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  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Your case is being heard by Judge Wyndham.” She met his eyes and suppressed a frisson of awareness. “The good news for you is Wyndham’s what my boss would call a randy old goat. So long as I flash him some cleavage, you’ll be home free.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever works.”

  Exactly the kind of answer she expected from a spoiled rich boy.

  Boy? Hardly.

  She stood. Greg scrambled to his feet, too, again displaying good manners. One redeeming quality, she supposed.

  Jenn shrugged out of her jacket, unbuttoned the first three buttons on her blouse and rolled the waistband so her skirt raised an inch and a half. She knew she’d achieved the desired look when he jammed his hands in his pockets.

  “Okay then.” She ignored the fact that she felt like an extra from the cast of Ally McBeal. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Two

  Greg followed his new lawyer down the hall and into the courtroom. The rapid no-nonsense tapping of her black pumps didn’t jibe with the sensual sway of her hips. Or with smooth, tanned legs that went on and on. He had to hand it to dear ol’ Dad: He knew exactly the type of attorney that would appeal to a dirty old man.

  And a dirty young man.

  He didn’t bother to deny it. Jade was, quite possibly, hotter all buttoned up the way she was this morning than when she’d been almost naked.

  And no, he didn’t buy the “twin sister” line for a minute. What were the odds that there were identical brunette beauties that made his blood run hot in the Arizona desert? But hey, he had no reason to object if pretending to be someone else made her feel more at ease.

  Off the field, he was all about doing what was comfortable. Only when he put on the Condors uniform did he demand perfection from himself and everyone around him. Then, he had to be the best. To outplay everyone.

  No stranger to a courtroom, he knew how to behave. He took a seat at the defendant’s table, next to his lawyer, and did his damndest to look innocent.

  By the time the bailiff asked them to rise, he thought he was doing a pretty good job. But beside him, Jade was too still. Her lovely face was pale.

  Uh-oh. Not the confidence his attorney ought to project. “Something wrong?”

  “That’s not Judge Wyndham.” Her lips barely moved.

  For the first time, Greg took note of the person behind the authoritative black robe. It was tall, reedy woman with thick black eyebrows and a severe frown. Definitely no goat, randy or otherwise.

  “Good morning. I’m Judge Jacqueline Troxler. For the record, Judge Wyndham had a medical emergency this morning. Since he looks to be incapacitated for a while, I’ll be clearing his docket.”

  He watched, amused, as Jade surreptitiously tried to re-button her blouse.

  “Excellent idea, Ms. Simpson.” The judge’s voice was dry. “You’ll be arguing this case on its merits rather than your—ah—undeniable charms.”

  Jade’s cheeks pinkened, but her chin raised a notch and she met the judge’s eyes. “That won’t be a problem, Your Honor.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Greg listened while the prosecutor painted him as a rowdy, drunk asshole who’d been looking for a fight.

  Ridiculous, he scrawled on Jade’s legal pad. Not drunk. Two beers.

  When it was her turn to speak, Jade stood to address the court. “Your Honor, my client is no saint. He has been in trouble with the law before. But in this case, he was merely acting like a gentleman.”

  “Punching someone without provocation isn’t the behavior of a gentleman, Ms. Simpson.”

  “It is when you do so to defend a—” she almost choked on the word—”helpless woman.”

  Judge Troxler looked down at the sheaf of papers in front of her. Greg found it hard to believe one minor incident had produced so much paperwork. “The incident in question occurred at Twin Peaks?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Hmm.” The judge turned sharp eyes on him. “The man you knocked out was bothering one of the dancers?”

  He nodded.

  “Speak up, young man. The court can’t hear your head rattle.”

  “Yes, Judge.”

  “Yes what?”

  He reminded himself of the need to respect the court’s authority, even if the judge’s manner seemed calculated to bring out his inner rebellious teenager. “The guy was pawing someone who clearly didn’t welcome the attention.”

  “Who appointed you judge and jury?”

  Greg ground his teeth on a smart-mouthed reply. “Believe it or not, Judge, I’m an intelligent guy. I can tell the difference between a wanted advance and an unwanted one.”

  “Society has rules for a reason, Mr. Bartlesby. People can’t go around willy-nilly, dispensing their own brand of justice.”

  He glanced at Jade, who gave him a slight nod. If she couldn’t sway the judge with her looks, maybe he could. He flashed his most charming smile. “People also can’t go around willfully disrespecting women, Judge Troxler.”

  “That’s rich, coming from a man who frequents strip clubs.”

  Damn, she was tough. He turned up his smile until his cheeks ached. “Looking’s a whole lot different than touching, Your Honor.”

  “Hmmph.”

  Well, hell. Time to load the big guns. “Jake Bartlesby’s son wasn’t raised to tolerate disrespect for women.”

  A murmur rippled through the gallery. Even the judge looked surprised. Her bushy black eyebrows shot up. “You’re Jake Bartlesby’s boy?”

  He almost asked how many Bartlesby families she thought there were, not just in Arizona but in the country—but he bit it back. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The best third baseman in Major League Baseball history Jake Bartlesby?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled some more, but beneath the table his hands fisted. His father’s shadow loomed large, and he’d been trying to outrun it for longer than he could remember. Results varied. “I take it you’re a fan?”

  “Everyone loves Jake ‘Big Man’ Bartlesby.”

  That was the problem. He constantly strived to live up to the expectations heaped on the son of the world’s most perfect ballplayer—and all-around great human being. Too often, he failed. And sometimes, like this one, those failures brought him to court.

  If his charm wouldn’t get him out of this jam, he wasn’t above trading on his father’s fame. Wouldn’t be the first time, and he doubted it’d be the last. Jake Bartlesby was a legend, both for his on-field play and his off-field altruism. “I can get him to autograph something for you.”

  The judge’s thick eyebrows lowered into one solid line. “Young man, are you trying to bribe an officer of the court?”

  Uh-oh. Time for damage control. “Of course not, Judge. I just thought—” The heel of Jade’s shoe landed on his foot. “Ow!”

  Good thing he didn’t have to use that foot for a few months. Jade wasn’t big, but her punch packed a giant-sized wallop.

  Her look was a warning. One he was inclined to heed, since every time he opened his mouth, he seemed to be digging himself in deeper. If he couldn’t charm the judge and his father didn’t impress her, he was at a loss. He closed his mouth and resumed his seat.

  But the damage was already done. The judge rifled through a stack of papers, her uni-brow lowering further every time she flipped the page. Finally, she reached for the microphone.

  “Jacob Gregory Bartlesby II, you appear to have taken for granted a charmed life. You’ve been let off much too easily for past misdeeds.”

  He jumped to his feet. The judge had no idea how many times he’d punished himself for each screw-up. “I object, Your Honor.”

  “Sit down, Mr. Bartlesby. You can’t object.”

  She had a point. He thumped back into his chair, but Jade rose. “I can. Judge Troxler, you can’t sentence him again for things he’s already done his time for. That’s double jeopardy.”

  The judge’s gaze
whipped to Jade. “I’m aware of the meaning of the term, Ms. Simpson. And I have no intention of retrying your client. However, I can make damn sure he’s properly accountable for his latest folly.”

  Greg didn’t like the sound of that, but he bit his cheek to hold in another objection. The old bat wouldn’t hesitate to hold him in contempt of court.

  The judge re-trained her eyes on him. “Wealth has its privileges. It also comes with responsibilities. You have been shirking those duties for far, far too long. Lucky for you, you are out of work for the next five or so months, which gives you plenty of time to develop a charitable streak.”

  He had a feeling this was headed straight to his father’s pet project, the Bartlesby Foundation.

  The judge continued. “Your father’s foundation is an excellent place to start. The minute you leave this courtroom, I suggest you get a head start on the 500 hours of community service I’m inclined to sentence you to.”

  Of course. He already worked there in the offseason. He just detested the idea of being ordered to do it. The looming threat of serving time—500 hours of it—at the Foundation made him even more reckless with his words than usual. “Why wait?”

  Judge Troxler’s eyebrows shot up and she leaned back in her padded chair. “Are you sassing me?”

  He shifted so Jade couldn’t jab her heel into his foot again and raised his voice to answer the judge’s question. “I guess you could call it that, yeah.”

  As the judge lowered her eyebrows back to half-staff, Jade elbowed him and whispered in his ear. “Do you have a death wish or are you just stupid?”

  “Neither,” he growled back. What was with everyone questioning his intelligence? He had a perfectly good brain and, most of the time, he managed to use it.

  The judge’s icy voice sliced through his anger. “If you two are done conferring, may we continue?”

  Jade’s cheeks turned red. “Of course, Your Honor.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Simpson.” The judge went on. “Mr. Bartlesby, you appear to be even more spoiled and reckless than I first thought. Perhaps making it 1,000 hours will convince you to think occasionally of someone other than yourself.”

  Greg bit the inside of his cheek to keep from delivering another smart-aleck response. Pointing out that thinking of someone else was what got him hauled up before the judge in the first place would probably go over as well as the attempt to rename French fries after 9/11.

  Good thing he had Jade to look out for him. The brunette jumped to her feet again. “Judge Troxler, he can’t possibly complete 1,000 hours of community service in five months. It’s mathematically impossible.”

  “Not if he treats it as a full-time job,” the judge countered. “It’s only six and two-thirds hours every day for 150 days. But don’t worry, Ms. Simpson. I’m nothing if not reasonable. Your client will have a full year to put in the hours.”

  She banged her gavel. “Court dismissed.”

  ****

  What just happened? Jenn waited for the judge to exit the courtroom and then did the same as she tried to figure it out. She barely noticed Greg was a step behind her.

  When she realized he followed her, halfway down the corridor, she stopped and turned. He was watching her closely, his face nearly as severe as the judge’s had been. She didn’t like the scrutiny. She didn’t much like him, either, for that matter. He talked too much. “What?”

  “You’re a much better stripper than you are a lawyer.”

  “I’m not—never mind.” This spoiled man-child’s opinion of her was of no consequence whatsoever. “Things would have gone much more smoothly if you knew when to shut your big mouth.”

  “Or if you were as familiar with law as you are with the pole.”

  Letting him think she danced was one thing. Listening to him insult her sister’s current livelihood was another. “You think you’re so much better? Have you forgotten you play with balls for a living?”

  With that, she walked away. Folks with too much money and too little common sense always rubbed her wrong, this one more than most.

  He swore, and soon his footsteps sounded behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jade. My comment was uncalled for.”

  She stopped and shrugged him off. She wasn’t about to apologize, even if her comment, too, was out of line. He started it. “You have a right to be testy. I certainly didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.”

  “To get me off?” One corner of his mouth lifted. “You sure didn’t.”

  Ooh, that half-smile was appealing. Too appealing. She stepped back, away from temptation. “Judge Troxler is tough.”

  “Believe me, I noticed.”

  Jenn paused. She remembered the look on his face when the judge had mentioned he should volunteer with his father’s foundation. “If you don’t mind my asking, what does your father’s foundation do?”

  “A little bit of everything.” He shrugged. “But the main focus is helping underprivileged kids.”

  And that had him out of sorts? Growing up with four siblings and an out-of-work father, she’d been an underprivileged kid. They’d practically lived on sandwiches made from cheap white bread and pale yellow government cheese. “You have a problem with helping those less fortunate than yourself?”

  “Of course not.” His look was undecipherable. “I just don’t do well with kids. Can’t relate.”

  “I’d think kids would love the chance to meet a famous ballplayer.”

  “I’m not famous. My father is.”

  And that galled him. It was evident in his clenched jaw and drawn-up shoulders. Against her better judgment, she found herself wanting to boost his ego. Since she’d had a few minutes to read up on Greg Bartlesby, first baseman, before court, she knew exactly how to go about it. “If you’re as good as the sportswriters say, you won’t be in the minors for long.”

  “Four years and counting,” he grumbled. “And when they hear about this, it’ll probably be another four.”

  “They who? The press?”

  “MLB officials. Dad says no one’ll call me up to the majors until they have proof I’m mature enough to handle it.” He scowled. “Right now, my ‘wild’ behavior makes me too much of a risk.”

  Far be it from her to point out that brawling—even in defense of a woman—wasn’t all that mature. Still, newscasts were full of pro athletes arrested for offenses far worse. “Why don’t you use your community service sentence to show who you really are to whoever you need to show?”

  He looked thoughtful. “That idea’s not half bad.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Before she realized what he was going to do, Greg wrapped her in a hug. He was all muscle, a solid wall of yum, and her body molded itself to him effortlessly. She tipped her head up to look into his eyes, the color of the summer sky right before a thunderstorm. Blue so clear and deep she could lose herself.

  She was so caught up in the moment that the passerby registered as no more than a shadowy shape—until he stopped, turned and stared. Her boss. Mr. Stull didn’t say anything, but his disapproving frown spoke volumes.

  Caught in a clinch with a client? Oh God. How embarrassing. Even if the contact had started out purely innocent, her response made it inappropriate.

  She squirmed out of Greg’s arms and took a few steps back. “Mr. Stull! What a surprise!”

  “No doubt.” He pursed his lips. “Shall I assume you were merely celebrating the case’s positive outcome?”

  Jenn grimaced. “Not exactly.”

  Mr. Stull tugged on his tie. “What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’?”

  “We ran into a snag. Judge Troxler heard the case.”

  Greg stepped forward. “That woman is no randy old goat.” He shook his head, bemused. “Immune to my charm, too.”

  Her boss’ face lightened two shades. “Dare I ask what happened?”

  “Nothing good.” Jenn hung her head, ashamed. In less than thirty minutes, she’d let down the defendant, the
client and her boss. Not a stellar way to start the week.

  “It was my fault, not hers.” Greg’s hand settled on her back. “I let my temper get the best of me and mouthed off to the judge.”

  Doing her best to ignore the way his fingers burned through her cotton shirt, she met her boss’s eyes again. “I failed to adapt. I’m to blame.”

  “I’m sure there’s plenty of blame to go around.” Mr. Stull’s mouth puckered. “Jake Bartlesby will not be pleased.”

  Greg’s palm flattened against her back. “Leave my father to me.”

  Chapter Three

  Before facing his father, Greg went back to Twin Peaks. Sure, it was a dumb idea, returning so soon to the club where he’d been arrested. But he was restless, and seeing Jade would go a long way toward improving his mood.

  He stayed in the shadows at the back of the club and watched her dance. Under the stage lights, she worked that pole like a pro. She shimmied and shook her perfect tits and ass to weave a sensuous spell over the crowd. And him. Especially him.

  No doubt about it. She was good. The stirring in his shorts was a testament to her skill. Remembering how she’d felt in his arms—all soft, warm and willing—made him harder.

  When she strutted offstage, disappearing behind a black velvet curtain, the crowd whistled and called for an encore. He cursed under his breath. This was no way for a woman to make a living.

  Why would she want to, anyway? If she worked at a law firm his father had hired to defend him, she had to be making decent money. No way would his father employ cut-rate legal services.

  Staying in the back of the club through last call gave him a chance to see Jade’s performance three times. Each one fueled his hunger, and his certainty that she needed rescuing. An idea half-formed in the back of his mind. He sat in his car in the parking lot and waited until she came out of the club. She sashayed across the asphalt to a beat-up Toyota hatchback.

  After tugging hard on the dented driver’s side door, she managed to get in. The engine wheezed a couple of times but refused to roar to life.

  Greg scanned the parking lot to see if anyone else was coming to her aid, but it was deserted. Seizing the excuse, he strode up to her car and knocked on the window. “Need any help?”