TATIANA: Book Three; The Trouble Sisters Saga Read online

  Before Tatiana could do more than gasp, Zane was beside her. Turning to his startled ADA, who was clearly surprised to see her boss advancing on her, he said dryly, “Hmm, Ms. Richards. Unintentionally, I’m sure, you are proving the point that I was trying to make in my opening remarks. Our profession is diminished when lawyers think we can only learn from our legal peers. I suggest you wait until you’ve heard her address before you write off our accomplished keynote speaker. I’m confident if you have an open mind—a requirement for anyone who works with me—you will learn more about a critical issue facing our society than you could learn from a stack of legal briefs.” Shooting the red-faced ADA a warning glare, Zane added, “At which point I trust you will apologize to Ms. Trouble for your narrow, uninformed views.”

  After Chloe turned on her heel and angrily strode across the ballroom, heading for the bar in the anteroom, Zane smiled at the uneasy crowd, who’d backed away at his open rebuke of his ADA. “Relax, folks, just the usual repartee between an overbearing boss trying to teach his out-of-line wannabes the facts of life and law. But please, don’t let me interrupt those of you who were talking with Ms. Trouble. I’m confident that, unlike my closed-minded ADA, you will find her a font of knowledge.”

  After he’d shooed Chloe off to sulk at his reprimand, Tatiana was relieved when Zane kept a studied distance from her. As much as she appreciated his support, she couldn’t help but feel like an ingenue supported by an anxious sponsor who wasn’t sure his protégé could handle the rough and tumble of center stage. After engaging with a number of people, some of whom it was clear had dealt with domestic abuse, Tatiana needed a breath of fresh air or at least a scene change. She excused herself to the people who were waiting to speak with her, indicating she needed to go to the ladies’ room.

  Slipping into one of the stalls, she sunk onto the commode and leaned her head against the cool, metal wall. Taking several slow, deep breaths, she tried to get control of her rioting emotions. Remembering Zane’s matchless address, she once again acknowledged his brilliance. With a slight sniff, she decided that was a good way to describe him. It wasn’t just how smart he was—he literally shone like a star. She knew it was ridiculous to compare him to a supernova, confidently moving among his peers, aware of his elevated position. But it was hard not to.

  Remembering the many people who seemed genuinely interested in talking to her, Tatiana reminded herself that every audience she’d ever had responded positively to her presentations. In fact, after her speaking engagements, it had been difficult to tear herself away from the attendees who eagerly plied her with question after question. But her audiences were primarily comprised of women, many of whom were survivors. And, she thought with a dismissive snort, she’d never had a Chloe Richards in the crowd. Tomorrow, she would likely be facing listeners who would be polite—particularly after the public dressing down Zane had given his condescending ADA. But she was certain that many of them, like Chloe, would question whether the topic and or the presenter were appropriate for a major legal symposium.

  The memory of Chloe’s barely sheathed attack brought Tatiana to the root of her angst. She dismissed the young woman’s disdain for her topic as a red herring. Clearly the conference organizers who had invited her to address the conclave believed it was imperative that the legal profession become more knowledgeable about the escalating issue of domestic violence. More to the point, Tatiana knew Chloe could have cared less if she spoke on the mating habits of mice or the questionable celibacy of Catholic priests. No, what had the angry young woman baring her claws wasn’t the topic of Tatiana’s address—it was Zane’s obvious interest in her.

  Acknowledging that elemental fact, Tatiana conceded it wasn’t Chloe who was tormenting her but who she represented. Tatiana was sure Chloe was but one of many young women who’d been cycled through Zane’s notoriously revolving boudoir door.

  At that moment, Tatiana forced herself to come to grips with her fears. After all, she was Sheriff Titus Trouble’s daughter and one of the three Trouble sisters. Deciding that she’d hidden long enough and was ready to confront the impressive man she was sure was looking for her, she forced herself to leave the shelter of the stall. Glancing in the mirror, she was surprised by her reflection. Instead of a timid, mousy-looking woman, she saw what even she would describe as a remarkably beautiful woman. The dress that had seemed perfect at Tara’s was just that. In fact, it was a work of art. Its cunning design revealed her svelte, curvy body to perfection. And as Zane had enthused, the panoply of vibrant colors only served to underscore the flaming color of her hair. Drawing herself up to her full height, which with the extraordinarily sexy four-inch shoes put her close to six foot tall, she strode from the bathroom prepared to face her demons.

  Knowing that she couldn’t slink off to her room, she circled the exterior of the ballroom and found a secluded spot on the deck. She leaned against the railing and reveled in the beauty of the dark night sky replete with myriad sparkling stars. The gorgeous night brought back the countless nights when she was surrounded by chaos and how she’d relied on the remarkable desert skies to bring her a semblance of peace. Lost in her convoluted memories, she startled at the sound of his voice.

  “Hmm, I wondered where you were. I was hoping that you weren’t dealing with a severe case of cold feet.”

  At the sight of the tall man with the piercing blue eyes, Tatiana tried to ignore the rush of sensations that attacked her fragile equilibrium. Noting that his slight smile and teasing tone were belied by his narrowed eyes and rigid jaw, Tatiana sucked in a deep breath and did her best to reply in kind.

  “No, even in these ridiculous shoes, my feet are pleasantly warm.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I was concerned when you left and didn’t come back.”

  Not willing to answer his unasked question, Tatiana turned to his dinner address. “You were amazing, Zane. You are a gifted raconteur and presenter. Not to mention an accomplished comedian. Clearly, you belong on the stage.”

  “Hmm, I will take that at face value as the compliment I hope you intended. Fortunately or unfortunately, I’ve always been a ham. It happens to spoiled trust-fund kids who as adults are still trying to annoy their elders.”

  Tatiana nodded and then surprised herself by what she said next. “I could have handled Chloe.”

  Zane blew out an audible sigh. “I know you could have. I’m sorry, Tatiana. I knew when I did it I shouldn’t have interfered. She just made me so goddamned mad, trying to diminish you. It’s obvious she’s jealous of you.”

  Tatiana tossed him a dismissive shrug and said coolly, “Hmm . . . more likely she thinks that I’m your squeeze of the moment, and she isn’t happy about it.”

  Zane grasped her arm and pulled her close to him. She shuddered at the tremors raking her receptive body as he loomed over her. His voice was firm, underscoring the frown creasing his brow. “Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t do that. This is stressful for us both. But let’s deal with what’s really going on. No surreptitious attacks.”

  Tatiana acknowledged what he was saying with a sight nod. Blowing out a hard sigh, she faced him head-on, determined not to let him intimidate her or keep her from saying what she now knew she had to say. “I don’t think I can do this, Zane.”

  “Do what, sweetheart?”

  She shook her head fiercely from side to side, needing him to understand. “Tonight. Everything. It’s too much. I’m already anxious about my speech tomorrow. I’m not like you. Going on stage is always a challenge.” Seeing his frown, she quickly added, “But you don’t need to worry about me. Once I get started, I’m fine, good even.”

  “I’m sure you are, Tatiana. You are an exceedingly professional woman dealing with a critically important issue. I’m confident that you will have those arrogant legal beagles eating out of your hand.”

  When she didn’t answer and just continued to gnaw on her already puffy bottom lip, Zane said carefully, “But your speech isn’t what drove you
to hide in the ladies’ room for twenty minutes, was it?”

  Jerking her head up in surprise, she took issue with his demeaning description of her absence. “I wasn’t hiding, damn you. I . . . I just needed to get away.”

  “Away from me?” Zane knew he was purposefully pushing her, but he needed to know where she was. Seeing her confusion and the tears welling up in her extraordinary emerald eyes when she just shook her head and didn’t answer, he grunted in agreement. “Okay, sweetheart. It might surprise you, but I agree. We’ve got more than enough issues to face without my hauling you off to bed and having my wretched way with you.”

  At her questioning start, he tugged her next to him. Lifting her chin, he met her tremulous gaze with a smile. “How about I walk you to your room, Ms. Trouble? I promise I will leave you at the door. Although do know that kissing you good night is a given. I trust you agree.”

  ****

  Moments later, standing outside her door, Zane took control of the conversation. Reaching for her, he lifted her chin and rubbed his thumb across her lips. Murmuring softly, he praised her. “I hope you know, Tatiana, that you have the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen.” At her start, he continued. “Even when your lips are smashed together like they are now, you can’t hide the fact that you want me to kiss you.”

  When she closed her eyes and shook her head in disagreement, he said, “Uh-uh, baby. No more games.”

  Startled, Tatiana’s eyes flew open and she shook her head fiercely. “I . . . I’m not playing games, Zane. Honestly, I’m not. It’s just that—”

  He pressed his finger against her lips, stopping her certain excuse. “Don’t misunderstand. I agree. You were right to push back. I don’t want to spend our first night together in a utilitarian hotel room. Our lovemaking requires a much more auspicious setting. And yes, you do need to focus on your speech. Besides, with all of the things I intend to do to you, I want your full attention.” Tugging her closer to him, he said firmly, “But, sweetheart, you need to understand. This hiatus is a temporary one. We’re about done with the foreplay, Tatiana. Come tomorrow, we are back on my agenda.”

  At her shocked gasp, he tightened his hold on her and forced her to meet his narrowed gaze. “So if you don’t mind, let’s agree on the rest of our rendezvous. After your smashing keynote address and we’ve allowed all the wowed audience members to surround you for an hour at the most, we’re going to make a break for it. A few rules for the rest of the day: number one, we are going to spend tomorrow night together. You will need to tell your colleagues that you won’t be riding back to Sierra Vista with them. You can explain that an emergency came up or use whatever goddamn excuse you wish. Just know that I am going to spirit you away in my snazzy car and have my way with you for the following twenty hours or so.” At her start, he pinched her cheek and said with a grin, “And by the way, you are going to love every minute of it! You got that?”

  Seeing an incipient smile fighting with the tears in her eyes, Zane murmured, “Now before I send you off to bed, I need to do this.” Pressing her against the wall, he brushed his lips against the tender spot beneath her ear and licked the curve of her neck. Gratified by her untoward shiver, he nipped gently at the soft skin. At her shocked gasp and massive tremor, he yanked her dress up, freeing her legs. Lodging his knee between her thighs, he forced them apart. Her shuddering moan was balm to his aroused dick. Pressing his engorged cock up against her core, he murmured, “Oh yeah, sweetheart, feel that. Can you feel how fucking hard I am?” Rubbing against the scrap of lace protecting her pussy, he reveled in the dampness he felt there.

  Setting her down on her feet, he raised her face to his. Rubbing his fingers across her lips, he murmured, “Taste this, Tatiana, and then, baby, smell it. Is it any wonder that I crave your musky fragrance? Can you believe how wet you are, how sweet your sexy dew is? How your gorgeous body is responding to me? Do you have any idea how much I want to drive my fucking prick high up in your glorious cunt? Do you?”

  At her startled cry followed by a breathy moan, he pulled back. Holding her tight against him, he groaned. “But I’m not going to do that. Not tonight, darling. But tomorrow, sweetheart? God, yes. I am going to do that and so much more.”

  When she sighed and clung to him, he slammed his eyes shut, then said firmly, “I’m going to leave you now, but before I do, I’m going to take this.” At her shocked cry, he reached under her dress and snapped the fragile silk thong off and shoved it in his pocket. Heaving out a grunt, he said, “The least you can do is give me something to help me make it through the night without you.”

  Dragging her dress back down over her hips, he turned her toward the door. “Your keycard, madam?” When she retrieved it from her purse and held it out to him, he inserted it in the slot and opened the door. Smacking her lightly on her bottom, he gave her a gentle shove. “Get some sleep, sexy woman. We have a big day and night ahead of us.”

  After futilely trying to focus on her speech, Tatiana acknowledged how tired she was. Giving in to her desperate need to sleep, she heard the ping of his incoming text.

  “My only concern is that when I go to the symposium tomorrow with this astonishingly fragrant scrap of lace in my pocket, I’m likely to attract a determined following of horny men in my wake. But I’ll take my chances. Good night, lovely lady. Sweet dreams.”

  Chapter 13

  Tatiana gazed across the crowded room, surprised to see that every seat was taken. The row of people in the back confirmed that a standing-room-only crowd had convened to hear her address. Listening to the president of the Arizona Bar Association, Marjorie Cabot, introducing her, Tatiana acknowledged that her credentials were impressive. But then, they should be. She’d worked hard enough to earn them. A double major in criminal justice and psychology at the bachelor’s level and two master’s degrees were impressive by any standard. That she’d earned the degrees at the same time she’d had two children, managed to divorce her husband, and was just now twenty-six years old spoke to her ability to juggle more than a few balls in the air.

  But by far her most treasured accomplishment was the Sanctuary, the women’s shelter she’d created two years ago. The only woman’s shelter outside of Tucson and Phoenix, the Sanctuary had earned glowing tributes from industry specialists statewide. It had also been named the most successful new business by the Southern Arizona Chamber of Commerce, an honor Tatiana prized. Tatiana stepped to the microphone and thanked Marjorie Cabot for her introduction.

  Gazing out into the audience, she made a point of ignoring the back left-hand corner of the room where the impressive district attorney was standing. She’d seen him out of the corner of her eye when she took the stage. Remembering his salacious text message from the night before, she decided it was best not to look at him, knowing it would be impossible not to blush.

  She’d quickly looked over her speech, then spent the rest of the morning dealing with the crises rocking the Sanctuary. Knowing she wouldn’t be back until midday tomorrow, she sent a barrage of notes and messages to her aides and her partner answering their questions and giving them orders. She then spent nearly three hours chairing a multi-jurisdictional Internet meeting that included Child Protective Services and a range of service organizations as well as her deputy sheriff sister representing law enforcement. Now, stepping to the microphone, she debated how she should open her address. At that moment, she decided that she would hit her “lack” of legal credentials front and center. Knowing that Chloe Richards would likely be pleased she’d gotten under her skin and that Zane would no doubt remember her put-down of the green-eyed viper, as she’d taken to calling Chloe, Tatiana smiled at the audience.

  “Thank you for inviting me to meet with you today. It is an honor. I was recently challenged by one of your members who asked, in that I’m not a lawyer, why I thought I was qualified to speak to you. I called on Winston Churchill to explain what allowed me to be so brazen. I indicated that while I am not a lawyer, I am a practitioner in the
field. Paraphrasing Churchill, I said, ‘I have nothing to offer but blood, sweat, toil, and tears.’ ” She smiled at the audience, then added solemnly, “Perhaps the following montage will help to at least explain my tears.” She stopped for a long moment, then nodded to the audio visual technician to lower the lights.

  What followed was a full five minutes of testimony from her clients—all of whom were victims of domestic abuse. The sequence opened with a series of silent photographs of battered women. An explanatory note on the bottom of each hideous photograph confirmed that the women had been hit or beaten, usually by the fists of her attacker. Others in the sequence had been beaten with an object, which was shown to the side of her photograph. One woman had been struck repeatedly with a broom handle, another with the butt of a gun, a third by a wooden spoon that was covered with blood. Following the minute and a half of shocking silent pictures was a series of spoken testaments from abuse victims. Their stories were wrenching, hideous by any standard. The victims were as young as eighteen. One elderly grandmother, a multipronged scar deeply etched on one side of her misshapen face, indicated she would be seventy on her next birthday. The women represented every race and income level. According to their testimony, almost ninety percent were married to their abusers.

  Tatiana ended the montage with a particularly grievous picture, which she left on the screen. It was impossible to judge how old the blonde-haired woman was. Both of her eyes were swollen shut. The rest of her face was a tapestry of mottled rage. Her nose was broken, distorted. Her lip was split and clotted blood was visible in the spaces between her shattered teeth. Allowing the full impact of the gruesome photograph to sink in, Tatiana began to speak. “In that it is difficult from this picture to judge the age or background of this woman, let me tell you a little about her. In this photograph, she is thirty-two years old. She is married and has three children. She is a member in good standing at the local Presbyterian church and a regular at Junior League functions, where she served as president of the elite organization. Her husband is a successful businessman and their five-bedroom house recently sold for close to a million dollars.