“I…nothing.” She bit the inside of her cheek.
Keeping this terrible secret was gnawing at her. Protecting a murderer felt wrong, even if her profession demanded confidentiality. Regardless of her inner turmoil, Jane had ethics to adhere to, so she’d have to wait to unburden herself until tomorrow morning.
“Bullshit. Come on, lay it on me.” The fire lit his features with a crimson glow. “I’m Hell’s resident devil, and it’d be my genuine pleasure to hear your sins, darlin’.”
For a second, she was tempted to blurt it all out. Jane knew she couldn’t shock him, but she had a professional duty.
Right now, it seemed ridiculous. How could keeping a killer’s secrets be the right thing to do? The answer was simple: it wasn’t.
“Whatever’s botherin’ you can’t be so bad.”
Care to place a bet? I’d win.
Beauregard surprised her by squeezing her hand. Even more surprising, she liked his touch. So she held on to his fingers, squeezed them back. His hand felt warm and solid.
Actually, Jane needed something—comfort. Even though she’d regret it later. If Georgia were here, Jane would hug her, or even Brady.
Unfortunately, she had only one option at the moment—six feet of bad boy mobster who’d been trying to seduce her for months.
Life has a twisted sense of humor.
“I…need you.”
He made a low rumbling noise somewhere between a groan and a rumble.
Jane took a step back.
“What an opener.” He smirked. “Need me to do what, darlin’? I’d be happy to see to all of your desires.”
Jane picked up on the blatant sexual innuendo.
“I only want a hug.”
His mouth fell open in shock.
Huh. How about that? For once, she’d managed to leave him speechless. Usually, she was the one left floundering and bewildered by something he’d said.
“Let me get this straight, you want me to touch you?”
“Didn’t I say so?”
Jane knew it must sound strange since she went out of her way to keep him at arm’s length. The warmth and security of being held would calm her down.
“Is this a trick?”
“It’s a simple request. Yes or no?” Jane placed her hands on her hips. At this rate, she might have to ambush one of his unsuspecting bodyguards.
“Okay, now I’m worried. What the hell happened to you tonight?”
“Nothing.” She tried her best not to look guilty.
“You can tell me. Did some man break your heart? I’ll bust his kneecaps for you.” His mouth curled into a sinful smile as he brought out the Southern charm.
Somehow, the image of Beauregard thwacking Valentine with a baseball bat made her smile. She might even cheer him on.
“There you go—I got a little smile. Come on then, tell the truth and shame the devil.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Why not? Don’t we have client-attorney privilege or somethin’?”
“The privilege is yours, not mine. What I say to you can and should be used against me.” Ugh, she had a headache and a stomachache. “Are we doing this or what?”
His brows drew together, and he set the glass down on the desk. “I surely will—been dyin’ to get my hands on you for months.” Byron smoothed his tie.
If she didn’t know better, Jane would say he was nervous, which was ridiculous. Someone like Beauregard had touched hundreds of women. Surely, a non-sexual embrace wouldn’t be a big deal.
“I only want a hug. If you try something else, so help me, I’ll—”
“Understood. No need to threaten me—I’ll give you a squeeze.”
Beauregard held out his arms, and she haltingly approached him. Contact was always a dicey prospect. There were so many variables—sweat, the amount of cologne, how firm the grip, if the person had bad breath. It’s why she avoided them as much as possible. A steady squeeze worked best. Applying too little or too much pressure didn’t work for her.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face against his chest. Beauregard’s touch was surprisingly warm and inviting. He smelled of something citrusy with a hint of pine—clean smells. His body was warm, and she soaked in the heat. To his credit, he kept his hands on her back, gently tracing her shoulder blades. It was the best she’d felt all evening, so she stood there and let the relief rush in.
Jane could hear the steady thumping of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, which was soothing. He had slick steel buttons her fingers itched to touch. Instead, she settled for touching the infinity symbol around her neck. She buried her face in his chest and shut out the world for a second. She hadn’t wanted to be held in a very long time, and she’d forgotten how good it could feel—provided she initiated the contact.