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Then my client shuffles inside the room, the chains around his ankles jingle, and the hummingbird in my chest slams into a brick wall. Time stands still as my breath becomes lodged in my throat.
In the flesh, Michael John Harrison, known to his club as “Mad John,” is even bigger than the reputation that precedes him. He’s easily six foot five, if not more, and a solid two hundred fifty pounds of blinding muscle. Though the two guards flanking him look to each be around six feet tall, they appear child-like in his mammoth shadow. The way his prison-issued shirt stretches across his chest, exposing slivers of skin around his buttons makes me wonder if he’s put on more bulk since he was first issued the uniform. Then again, maybe he’s just that massive.
My brain struggles to process everything about the giant standing in front of me all at once. Crooked nose that’s been broken a time or two. Hulking, square jaw. Dark, wavy blond hair hanging down to his chin. Smooth, rosy lips that are nearly as thick as they are wide. Angular eyebrows with a natural arch as if raised in perpetual question. Sharply intense green eyes that are impossible to look away from once they lock with mine.
A tingling warmth stirs in my lower regions. He’s every bit as beautiful as he is terrifying.
And dangerous, I quickly remind myself. Don’t forget dangerous.
He’s been in prison less than six months, but there’s something off in his dark gaze and his shoulders slump forward like he’s already given up hope. The desperation of his situation sucks me down a path I hadn’t anticipated. Suddenly, for whatever insane reason I may have after seeing the guy for a whole ten seconds, I’m not solely in this for my own reasons. I’m one hundred percent vested in proving his innocence.
As he captivates my open stare, his wide lips twist with a smirk that sends a flush shooting down the back of my damp neck. “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” he says with a snarl in a deliciously low, rumbling voice. “Tell me this is some sick joke.”
I don’t react in any way, only hold his annoyed glare. I’m all at once irritated with myself for letting a convicted criminal get under my skin, though a little voice in my head insists that I’d like him to do other things to my skin.
“Sit down and shut up, Harrison,” the Latino guard tells him, nudging him in the side. “You have fifteen minutes. Best not be wasting time.”
My client slumps into the chair across from me, slamming his cuffed hands onto the table and snickering. Why can’t they lock his handcuffs to the table like they do in the movies so I don’t feel so unnerved? Thankfully I’m already clutching the sides of my chair and manage not to jump with the loud clank. If this guy thinks he’s going to intimidate me, he has another thing coming.
Squaring my shoulders, I offer my hand over the table. “Alexa Darrington. I’m with the Not Guilty Initiative. I’ve been assigned—”
“Are you even old enough to be in here without a chaperone, baby girl?”
Dear God above. The sensual way he says ‘baby girl’, although obviously intended with malice, has my heart racing and other parts of me way too excited for the situation at hand. And there’s something about his scent—clean and undeniably masculine—that coils along with the confusing sensations already taking residence in my stomach.
But everything about his smart-assed comment has my insides vibrating with irritation. Collecting myself, I narrow my gaze and lean over the table, stabbing the center of it with my pointer finger the way I’d like to poke him in the chest.
“I’d suggest you take me seriously, Mr. Harrison. Considering you’ve been sentenced to spend the rest of your life here without parole, you should be grateful that I was asked to investigate your case. I’ve already filed a notice of appearance. If you have a problem with me, you’ll have to file for a substitution of counsel, and that will use up precious time that you quite frankly don’t have. I may be your only option, but I was at the top of my class in law school and I’m a damn good attorney. I’m not going to give up until I find a way to prove your innocence.”
Harrison’s shoulders lift with a silent chuckle as he leans back in his chair and pushes a strand of dark hair behind one ear. “Well shit. If you’re my only hope, I may as well go back to my dorm and hang myself with a bed sheet.”
Michael Harrison is bad for me.
Angry, albeit drop-dead sexy men in prison for murder are generally bad for anyone. So I’m unable to explain why I feel a need to prove his innocence, or why every time he opens his mouth I want to feel those thick lips all over my body.
I’ve worked hard to prove my worth since my parents abandoned me, and getting involved with an inmate could cost me the career I worked so hard to establish. So why do I find myself ready to throw it all away for a chance to be with a tattooed biker?
Alexa Darrington must be an angel.
How else can I explain the sudden appearance of this mouthwateringly gorgeous woman with legs that go on for miles? It’s not only her looks that make her irresistible. Her determination and stubborn will make her the kind of woman worth laying down my life for.
Even though it's too dangerous to involve her in the truth, I’m too selfish to let her go. But what will I have to offer if I’m stuck in prison for life?
FIGHTING FOR ALEXA is a full-length standalone novel bursting at the seams with heat and intrigue
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