ways. Blackmail and harassment on your part. Fraud on mine.”

“Lack of a pre-nup,” he deadpanned. Clinton couldn’t shake the feeling that the judge was out to get him. “What did the judge mean about Wednesday?”

“You’d have been smarter to ask what was behind his terms of staying married a week.” She waved to the lot’s security guard, pulled forward as if ready to drive away, and stopped. “If you have plans for Wednesday and Thursday, cancel them. You’ll either be staying at Judge Kowalski’s vacation home with me or you’ll be in jail.”

He’d been blind-sided and tackled, the air forced from his lungs. “That would mean that you and I…”

“Have to pretend, not just to like each other, but to be madly in love with each other and fully vested in a real marriage.”

He envied her calm glance, her ability to see three steps ahead when he’d only seen two.

“Last chance.” She clutched the wheel tighter. “I can turn this car around and we can throw ourselves on the mercy of the court. We’ll both add contempt to our sins, but we won’t have lie after lie on our consciences.”

“I’m sorry.” He really was. “But this marriage got me out of jail. And I have to play in Sunday’s game.”

How hard would it be to pretend to love this woman for a few days?

Surprisingly, he didn’t think it’d be hard at all.