“Leah,” Carter said. “Pretty name.”
“Carter.” Willow frowned up at him and clutched a stack of folders to her chest. “I just told you you’re free to leave Pierce.”
“I know.” He tipped his head and gnawed on his inner cheek as if thinking.
Willow looked between them. “Carter this is Leah White. Leah, Carter Harris.”
“Pleasure.” Carter reached for her hand.
Before she could snap it away, he took it, wrapped his cool fingers around her hot skin, and drew it to his lips. He kissed the backs of her knuckles, not taking his gaze from her.
The moment his grip slackened, she snatched her hand back.
“And what do you do, Leah White? No, don’t tell me. Daddy is the mayor, so you enjoy a life of dinner parties, lunching, and shopping in only the best boutiques.”
“Oh no.” Willow shook her head. “Leah is an attorney, my mentor actually.”
“An attorney. I’m impressed.”
Leah saw a flash of surprise cross his eyes. He hadn’t been expecting her to have a brain. “Don’t be. Impressed, that is. It’s not your concern.”
“It is if I need another attorney one day, which chances are I will. You got a card or something I can have?”
“I have anor something.”
“Which is?”
“A goodbye. Have a nice life, Mr. Harris, and try not to get yourself slung behind bars again or murdered too soon.” She linked her arm with Willow’s. “Come on, there’s wine with our name on it.”
She tugged Willow down the steps, again knowing she was being watched. The man’s eyes left a heated trail down her spine that had nothing to do with the sun kissing her blouse and pressing it to the flesh on her back.
But why had an MC guy singled her out? She was hardly his type with her prim blouse, pencil skirt, and sleek black bob. He no doubt went for a woman in Daisy Duke’s with boobs spilling from a low-cut top. Tattoos up her arms and bleached hair down her back.
Perhaps it was the relief of being let off his charge. It had addled his neurons. Made Carter Harris forget who and what he was.
Chapter Two
Carter Harris supped on a bottle of beer and realized for the first time in his life he’d cared about how someone had seen him. More than cared. It had damn well pissed him off the way he’d been put in a box because of who and what he was.
And that box had a big fatnowritten on it.
Leah White was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that. When he’d first set eyes on her across the courtroom, he could have believed she’d been made of porcelain with her pale flesh, delicate features, and slender, regal neck. Her skin had been sweeter than honey on his lips, softer than velvet. Sure, he could get hard for her, in a heartbeat, but more than that, her feminine fragility had knocked on the door of his protective streak.
An attorney.
Dealing with assholes and dipshits day in, day out, she’d meet the worst kind of people—ones without morals, with no gumption, sick individuals who lay no loyalty with anyone or anything.
And she’d looked at him as if he were one of them.
No damn way. Carter’s loyalty to the Devil’s Barbarians had been unwavering since the day he’d been born into the club. He’d been a club baby, a club kid, and now was one of the club leaders having sat at the Barbarians’ table throughout his twenties.
And he’d never let a club brother fight alone, which was exactly what had happened in Roxie’s Bar when fellow Barbarian Rio Sanchez had taken a knife to his guts. The fight had started and so had he. That was the way it was.
“Hey, Carter, wanna shoot pool or what?” Wyatt spun a cue from one hand to the other.
“Sure.” Perhaps that would get rid of the itchy sensation Leah White’s words had left him with. Not just her words, the look she’d given him. The entitled tilt of her chin, the snub of her nose, and the snatch of her hand.
“What’s poking you?” Wyatt asked.