In Overruled, Washington DC defense attorney Stanton Shaw keeps his head cool, his questions sharp, and his arguments irrefutable. He's a man with a plan. That is, until life throws him a curveball in the form of an invitation to his high-school sweetheart's wedding. Knowing he can't face this alone, he decides to call in reinforcements. Sofia Santos is a no-nonsense litigator who's caught off guard when Stanton, her "friend with mind-blowing benefits," begs her for help to win back the woman he loves. Can Sofia ignore her feelings for Stanton to help him win over another woman, or will she finally confess everything? Don't miss the first installment of the Legal Briefs series from Emma Chase, New York Times bestselling author of the Tangled series!
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"Hey, stranger, long time, no see." My eyes are drawn to the sumptuous form of Sofia Marinda Santos, my co-counsel—among other things—as she walks up to our table.
Clothes don't just make the man—they make a statement for a woman. They speak particularly rapturously for Sofia. She dresses as she is—impeccable, sharp, classy, yet so damn sexy it makes my mouth water. Her red silk blouse is tastefully buttoned, revealing only a few inches of bronze skin below her collarbone—not even a hint of cleavage. But the material accents the God-given bounty of her ample breasts—full, firm, and f*cking gorgeous. A short, gray tweed jacket covers long, elegant arms, and the matching pencil skirt hugs the rounded swell of her hips before revealing toned legs that go on for days.
"Where were you hiding?" I ask, then point to an empty chair.
"You want to join us?"
Naturally ruby lips smile back. "Thank you, but no, I just finished having lunch with Brent in the back."
I gesture while making the introductions. "Drew Evans, this is Sofia Santos, a fellow child molester liberator according to your wife." Sofia's dark brow arches slightly at the description, but I continue.
"Soph, this is Drew Evans, my old college buddy, my current investment banker, and just an all-around rude bastard."
Ignoring my dig, he extends his hand. "Nice to meet you, Sofia."
She checks the time on her Rolex and teases, "You should finish up here too, Stanton. Don't want to miss the verdict."
I'm shaking my head before she's done speaking. Because we've been debating this since the trial started. "I've got all the time in the world, darlin'. Hell, we may even order dessert—that jury isn't coming back until Monday, at the earliest."
"You may be the Jury Charmer." Her manicured fingers swirl in a circle, like she's conjuring a crystal ball. "But I'm the Jury Seer. And I see those housewives wanting to scratch this trial off their to-do lists for the weekend."
"The Jury Charmer?" Drew comments dryly. "That's adorable."
I give him the jerk-off sign with my hand while insisting to Sofia, "Your vision is off this time."
Her mouth purses. "Care to make a wager on that, big boy?"
"What are your terms, sweet thing?" I counter with a daring grin.
Evans watches our exchange with unconcealed mirth.
She braces her hands on the table, leaning forward. And I have a whole new esteem for gravity—because it's that force that causes her blouse to pull away from her body, giving me a delectable view of her stunning tits encased in delicate black lace.
Caught off guard, my eyes widen. She's not messing around. She knows my silver 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet convertible is my prized possession. The first thing I bought myself when I was hired at the prestigious Adams & Williamson law firm four years ago. It's pristine. It doesn't come out in the rain. It doesn't get parked where a bird could sh*t on it. It doesn't get driven by anyone but me.
"When the jury comes back today, you let me take your Porsche out for the ride of its life."
She stares me down, waiting.
I rub my knuckles along my jaw, debating.
"It's a stick shift," I warn in a low voice.
"What do I get if—when—you lose the bet?"
She straightens up, looking pleased with herself, even though she hasn't heard my terms. "What do you want?"
The image of Sofia's curves barely covered in a tiny red bikini, damp and soapy with suds, infiltrates my brain. And I can't hold back the lewd smile that graces my face. "You have to wash the Porsche, by hand, once a week for a month."
She doesn't hesitate. "Done."
Before we shake on it, I look into her eyes and spit deliberately on my palm. Our grasp is sliding and slick. Her nose crinkles, but her eyes—her eyes simmer with an amused heat only I can read.
She likes it.
We walk through the door, then I turn, using her to close it, slamming her back. Trapping her between the door and me. Hands grasp at air as I hold her wrists in one hand, high above her head, stretching her out, making her back bow. Straining for contact.
She gasps as I run my nose up her cheek, her breath escaping in tiny puffs. "You want to be f*cked?" I rasp.
She moans. Squirms. "Yes."
Sofia likes it rough—hard words, bruising fingers—and I'm all too happy to please.
I skim my free hand up her thigh, bunching her skirt as I go. "You want to come?"
She once told me one of her favorite parts of screwing me was that she can just let it all go. No worries, no stress, no shots to call. It's the one area of her life where she's happy to let someone else—me—do all the work.
Her chin rises, scraping soft skin against my stubble. "Please," she begs.
"How bad?" I taunt, rubbing over her silk panties where she's soft and hot. Her hips gyrate against my hand as I push the fabric aside and slide my fingers through her smooth, slick lips. My dark chuckle rumbles. "Feels like you want to come pretty bad."
"Stanton . . ." She groans in an impatient plea.
And then my mouth is on hers, taking her words, sucking those plump lips that I watch all f*cking day. She tastes so sweet—grenadine with a tang of tequila, making my head swim. She gives me her tongue, moist and warm. I move my lips over hers, plundering firmly, barely allowing for breath, and capture her lower lip with my teeth.
Her arms push against my grip, wanting to grab, to pull me closer, but I hold her steady. I press the length of my body against hers, feeling every soft, full curve against my hard angles. She moans, grateful for the contact while I ravage that mouth. Then I slide my lips down her jaw, leaving a wet trail, to her neck, feasting on her sweet skin like a starving man. She gasps and lifts her chin higher, giving me better access as I slip lower, to the top buttons on her blouse.
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