Zeus (Contemporary Mythos Book 6)

“Keira,” Olivia’s voice called out.

My body jostled and I shot up, sucking in drool collecting at the corner of my mouth.

“What?” I grumbled, dragging my sleeve over my lips, wincing through a pair of dried eyes.

Olivia crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “You fell asleep at your desk again. Why don’t you just go bloody home, Keir?”

My right cheek felt numb from lying on the hardwood, and I rubbed it. “I can’t. I’ve got to go over this case file with a fine-toothed comb before the evidence hearing tomorrow.”

“What would be the point of that? You don’t want to bank on evidence we may not get to use. Go home.” She moved behind me and jiggled the chair until I stood. “Take a hot shower, maybe flick the bean, and go to sleep in an actual bed, yeah?”

Moving hair stuck to my forehead out of my eyes, I squinted at her. “Flick the bean? Are you talking about masturbating?”

“What else would I be talking about?” She grabbed my pea coat and held it open, waiting for me to slip my arms through.

I frowned and let her dress me.

She shoved my briefcase into my chest and pointed at the door. “Go. I’ll wrap things up here.”

“Thank you, Ol—” I started, but she turned away from me, turning circles with a confused expression.

“What’s that? Would that be the distant voice of a woman who should be halfway home by now with a hand in her undies?” She cupped a hand over her ear.

Rolling my eyes, I waved at her. “I’m gone. I’m gone.”

“Love you, Keir Keir,” she yelled to my back.

I made the same quizzical face she had while turning circles. “What’s that? It sounds like a didgeridoo in the distance?”

Olivia burst out laughing and pointed at me.

“Love you too, Ollie.” I blew her an air kiss before exiting to the sidewalk.

I’d taken the long way home, avoiding more people scurrying around holiday shopping and having lunch. Christmastime in New York City never failed to be magical, but it always left a pit in my stomach, knowing it also meant more tourists, more people, more crowds—more emotions. At times, it was enough to make me want to scream.

Once I reached the reprieve of my apartment building, I tripped over something resting on the ground in front of my door.

“What the hell?” Squatting, I scooped a box into my palms.

We had designated compartments for packages to pick up via assigned keys. This…was odd.

After walking into my apartment and locking the door behind me, I rested the mysterious parcel on my kitchen counter and stared at it. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d received a nasty-gram from a disgruntled suspect’s family that I’d put behind bars. I’d even been threatened in the past.

Would someone go so far as to send me a bomb that’d explode upon opening it?

I lowered my ear to the box. Silence.

“To hell with it.” I ripped away the brown wrapping, opened the white box, and staring back at me were a pair of pink binoculars.

What. The actual. Fuck.

As I lifted the binoculars with two fingers, a folded piece of paper fell. Glaring at it, hoping it’d spontaneously combust from my stare, I opened it.

So you can get a better view. – Z

I turned my glare out the window, eyeing the penthouse suite in the adjacent building I knew belonged to Zane. Before yesterday, the blinds had always been drawn. And now, as he promised, a singular window was wide open.

Growling, I shoved the binoculars back into the box and pushed it away. “What a grade-A asshole, I swear.”

A woman left his apartment building, adjusting her skintight dress once she reached the sidewalk. She flicked her dark brown hair, twisted on her heel, and gave his window the middle finger before hailing a cab. After rolling my eyes, I crossed the room and yanked on the cord to close my blinds.

I needed precisely what Olivia prescribed—a steaming hot shower.

I pressed my hands against the tiles, letting the hot water roll down the back of my head, my neck, my spine. It was absolute bliss when my mind had the chance to relax—to know the emotions I felt were entirely my own.

Zane’s face shimmered through my mind. The electric blue eyes, the way they squinted when he smiled. His knuckle grazing his bottom lip. The way he moved around a room as if every crack in the floor, every pane of glass was his to own—to control. The man was a walking powerhouse, and I had no idea how he managed to make it leak from his very pores.

I traced my finger over my hip, trailing my stomach and dipping between my thighs. Zane Vronti was everything I hated in a man—a human being. Biting my lip, I fingered my folds. He was arrogant, boastful, overly confident…charismatic, powerful, and far too fucking attractive for his own good.

Sputtering water, I pressed my forearm against the wall, holding myself up and massaging my clit with two fingers.

I couldn’t stand defense lawyers. Combining all of what Zane represented with the one job I despised most of all should make him my arch-nemesis. And yet, here I was, getting off at the thought of him—the idea of him, picturing his face as I did it.

There were fleeting emotions I’d gotten glimpses of from him. Feelings that didn’t match up to the ones he brought to the surface. Was that what I held onto? The possibility that the first man to ever infiltrate my every thought, to make my insides twist simply from the smell of him, may be something more than an arrogant prick?

Because…he’d have to be. Or it’d make me all forms of backward. Deranged. Out of my right mind.

Whimpering, I cried out through my release, the euphoria circling through my stomach, making my spine tingle. I should’ve felt dirty—that of all the people I could have pictured, I chose to think of Zane. But I didn’t feel dirty. He was merely a tool for my own pleasure—a plaything who would never get the satisfaction of giving me a climax himself. I used him the same way he used all of those women night after night.

After drying off and throwing on a camisole and shorts, I walked to my kitchen with the sole intention of making a bag of popcorn and watching something on Netflix. What possessed me to eyeball the box sitting on the counter with the binoculars—I couldn’t say. What further possessed me to go to my window and part the blinds—eluded me. But what would eat at my brain for the unforeseeable future was the curiosity overcoming me to the point I raised the binoculars…and took a peek.

My throat dried, spying a fully nude Zane parading his apartment. His back was to me, giving me a clear view of his perfectly rounded, tanned, and muscular ass. The man was a Greek god statue in human form. He slowly turned—meticulously even, as if he knew I were watching. When he fully faced me, there it was. His. Dick. Before I could do the appropriate calculations in my mind, taking into account my distance from him and how far it fell against his thigh, I fumbled with and dropped the binoculars.

Probably for the better. I shouldn’t have looked. What if he had seen me? He could hold the fact I spied on him over me. Possibly even use it against me in court. Slapping a hand over my face, I shoved the binoculars back in the box, stomped to my bedroom, and kicked it under my bed. Let it die there with the dust bunnies, lost pens, and paperclips.

Making my way back to the living room, I flopped onto my couch, sans popcorn, and clicked on the first movie that caught my eye. Immortals. Yes. Henry Cavill could cure anything. Nestling against the cushions, I rested my head on my hand and forced my concentration on a tale of Mount Olympus, Theseus, and the ruthless tyrant Hyperion. To say I hadn’t thought of Zane’s ass or other areas of him several times throughout the rest of the night—would’ve been a complete lie. And I hated myself for it.

I sat on a bench outside the courtroom, having arrived twenty minutes early to gather my thoughts and decompress. Pulling my pea coat tighter around my torso, I crossed my nylon-covered legs and bounced the top one. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the steady hum of the fluorescent lights above me.

“Good morning,” Zane’s deep as sin voice sounded near me.

Opening one eye, followed by the other, I hugged myself tighter. He stood in front of me clothed in his usual suit attire and Burberry coat, but all I could see was what I had seen last night. It was as if I’d gained the ability of x-ray vision. A heavy lump formed in my throat, and I fought back the urge to gulp.

He squinted at me and cocked his head, pointing at me with his hand still in his coat pocket. “You alright there, counselor? You look a bit flushed.”

My cheeks did feel warm. Shit.

“Perfectly fine. It’s stuffy in here.” I sat up straight, focusing all of my attention on his face to avoid the temptation to travel my gaze lower.

“And yet you still have your coat on.” He rubbed his chin.

Grinding my molars, I glared at him. “I like stuffy.”

“You don’t say.” After smirking, he sat next to me, leaving only a foot of space between us.

“I can’t believe you’re not only on time but early.” Heat coiled from his leg, caressing my thigh. The usual lust and power flowed from him, but I also caught an overwhelming sense of exhaustion—so much it made me yawn.

“I have no issue making feisty prosecutors wait on me, but judges? I need them in my corner.” His gaze dropped to my crossed legs, eyes roaming over my calves.

Part of my heel slipped, revealing half of my foot. His glance snapped to it, and I secured it back on, holding my breath. “And I’m sure you never fail to charm the pants off them.”

Perhaps literally if it were a female judge.

“Level with me here—” He leaned his forearms on his knees, turning his face to look at me. “What is your beef with defense lawyers?”

I guffawed. “I should think that’s fairly obvious, Zane.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But I want to hear from your lips.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, the tip of his tongue skirting his bottom lip.

Did he imagine what I’d taste like?

Moving my attention to the light snow flurries stirring outside from the foyer windows, I took a deep breath. “You represent people who have done despicable deeds and fight to win their case despite knowing it.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

I snapped my focus back to him. “Fair? What isn’t fair is when known murderers go free. Doesn’t it bother you to know they’ll more than likely do it again?”

“No, it doesn’t. Justice was served, and they’ll have something far worse to answer to at the end of it all.” He circled his finger at the ground, pointing to hell itself.

He had a point, but it still didn’t negate the fact that instead of rotting in a prison cell waiting to meet their maker, they were on the streets.

“I don’t even know why I’m trying to debate this with a defense lawyer.”

Confidence surged from him as he shifted on the bench, stretching his arms over the back of it. I stiffened when his jacket sleeve brushed my shoulder. “You better get used to it. You’re about to debate with this lawyer on something far larger.”

“You could’ve taken your skills elsewhere and done virtually anything else with them. Why a defense lawyer? Why?” I slapped my hand on my knee.

His eyes shot to my leg, acutely aware of every move they made. “Aren’t there worse occupations out there? Pimps? Mafia bosses? I went to college for this career, built a legitimate and lawful reputation for myself.”

Fuck. We weren’t even in the courtroom yet, and this guy was already debating me straight into a hole. And why was it so damn hot?

“The same could be said for heart surgeons.” Turning my hips toward him by an inch, I tilted my head back.

His eyes roamed down again before panning to stare in front of him. “Are you trying to tell me prosecutors have never put innocent people in jail?”

I dug my nails into my ribs through the jacket with my arms still tightly wrapped around myself. “That’s rare.”

He leaned forward, his sandalwood scent dizzying me. “It still happens.”

“Run out of arguments to plead your case, Zane?” I brought our faces closer, masking my expression from every neuron that sparked beneath my skin.

“I find it borderline amusing you think I have to explain myself at all to you, honestly.” He stared at my lips, canting his head to one side.

We were a breath away from each other. He could’ve kissed me so easily—and I couldn’t say that I would’ve stopped him.

Grimacing, I sat back, scooting away until my hip bumped the armrest. “Way to derail.”

“Look, Keira. At the end of the day, remember that she, most of all, would disagree with your sentiments toward defense lawyers.” Zane pointed to a painting hanging on the adjacent wall. A depiction of Lady Justice holding a scale and sporting her usual blindfold.

Justice is blind.

Satisfaction oozed from his pores, contrasting with the fury that shot down my spine.

“Fuck you,” I whispered to him.

Zane drummed his fingers on the bench behind me as he looked around. “Well, we only have a few minutes, but I’m sure we could find a closet somewhere.”

Heat rushed to my stomach, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at his somewhat humorous joke.

“Good morning, counselors,” a woman’s voice announced as she breezed through the foyer, shaking out her graying hair, ridding it of snowflakes.

A lady judge. Just. Perfect.

Under normal circumstances, I would’ve hoped to have an edge given the woman-to-woman stance I could take without even implying it. But with Zane, he could turn one notch of his charmgasms on, and she’d be putty in his hands.

“Sylvia, a pleasure to be working with you again.” Zane stood with a handsome smile, bowing his head at her.

The woman grinned as she fixed her hair, smoothing it over her ears. “Mr. Vronti.”

Zane held his hand out once the judge entered the courtroom, edging me to follow her.

I paused as I passed, glaring up at him. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Not relevant to the case, Miss Bazin.” His hot breath curled over my skin as his lips hovered by my ear.

Sucking in a shaky breath, I stormed into the courtroom, regaining my composure once I’d taken off my coat and organized my paperwork, notepad, and pens.

Zane coolly took the seat at the table next to me, folding his coat over the back of his chair and buttoning all buttons on his suit jacket. He sat down and leaned back with such casualness you’d think we were about to discuss the weather and not the evidence leading toward a murder conviction.

The judge shuffled papers on her podium, and slid the squared reading glasses attached to a chain on her nose. “Confirming this is in regards to audio recording evidence in the Melissa Daniels case?”

“Yes, your honor,” I answered, trying not to let the sight of nothing on the table in front of Zane bother me.

“Prosecution, please present your argument first as to why they should be included.” The judge folded her hands, giving me her undivided attention.

I stood, feeling Zane’s scorching eyes roaming over me. “Your honor, the recordings are relevant for establishing motive. It was clear from the defendant’s tone she had immense hatred for her husband. She even stated it more than once.”

“I object, your honor,” Zane started before standing, towering over me. “Hatred toward a spouse isn’t motive for murder. It could’ve easily been temporary feelings after a heated argument.”

The judge turned her attention back to me. “Sustained. Counselor, was there anything more specific that you could directly relate to motive?”

“Yes. She said verbatim that she was going to kill him.” I tapped my fingernails against the manila folder resting in front of me, keeping my gaze away from Zane.

“Your honor, with the number of voicemails there are, including all of them would only survive to unjustly bias the jury in favor of the prosecution. They were voicemails left in the heat of moments leading after an argument. It would be an unfair trial in direct violation of the tenets of which this country was founded upon.”

My insides fluttered. Here I was, defending my argument for a case I wanted to win—to wipe the floor with the lawyer standing next to me, and yet the way he presented himself, the way he phrased things—he was good. Powerful. Commanding. I pinched my knees together.

“Counselor, do you argue for the inclusion of all voicemails?” The judge tapped her pen against her desk.

“Yes, your honor. All of them are relevant.”

“The only reason to include all recordings as evidence is if the prosecution is unsure of my client’s guilt and needs them to support a completely circumstantial case.” His voice boomed like thunder right after a lightning strike.

I cut my eyes to him, and he’d already been eyeing me. We glared at each other.

“Are you doubting your own skills, counselor?”

Confidence. Lust. Satisfaction.

Emotions both from him—from me, mixing, swirling, and striking against my stomach.

“This has nothing to do with the uncertainty surrounding guilt, only the prosecution’s desire to have every available piece of evidence pointing toward Mrs. Daniels’ immense hatred for her husband, which could’ve been a direct factor in his death.” I beat my fist against the table once, solidifying my final argument.

The judge nodded and peered at Zane over the rim of her glasses. “Anything else left to say for the defense?”

“No, your honor.”

“Given the nature of the voicemails, I’m ruling that the only recording to be presented and used in court as evidence for the prosecution’s case is the one stating she was going to kill him. All others will be dismissed.” The judge slammed her gavel. “Adjourned.”

My chest heaved as I turned to look at him. A sensuous, victorious smile pulled at his lips. I wanted to gouge his eyes out while also craving to ride his face. A battle of hate versus lust, despising versus respecting that had me whirling.

“No hard feelings?” He extended his hand.

I stared at it, struggling to keep my breaths even—to not outright pant in front of him. “Would you meet me outside?”

His cerulean eyes pierced me as he lowered his hand. No smirk. No frown. But a heat sparked in his gaze before I turned away, and he followed me out of the courtroom. All sensible rationalization had left my brain. I needed a release, a place for the swirling emotions—the overpowering feelings coursing through me to settle and hopefully…disappear.

Spotting a janitor’s closet door cracked, I yanked it open and paused. Was I about to do this? When his sandalwood scent hit my nostrils, and I gazed at him over my shoulder, standing coolly with his hands folded in front of him, a challenging glint in his gaze—I’d made up my mind. Grabbing his arm, I pulled him into the closet and he let me, a newfound warmth radiating from him.

Shutting the door behind us and locking it, I slowly turned on my heel, coming face-to-face with Zane Vronti. Shelves of toilet paper, cleaning supplies, and a mop bucket surrounded us, leaving barely enough room to shift our stances. My heart raced, pounding in my ears. The lust coiling in the air between us, trapped in such a small space, had me quivering.

“You have me at your mercy, counselor.” He held his palms up. “What are you going to do with me?”

He wanted to be controlled as much as he desired to do the controlling.

We locked eyes, and an urgency tugging at my brain had my fingers trailing up his jacket’s lapels, not stopping until I reached his neck. I pressed my mouth to his lips, immediately slipping my tongue in, circling with his. Whimpering at the swirls, dips, and flips exploding in my stomach, I bunched my hands in his hair. Once his hands traced my lower back, I pushed off him, only so far away to make the tips of our noses brush.

“This is so fucked up,” I whispered, keeping my gaze on his, drowning in the deep blue.

He chewed on his lip, chest heaving, his hands now raised at his sides. “It’s only fucked up if you call it that. I’ve often lived under the principle of…if you want it—take it.”

His eyes flashed with a beam of light I chalked up to my body and mind battling for control to the point of hallucination. I tightened my grip on his hair.

“I’m right here. Do you want it?”

One drop of my gaze to his tongue licking his bottom lip, my mouth covered that same lip, kissing him. No sooner had Zane been given the green light for the second time, his arm wrapped around my waist, and he turned us, shoving my back against one of the shelves, knocking a roll of toilet paper to the ground. I skirted my knee up his side, kissing him, devouring him, taking everything he’d give me. He pulled away, licking down my neck, biting it hard enough to make me gasp but not break the skin. His hand grabbed my ass, squeezing it, using it to pull me tighter against him—make me feel that cock I’d gotten a glimpse of last night.

Moaning, I grabbed his jacket and switched our positions, pushing him against the same shelves, crashing a sealed bottle of soap to the ground. Electric current pulsed over my skin, tantalizing it.

Surprise. Attraction.

A wicked grin pressed against my lips as I kissed him, sliding my hands into his jacket, feeling the hard muscle that made me whimper. Walking my fingers over the carved abs hiding beneath his shirt, I flicked his belt and cupped him. All of him. Hard as a fucking rock.

Jesus. Christ. What the hell was I doing?

I pushed away as far as the small room would let me and wiped the back of my hand over my mouth. “I—I got that out of my system. It’s never happening again, Vronti. It can’t.”

He dragged a thumb over his bottom lip, smiling at me.

Frustration. Longing. But not surprised. Like he’d been expecting me to bail out.

“You made one small mistake, counselor.” He took the singular step needed to bring us toe-to-toe, pressing his hands above my head on the door behind me, caging me. “Now you’ve had a taste.” He pressed his lips to my ear. “You must’ve liked what you saw through my window last night, hm?”

“But how did you—” I stared up at him, trying to be angry about it but felt more like laughing.

Pushing away, he adjusted his tie, did up the button of his jacket, and dragged his hand through hair that I’d ruffled. “You may want to wait five minutes before leaving after me. I can’t imagine the scandalous rumors that’d fly if word got out of two opposing counselors exiting a broom closet in the courthouse together.” That same flash blazed in his eyes.

I gripped the shelf behind me to keep myself upright, pressing my head against the cool metal.

He flicked the lock and placed his hand on the doorknob before resting his other hand on my hip. “Think about me tonight when you finish what you started, Miss Bazin.” After slipping my earlobe between his teeth for a fraction of a second, he was gone.

Slapping my hands over my face, I slid down the shelves until my butt met with the ground. Glaring at the mop bucket in the corner, I kicked it with a growl. I’d been so unable to control myself, I resorted to pulling Zane into a fucking musty broom closet. Worst of all, I couldn’t promise myself I wouldn’t do it again. He was complicated, exuberant, and laced with so much sexual energy. That inner part of me I’d buried deep from past partners for fear they wouldn’t understand poked at the surface, begging to be set free.