First Time for Everything - By Aimee Carson Page 0,2
from hip to toes. A cast tattoo, his sister had called it.
Hand on the VW’s hood, the police officer hunched
over to speak with the hidden occupant, the cast en-
gulfing the leg like a plaster anchor. One that Blake
had thought would keep Nikki from landing in hot
water—like getting thrown in jail. At least until he’d wrapped up his current case.
And there was nothing Blake hated more than being
wrong.
Six hours later
“I came to arrange your release from jail as a favor
to my sister, Ms. Lee,” Blake Bennington said, and Jax winced, saying a prayer of thanks, again, that she’d been the only one arrested today. The black interior of the limo and the lawyer’s dark good looks were a sharp contrast to his cool gray eyes as he went on. “Arguing the merits of the Miami Police Department with you
wasn’t part of the deal.”
Beside him, Jax squirmed against the plush leather
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seat. Calling her new friend, Nikki Bennington, for
advice had seemed logical. When the law student had
shared that her brother was less than amused by to-
day’s escapades, Jax couldn’t have cared less about
some unknown stuffed shirt. Until she’d learned that
Nikki’s deal with her brother meant he’d informed his
chauffer to bypass a charity event and head for the jail to help. Before Blake Bennington had arrived, Jax had
vowed to honor the generous gesture by holding her
tongue to keep the peace.
A peace that had been most profoundly disturbed.
The hairs on her arms still stood on end from the
initial electrifying sight of her hit-and-run victim materializing to offer assistance. After hours in custody, she should have been too spent to feel anything. But it wasn’t every day a girl was rescued from behind bars by a tuxedo-clad man more gorgeous than James Bond…
leaving her body both shaken and stirred.
“I wasn’t arguing the police department’s merits,”
she said, trying again for a conciliatory tone, which
was pathetic at best. “I was just…” She forced herself to meet his gaze, the now familiar imposing form creating a jolting sizzle.
The attraction was horribly inconvenient, especially
with the disapproving vibes he exuded. Keeping her
opinions to herself wasn’t her usual style, and much,
much harder than she’d originally thought.
She hiked her chin, aiming to bring a diplomatic end
to their debate. “I was just questioning their priorities.”
Blake tipped his head. “And I’m sure the police
would love to accommodate you and your priorities,”
he said smoothly, clearly not meaning the words. “But
they have a job to do and are bound by the letter of the 9780373207046_txt.indd 15
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first time for everything
law. So for future reference—” a single brow lifted, a perfect match to his wry tone “—disturbing the peace,
no matter how innocently it’s done, is illegal.”
Jax bit her tongue at his tone, reminding herself to
think of Nikki. Think of Nikki. During their previous run-in, Blake had appeared approachable, almost relaxed, but the moment he’d shown up to arrange her
release, his intense lawyerly attitude had shown up, as well. Yet through it all the man had remained so cool.
So calm. And now he was so right, damn him.
One more statement pleading her point of view and
then she’d happily remain silent. “I didn’t plan this
event with the intention of breaking the law.”
As if preparing for an interesting story, Blake leaned back, his posture one of a man in control. One arm
thrown along the seat behind her. One leg crossed over the other. And two eyes focused on her as if daring her to impress him with her explanation.
“Then what was your intention?” he said.
“I work as a music therapist at South Glade Teen
Center, an after-school club for kids. The county pulled their funding…”
Her heart rate jumped, fear squeezing her chest.
The club provided a safe place for the kids to be themselves. To belong. Without the facility, her high school years would have been unbearable. Shifting from foster family to foster family, South Glade had been the
only constant, the one place she’d truly felt at home.
Losing it now wasn’t an option.
Seeking calm, she rubbed the small tattoo that par-
tially disguised the two well-healed scars on her wrist.
Warrior wounds, she liked to call them. Symbols of her past. They reminded her of who she was.
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And how far she’d come.
She straightened her shoulders and pushed the
panic aside. “So I wanted to gain a little positive publicity for our cause.”
“By getting arrested?”
Was he mocking her?
She inhaled a soothing breath, straining for pa-
tience. “That’s how Nikki got involved. A mutual friend asked her for tips on how to proceed legally.”
And you should have followed Nikki’s advice