Mercy of the Court

by BeckaWoods

Jaded Derek Maguire is intrigued by young attorney Mercy West. During their sensual voyage to discovery, Derek finds hope and Mercy learns how to love, unconditionally.

Mercy of the Court

This story of Mercy's abiding love for Derek is intended for adult readers only.

The settings, events and characters in this novella have been exaggerated;

otherwise, the story is based in truth.

Judge Derek Maguire walks among us.

For his unwavering support and wise counsel,

for his steadfast acceptance of who I was and am,

I am his for all my days on this earth … and beyond.

Chapter One

Mercy West woke slowly, luxuriating in the softness of the Frette sheets her mother had selected when furnishing the loft apartment purchased as a graduation gift for her only offspring less than two months ago. Three long, arduous years at Yale Law and the multistate bar exam were finally in Mercy's rearview mirror. Her parents had assumed she would join the global firm of West & West at their headquarters in New York after graduation. Mercy had other plans. She wanted to earn her stripes, not have them given to her on a silver platter.

Mercy received offers from prestigious firms across the country, but suspected her name could be credited for most, not the fact that she had graduated near the top of her class and was on the staff of the Law Review at Yale. To everyone's surprise, Mercy had forgone New York, Chicago, Washington, and Los Angeles, and accepted a position at a small firm in Montana. While on her two-day interview trip, she had been mesmerized by the wide open spaces, the clear blue sky, the clean air, and the mountain views. Plus, she enjoyed the warm camaraderie she witnessed while at the firm's modest offices. It felt right, and now here she was, on the morning of her first day in court.

Reluctantly, Mercy opened her eyes, smiling at the welcoming sunshine pouring through her bedroom windows. Stretching, she glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table and her eyes flew open in shock.

"Shit," she screamed as she scrambled out from under the covers and ran to the bathroom. "I'm going to be late. Note to self, get a damn alarm clock that doesn't have a 100-page instruction manual."

Shedding her nightgown as she ran, Mercy threw open the glass door of her white marble shower, turned on the water, and stepped in before it warmed. She gasped as the glacial jets of ice vanquished all remaining sluggishness from her body. She squeezed her favorite Intoxicating shower satine onto the bath sponge, and quickly scrubbed every inch of her 5'6" body from the tips of her manicured toes, over her long, lean legs and her torso, to her alabaster face. With no time to wash her mane of waist-length blonde hair, Mercy jumped from the shower, grabbed a towel on the run, and made a mad dash for the closet.

Long rows of clothes selected by the West's personal shopper at Neiman Marcus for Mercy's new career gave her a moment's pause. She quickly selected a dove grey Gloria Star pencil skirt and matching cropped jacket, and grabbed a teal silk halter with a bow at the neck, probably more appropriate for a New York cocktail party than her first day in a Montana court, but she had no time to ponder. Mercy hopped across the bathroom floor, first on one foot and then the other, as she slid on grey Jimmy Choo pumps with 4-inch heels and black pointed toes.

Mercy steadied herself for a second when she reached the wide double vanity. She roughly brushed out the snarls from her long hair, bent at her narrow waist, threw her hair over her head, gathered it into a high ponytail, and secured it with a holder that exactly matched the unique color of her golden locks. She glanced at her image in the mirror. "Not exactly a Ken Pavis coiffure, but it'll have to do."

Glancing at the clock, Mercy groaned and opted for only mascara and a lightly tinted lip gloss before grabbing her pale grey Birkin tote and rushing out the door.

That morning, Derek Maguire was in a foul mood. Even his daily 20-mile bike ride through the foothills of the Rockies didn't calm his unrest. With memories of the past weeks clouding his mind, he didn't notice the rainbow of colors in the sky as the sun slowly climbed over the mountain peaks to usher in a new day. The trial for last year's school shooting had generated national attention. The news vans clogged the streets outside the courthouse and hundreds of reporters reduced room availability in the small town to nil. The locals were devastated by the crime, still grieving with the families, and did not relish the attention, despite the unprecedented boost in revenue for owners of every hotel, B&B, and restaurant in town. In an effort to hold in check the grandstanding of the hotshot defense team, Derek had banned cameras from his courtroom. He cringed when he saw pictures and videos of himself on the nightly news.

The trial finally was over. The media had filed their last reports, filmed their last interviews, and departed as quickly as they had arrived, on to the next big story. The townspeople heaved a collective sigh of relief, but Derek now had a backlogged docket that would take weeks if not longer to clear. He prized efficiency, and was renowned for running a tight ship, professionally and personally. Disruptions to his organization, structure and schedule were not tolerated in his courtroom or in his home.

Derek arrived at the courthouse promptly at 7:50am to review the day's schedule and prepare for the next trial. The record-breaking hot Montana summer was in its final days, but even at this early hour, the heat in the usually cool courthouse was stifling as Derek made his way to his office. Naturally, his assistant wasn't at her desk. With a slight frown, he speculated she probably was at the coffee bar rehashing last night's episode of Housewives or some equally ridiculous reality television show, or perhaps just the run-of-the-mill gossiping with other staff.

Derek flipped open the top folder on his desk and began studying its contents. Terry Rush, a fourteen-year-old rising sophomore at Dominion High School, had been arrested with his significantly older brother, James, within hours of an armed robbery at a convenience store on the outskirts of town. James was not new to Derek's court. He was a known troublemaker, rumored to have graduated from petty theft to selling drugs. On the other hand, affidavits prepared by Terry's teachers, employer and minister reported Terry helped his invalid, single mother with the bills by working after school and still managed to make straight A's. Despite his age, Terry was a star on the high school's track team. He trained long hours before school and regularly led his team to victory in local, state and regional meets. University scouts from as far away as Texas, Florida and Georgia already were making calls to Terry's coach to make inquiries.

Derek wondered what had derailed the kid other than, perhaps, the corrupting influence of his brother. He noted all parties had requested a bench trial, in which he alone would hear testimony and render judgment rather than a jury. Figuring that would speed up the proceedings and quickly eliminate a case from his backlog, Derek stood, donned his black robe, collected the paperwork from his desk, and briskly made the short walk down the hall to his courtroom. He entered at precisely 9:00am and heard the bailiff announce, "All rise. Court now is in session. The Honorable Derek Maguire presiding."

Mercy drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of her new silver Mercedes-Benz SL63, a surprise graduation present from her grandparents. The roadster didn't look so out of place on the crowded streets of Manhattan as it did in small-town Montana, but she had not been consulted prior to the purchase. She glanced at the box of files on the passenger seat. She had spent two full days at the office collecting and organizing paperwork into color-coded folders and was secretly pleased that she could put her fingers on any required information within seconds. She took a quick look at her watch while stopped at yet another red light, and cringed when the cell phone rang as she accelerated through the intersection. The voice of her mentor, Elizabeth Garza, instantly filled the car.

"Where the hell are you, Mercy?" Elizabeth whispered in what seemed more like a yell. "It's 8:55. You should have been here at 8:30. The judge will be here in five minutes."

"I overslept, Elizabeth," Mercy hurriedly explained. "I'm just a few blocks away. Be there in a minute."

She touched a button on her steering wheel to disconnect the call and put the peddle to the metal. The 530 horsepower engine instantly responded, rocketing the convertible through the remaining few blocks like a flash of silver lightening. Relieved that the media vans no longer blocked access to the courthouse, Mercy turned into the parking lot too quickly and hit the curb. Oblivious to the grinding of metal on concrete, she whipped into the first available spot she found, grabbed the box of files from the passenger seat, threw her door open, slammed it shut behind her, and made a mad dash up the steps and through the front doors of the courthouse.

Security! With a sigh of exasperation, Mercy placed her tote and heavy box of files on the long x-ray belt, and waited for her turn to walk through the metal detector. As she impatiently shuffled forward, one excruciatingly slow person at a time, Mercy remembered Elizabeth's words of caution during happy hour yesterday evening.

"Judge Maguire is no nonsense, Mercy," Elizabeth warned. "He's mid-way through his second term. He's already seen and heard it all. He doesn't tolerate bullshit from anyone. In some ways, he's pretty unconventional, but for the most part he's by the book. There's no grey area in his courtroom. It either is, or it isn't. You're second chair tomorrow. Other than handing me documents when I need them, your job is to quietly reassure Terry, keep him calm, listen and learn."

Close to a full-blown panic attack, Mercy stepped through the metal detector, gathered her things, and raced down the hall to Judge Maguire's courtroom. The clacking of her Jimmy Choos on the marble floor bounced off the walls, announcing her arrival well before she neared the door.

Determined to move forward despite the oppressive heat in the windowless courtroom, Derek settled in the high-backed leather chair behind his desk on the raised platform. He turned to the court clerk and nodded.

"State of Montana v. Terry Rush" she announced. "Robbery in the second degree."

Derek looked to the prosecuting attorney, who rose to his feet. "ADA Randall Roberts for the prosecution, Your Honor."

Turning his head to the defense, Elizabeth rose. "Elizabeth Garza and Mercy West for the defense, Your Honor."

Derek glanced at the empty chair beside the obviously nervous Terry Rush, then looked back at Elizabeth with a questioning lift of an eyebrow.

"I apologize, Your Honor." Elizabeth attempted to explain, "Miss West was unexpectedly detained at the office. I'm sure she'll be here momentarily."

The words were barely out of Elizabeth's mouth when Mercy crashed through the double doors of the courtroom. In a desperate attempt to regain her equilibrium, Mercy reached out to the back of a bench in the public seating area and inadvertently tipped the box of files forward. Her meticulously organized color-coded folders scattered across the floor. With all eyes on her, Mercy dropped to her knees and crawled across the tiles to retrieve the files and dump them back in the box.

Derek's cool detachment was momentarily broken when he saw the slightly disheveled vision in grey drop to the floor to collect the dropped files. As she turned away from him to reach under a bench, the view of her tight, athletic ass wiggling under a form-fitting skirt instantly conjured up images inappropriate for a courtroom.

Derek turned to Elizabeth and asked, "Miss West, I assume?"

With a slow nod of her head in acknowledgment, Elizabeth confirmed, "Miss West."

Files somewhat intact, Mercy climbed to her feet and took a moment to regain her composure. Derek's eyes narrowed as he watched her hands glide from her tiny waist over her narrow hips to smooth her tight skirt. With a tug at the hem to restore the skirt to its intended knee length, Derek's attention wandered to Mercy's incredibly long and toned legs. The damn stilettos almost undid him.

"Miss West, sit!" he barked too harshly even to his own ears.

Derek blinked in amazement as Mercy kicked the box of files out of the center of the aisle, and plopped herself down unceremoniously on the closest bench.

"At the defense table, if you will, Miss West," Derek coached impatiently.

Before Mercy could react, Elizabeth jumped up, apologizing to the court, walked with purpose to Mercy, grabbed the box of files from the floor, gave Mercy a You're in Deep Shit Now look, and with a forceful shake of her head toward the front of the courtroom, finally broke through Mercy's paralysis. A scarlet red blossomed from Mercy's chest to her cheeks as she followed Elizabeth up the aisle with as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn't much given the circumstances.

Finally seated in her designated chair at the defense table, Mercy turned to Terry and mouthed, "Sorry."

The poor kid looked terrified. Beads of sweat were collecting on his pimpled forehead as he pulled uncomfortably at his tie. Mercy had purchased the suit and tie the week before when she learned he had nothing in his closet other than faded jeans, athletic shorts, t-shirts, one pair of sneakers and one pair of track shoes, all from the local thrift shop. Her heart went out to him. She hoped the clothes, dress shoes and fresh haircut would somehow depict Terry as the responsible young man she knew him to be.

Now settled, Mercy lightly gripped Terry's arm to convey the confidence she had in both him and their defense, and gave him her most dazzling smile. Terry took a deep breath, gave Mercy a tentative grin, and began to relax.

Derek observed the exchange and decided to store away his initial impressions of the stunning blonde and her obvious compassion to dissect later over a glass of wine and his occasional guilty pleasure, a thin Padron Panatela cigar.

Derek returned focus to the proceedings with a single tap of his gavel on the black cottonwood desk. He glanced at the brass wall clock and noted with impatience that ten minutes had been wasted on Miss West's shenanigans. He directed a steel gaze in Mercy's direction. "Now that we're all finally here, let's proceed."

Turning his attention to the Assistant District Attorney, Derek prompted, "Mr. Roberts?"

The always loquacious ADA stood, lumbered to the podium in his three-piece winter wool suit, adjusted the microphone and spent a full hour on his overly comprehensive opening statement.

Mercy took detailed notes, generating a neat bullet list of each point made by Mr. Roberts in the personal version of short hand she'd developed at Yale. From time to time, as the ADA pontificated, she seized opportunities to stealthily study Judge Maguire. She initially only wanted to observe his reactions to Mr. Roberts's most outrageous allegations. When it became clear that Judge Maguire would maintain an unwavering mask of aloof detachment, she began studying the man, instead.

His sharply chiseled features reminded her of Michelangelo's David, her favorite Renaissance sculpture. Mercy had spent hours admiring the face at the Accademia Gallery during her family's last vacation in Florence. Even Judge Maguire's eyes reminded her of David's, with their cool, intense glare. Unfortunately, the lips of his wide mouth were set in a thin line as the ADA delivered his interminable speech. Mercy noticed that the Judge's thick, sun-kissed blonde hair curled slightly at his collar. Beyond that, she could see nothing given the barrier of the elevated desk and his overly large black robe.

When is this idiot going to shut up? Derek wondered to himself with mounting impatience.

He fully grasped the prosecution's case within the first ten minutes. A kid in the unrelenting grips of extreme poverty. Turned to desperate measures to put some cash in his pockets. Held up the new owner of the Speedy Gas 'n Go at gunpoint. Made a getaway in a pickup truck that should have been in an antique museum instead of speeding away from the scene of a crime. Stranded on the highway when the truck's engine threw a rod. Took off running across an open field when he saw the flashing lights of a fast-approaching vehicle. State troopers gave chase. Tackled young Mr. Rush to the ground. Handcuffed him and took him into custody.

Mr. Roberts finally concluded by assuring the court that he would prove the defendant's guilt beyond any reasonable doubt. By the time he sat down, the ADA's face was beet red and dripping with sweat. He mopped his forehead with a quickly disintegrating tissue he had extracted from his briefcase and took a long drink from the water bottle he'd purchased in the courthouse coffee bar.

Hoping the effects of the heat in the courtroom weren't as obvious on him, Derek turned to the court clerk and asked, "Why in the hell is it so hot in here?"

"Sorry, Your Honor," she replied with a bit of trepidation. "The air conditioning has been out since late yesterday. The repair service has been called, but they don't have parts in stock to fix it."

When Derek's only response was a raised eyebrow, the nervous young woman offered the only other information she had. "The parts should arrive later today," she reported. "The technicians are scheduled to work through the weekend and will have the A/C fixed before Monday morning."

Resolving himself to a full day in the insufferable heat, Derek turned to the defense. "Miss Garza?" he invited in his clipped monotone.

Mercifully, Elizabeth outlined the case for the defense in 10 minutes, thanks either to the heat or Judge Maguire's known preference for brevity. She succinctly painted an entirely different version of the alleged crime and the defendant.

A stellar student, an example to his peers. No previous record. Provided the sole income for his family by working after school as a custodian at the local hospital. Made small but regular payments to the same hospital and doctors for his mother's ongoing medical care. Picked up by his older brother in the family's battered pickup after the graveyard shift on the night in question. Shocked to see his brother pull a gun on the owner of the Speedy Gas 'n Go while he was pumping $5 of gasoline into the truck. He ran to the store, all the while yelling at his brother. The brother grabbed cash from the open register and raced back to the truck, demanding that the defendant get back in the cab before speeding away.

The rest of the account was the same as Mr. Roberts's. The brothers were stranded on the highway when the truck broke down. They took off running across an open field when they observed the flashing lights of an approaching vehicle. State troopers gave chase. Tackled young Mr. Rush and his brother to the ground. Handcuffed them and took them into custody.

During Elizabeth's recitation, Derek's eyes wandered to Mercy, who still was furiously making notes in a tablet of yellow paper while occasionally glancing at the defendant with a reassuring smile. He observed with a degree of satisfaction that she seemed to have recovered nicely from her awkward entrance into his courtroom. Her flawless face was perfectly composed. As his eyes traveled to her unbelievable legs, crossed modestly at the ankles, he wondered how long it would take to shatter Miss West's composure if he had her alone. He stared at her patent leather stilettos, and imagined her in only a black lace corset too tight to fully contain her breasts and black thigh highs topped with a wide expanse of lace. He envisioned her golden hair spilling across a feather pillow, a blindfold covering her eyes, and her wrists and ankles securely tied to the four posters of his custom made bed.

Before his mind could fully develop the fantasy, Derek was jerked from his reverie when Elizabeth concluded her brief opening statement and sat down.

Although Derek's practiced, impassive expression never hinted at his imaginings, he needed a moment to calm his racing pulse before turning to the ADA and briskly ordering, "Mr. Roberts, call your first witness."

In a laborious two hours of less than inspired questioning, Randall guided his three witnesses through the events of the night of the robbery in excruciating detail. First came one of the two arresting officers who was dispatched to the scene and who later located and apprehended the suspect. His partner, the second arresting officer, relayed the same information almost verbatim. The ADA's final witness was a passerby with glasses as thick as the bottom of a coke bottle, who observed the chase through the field and the arrest. With an unmerited flourish, Randall announced, "The prosecution rests, Your Honor."

What the hell, thought the stunned Judge. Did this asshole get his degree from Law School for Dummies, or what? There's only one real witness to the crime, and the long-winded Mr. Roberts didn't even call him to the stand.

With a frustrated inward shake of his head, Derek called a one-hour recess for lunch. Hoping to escape the stifling heat in the airless courtroom for as much of that one hour as possible, all parties scrambled to the door as soon as the Judge exited.

While Elizabeth and Mercy reviewed the questions intended for this afternoon's defense witnesses and fine tuned their approach, Derek sat in a corner table at the nearby Tofu Palace, eating the day's spicy special with less gusto than usual. The heat in the courtroom and the ineffectiveness of the rambling ADA had done nothing to dispel this morning's foul mood. One corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, however, and his eyes narrowed a fraction when we remembered Mercy West's less than graceful entrance, her long hair that reminded him of corn silk, her small, shapely ass under the tight skirt, her endless legs, and those damn stilettos.

At exactly 1:00pm, Derek re-entered the courtroom as the bailiff announced, "All rise."

Climbing the short set of stairs to his desk, the always self-possessed Judge Maguire stumbled on the second step when he noticed Mercy had removed her cropped jacket. The silk of her teal halter was glued to her chest given the increasing afternoon heat in the room. Without a bra underneath, the outline of her small, firm breasts was embossed on the silk. For a heartbeat, Derek watched as the fabric strained against her breasts when Mercy took a breath of heated air into her lungs. Recovering his footing, Derek barked to the bailiff, "Get some fans in here before the buzzards start circling."

To the rest of the court he announced, "Fifteen minute recess." Without another word, Derek stalked to his office, thankful that the full black robe hid the expanding bulge in his slacks.

At precisely 1:15, Derek emerged from his office with his atypical reaction to Mercy well under control. He gave a brief nod of gratitude to the bailiff when he counted six large oscillating fans scattered about the courtroom. Deliberately ignoring the display of Mercy's long alabaster neck and smooth shoulders, and the lines of her graceful, athletic arms, Derek turned to Elizabeth. "Ms. Garza, call your first witness."

Elizabeth stood and called the owner of the Speedy Gas 'n Go convenience store to the stand.

Thank God for small favors, thought Derek. Now we're getting somewhere.

Elizabeth expertly stepped the community newcomer through the events of the robbery, despite his limited knowledge of English and his halting Eastern European accent.

According to the owner, two young men arrived at his store in a battered pickup truck. The youngest came inside and paid $5 cash for gasoline. While he was pumping the small amount of gas into the truck, the older of the two sauntered into the otherwise empty store, casually looked around, then pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and demanded all the cash in the register. The owner opened the register and stepped away while throwing his hands high in the air. He was pleading for his life when the younger man flung open the front door, almost ripping it off its hinges, and yelled at his brother to stop. The older brother reached over the counter, grabbed cash from the open register, and ran back to the truck, all the while screaming at the younger man to get into the passenger seat. The owner called the police before the truck was off the lot. He hurriedly described the events to the officers who were onsite within ten minutes. As they radioed for backup, the owner identified the direction in which the pickup sped away. With lights flashing, the police car pulled onto the highway and gave chase.

"Mr. Constantinescu, did it appear to you, at any time, that the defendant was a willing participant in this robbery?" Elizabeth quizzed in a clear, clipped tone?

"No, Miss," the witness responded in a his broken English. Looking directly at young Terry Rush, Mr. Constantinescu offered, "He very surprised. Very scared."

Derek almost dropped his head to his desk in frustration. Isn't that lame excuse of an ADA going to object? he silently railed. How can this witness accurately assess the defendant's frame of mind at the time of the incident, or at any time for that matter?

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and almost jumped for joy when Randall remained in his seat, doodling geometric shapes on his legal pad. "Thank you, Mr. Constantinescu," she said, barely managing to contain her excitement. Turning to the Judge, Elizabeth reported, "No further questions for this witness, Your Honor."

All of a sudden, as if hit in the ass by a high voltage cattle prod, Randall jumped to his feet. "Redirect, Your Honor?"

Saints preserve us, thought Derek. Maybe the imbecile has a working brain cell left in his empty head, after all. Aloud he responded, "Proceed, Mr. Roberts."

"Mr. Constantinescu," Randall launched into his redirect while grotesquely butchering the witness's last name, "Did the defendant willingly get back into the pickup upon exiting your store?"

"Yes," replied the witness, who now was sweating profusely.

"He was not forced at gunpoint to get into the truck?"

"No, but …" Mr. Constantinescu began in vain to explain further.

Randall cut off what surely would have been a sympathetic response, and shot at the now exceedingly nervous witness, "Instead of getting into the truck, did he insist on remaining at the store and calling the authorities?"

"No," responded the increasingly reluctant owner.

"No further questions, Your Honor," Randall concluded with a smug grin before returning to his chair.

As Derek excused the witness, he made the mistake of glancing at Mercy just as a blast of air from one of the oscillating fans hit her. As if in slow motion, he saw the wind of the fan blow tendrils from her ponytail onto her exquisite face and, with his eyes journeying south, felt a spreading warmth in his groin when her nipples instantly hardened against the thin silk of her halter as the cooler air fluttered the fabric against them.

Derek sucked a breath through his clenched teeth and added adjustable nipple clamps to his earlier fantasy of the beautiful Mercy West tied spread eagle to the four posts of his bed. Given the sensitivity of her nipples, he wondered how hard she would struggle against the bonds and how loudly she would scream when he ripped the clamps off and sucked Miss West's nipples like a vampire drawing the life from his victim.

Oblivious to her body's involuntary reaction to the cooler air of the fan, and even less aware of Judge Maguire's reaction to her, Mercy studied His Honor's exquisitely chiseled face, as she had all day. Other than an infrequent narrowing of his hooded eyes, Mercy had not seen any change in his expression throughout the proceedings. Nothing gave hint to his thoughts and she nervously wondered how persuaded he was to render a judgment in favor of the defense.

Derek and Mercy were jarred from their independent musings when Elizabeth's chair scraped across the tile floor as she stood to call her next witness.

For the next hour, the efficient Elizabeth used three character witnesses to depict a young, talented and motivated Terry Rush, who had ambition, strong potential, and very real possibilities for a brighter future. A teacher confirmed Terry was in the top 5% of his class, a noteworthy achievement given his long hours of daily training before class each morning and the equally long hours he worked at the hospital after school. The high school coach reported that, given his talent, dedication and unparalleled work ethic, Terry was on track to once again become a regional champion, perhaps even an Olympian, and that calls from university scouts already were pouring in despite Terry's young age. Finally, a hospital administrator described Terry as punctual, respectful, and very competent in whatever task was assigned him.

After her last witness, Elizabeth wrapped up the testimony by informing the court, "The defense rests, Your Honor."

Derek surveyed the courtroom, his unyielding gaze resting on Mercy a bit longer than was customary. Not willing to let his mind return to the fantasy of a tethered Miss West in his bedroom, Derek quickly rose to his feet, announcing "We'll recess for 30 minutes while I deliberate." Glancing at the wall clock, he added, "We'll reconvene at 3:15."

Despite the heat and the distraction afforded by the gloriously sensuous Miss West, Derek cleared his mind to consider the best course of action for young Terry West. Although by all accounts he was an unknowing and unwilling participant in the robbery, he did flee the scene of the crime and ran on foot when pursued by the police. There had to be consequences for his actions, but what sentence would teach him a life lesson without completely jeopardizing his promising future?

At 3:15pm on the dot, Derek re-entered the courtroom. As soon as he was seated, Elizabeth Garza and the intoxicating Mercy West stood for the verdict. Noticing that Terry's legs were shaking too badly to support him, Mercy placed a hand under his elbow and gently helped him to his feet.

In his direct, unflappable monotone, Derek announced, "I'd like to dispense with formality for the moment, and speak directly to the defendant." He noticed Mercy supporting much of her client's weight, and went on, "Mr. Terry, I have carefully listened to various members of our close-knit community describe their interactions with you with respect and admiration for your maturity, work ethic and ambition. However, in perhaps a momentary lapse of judgment, you became an accomplice in a felony crime. Further, you fled the scene of the crime and attempted to evade authorities when you were discovered."

Elizabeth grabbed Terry's other elbow as his knees buckled. His eyes wide with apprehension, Terry stared unblinkingly into Derek's steely glare.

Derek continued, "I have spoken with the Director of the residential Cross Creek program in southern Utah. He has convinced me that enrollment in their award-winning program will enhance your education on multiple levels rather than compromise it. Further, I have spoken with the Director of Athletics. He informed me that his staff includes a former collegiate track champion who is more than willing to assume the role of your personal track coach and, with my encouragement, has volunteered to accompany you to meets across the region to maintain your competitiveness in that sport."

As Terry's chin dropped to his chest, Derek concluded, "The court, therefore, finds you guilty of robbery in the second degree. You are remanded into the custody of the Cross Creek program for a period of nine months. When you return to Montana, you will complete 100 hours of community service and meet with your probation officer on a bi-weekly basis for a period of three months. Upon receipt of a positive recommendation from your school administrator and probation officer thereafter, I will consider you no longer a threat to the community and will expunge your record."

With a crisp tap of his gavel on his desk, Derek announced, "Court dismissed."

Terry collapsed in his chair as court security approached with handcuffs to escort him back to the county jail. Stroking his back sympathetically, Mercy loudly hissed across to Elizabeth, "This is total bullshit. That idiot couldn't find his ass with both hands."

Registering Elizabeth's stunned expression and the direction of her aghast gaze toward the front of the courtroom, Mercy turned her head and saw the deathly still, impassive face of Judge Maguire.

"Is that your professional assessment, Miss West?" Derek quietly asked in a lethal tone.

Failing to notice the sudden hush in the courtroom, Mercy spun on the heels of her stilettos to face Derek head on. She was on the verge of hurling another unflattering epithet at him, when all the air gushed from her lungs thanks to a thrust of Elizabeth's sharp elbow into her ribs. Grasping her side, Mercy became even more enraged when she noticed a minute uplift of one corner of Derek's mouth before he exited the courtroom.

On the short walk back to his office, Derek marveled at the stunning looks and surprising spunk of the one and only, incomparable Miss Mercy West.

Chapter Two

Mercy slammed the door of her apartment with all the force of her undiminished fury, kicked her Jimmy Choos onto the spotless white area rug in the living room, threw her jacket onto the angular grey suede sectional, hopped out of her fitted skirt, and marched to her closet while stripping the halter top over her head. She quickly donned a t-shirt, leggings and running shoes before punching her iPod into action and jumping on the treadmill in the adjacent exercise room. With the Kenny Loggins classic, Highway to the Danger Zone, blaring from the speakers, Mercy ramped up the speed and angle of the treadmill until she was running at a full sprint.

Drenched in sweat after a twenty-minute run, she stormed to the immaculate white kitchen. If anything, the exercise had fanned the flames of her anger instead of dousing the fire. She reached into the commercial-sized refrigerator for a bottle of water. "To hell with water," she said to only herself, "I need a drink!"

She grabbed Absolut from the freezer, a lemon from the crisper, retrieved orange liqueur from the wet bar, poured ingredients and crushed ice into a stainless shaker and proceeded to agitate the concoction with the vigor of 9.9 Richter scale earthquake. Downing the first Lemon Drop Martini in a single gulp, Mercy decided the disastrous day merited a second.

After a third martini, she confidently decided to confront The Honorable Judge Maguire and give him a piece of her mind.

Back in her gleaming white bathroom, Mercy tossed her sweaty workout clothes into a heap on the floor and stood under the warm jets of the shower while quickly scrubbing her favorite Intoxicating satine over her athletic frame. From the near endless possibilities in her closet, Mercy grabbed a skin-tight silver tank that barely reached her waist. She zipped black Prada stiletto boots over the straight legs of black stretch jeans. Turning to the vanity, she brushed out her ponytail until her straight blonde hair hung almost to her waist. A touch of clear lip gloss was all makeup she cared to wear for her impromptu meeting with His Honor. Remembering that the temperature had dropped precipitously during her drive from the courthouse, Mercy shrugged into a short, fitted Gloria Star black leather jacket, grabbed her Birkin tote and keys, and headed out the door.

Derek stood at a wall of windows at the back of his house, watching the Gulfstream V dip over the mountains and approach the mile-long runway he'd added to the family's sprawling Shooting Star Ranch when he made the move to Montana ten years ago. His mother, Gloria Star, who visited her one child only on milestone occasions which, in her mind, included Derek's fortieth birthday, was aboard the jet along with her latest husband, a fringe member of Dubai's Maktoum dynasty, and ten of their closest, jet-setting friends. The event planner, florist and caterers already had invaded the normally quiet retreat and would be underfoot for hours to come. With a sigh of resignation, Derek prepared for an evening of boring gossip, magnums of champagne, and a five-course meal that had prompted him to schedule extra sessions with his personal trainer.

The streets were deserted and Mercy did not encounter any watchful troopers as she navigated her convertible through town and into the foothills of the Rockies. She approached the imposing gates of Shooting Star Ranch just as Derek's guests finished their champagne cocktails and settled themselves at a dining table that had been meticulously laid out with white linen, wafer-thin crystal, sterling silver and fragrant arrangements of calla lilies and white orchids.

Mercy unbuckled her seatbelt and was awkwardly leaning as far out of her window as she could manage in an effort to reach the Call button on the intercom when a voice squawked through the speaker, "May we help you?"

She jumped and almost landed on her head outside the car before she noticed the twin security cameras that had announced her arrival.

"Mercy West to see Judge Maguire, please."

"Do you have an appointment, Miss West?" asked the authoritative voice.

"I don't," she replied with courage fueled by the martinis, "but, I'd appreciate a few minutes of His Honor's time if he's available."

After an interminable wait, Mercy slammed the Mercedes into reverse and prepared to quite deliberately leave very heavy black tire marks on the pavement when the iron gate rolled open.

" Follow the driveway to the main house, Miss West. Judge Maguire is waiting for you," instructed the intercom speaker.

Deciding tire marks were a good idea, regardless, Mercy shot through the gates and sped across the snaking driveway until the main house came into view. "Holy shit," she exclaimed to herself. Mercy was accustomed to the opulence of her parents' penthouse on Central Park West in Manhattan and their townhouse on L'Avenue des Champs Elyséesin Paris. But this, the main house at Shooting Star Ranch, was in an entirely different league.

Her roadster was dwarfed by a three-story structure of dark, rough hewn wood supported by enormous columns of natural rock that stopped mid-way up the second story. Huge expanses of glass surrounded the top floor, with only the occasional wood beam to obstruct the panoramic view. Through the glass entry Mercy spied log walls, wood floors, and identical spiral staircases on either side of the foyer. Every light in the house was ablaze, adding to its dramatic impact in the darkening night.

To the left of the house, Mercy spotted two private jets inside a massive hanger. "Shit," she exclaimed again in stupefied awe. From her vantage point, Mercy could see the flag of Dubai painted on the fuselage of the larger jet, and a shooting star on the tail of the other. Before she could gawk further, the front door opened and a giant of a man with a crew cut emerged, beckoning her to the house. Mercy wobbled across the cobblestones in her stiletto boots and, with a significant amount of alcohol still in her bloodstream, marched up the front steps.

The Honorable Derek Maguire was at the far end of the foyer with a none too welcoming look about him when Mercy stepped through the entrance. Mercy noted his menacing stance, with his hands on his hips, but she was far more interested in the fit of the perfectly tailored black slacks that draped from his hips in a way that made her pulse quicken. A tapered white dress shirt hugged his broad shoulders and hinted at the hard muscles in his arms and chest. The ends of a black tuxedo bowtie hung from under the starched collar and drew Mercy's attention to skin exposed by two undone buttons at the top of the shirt.

As the awkward silence stretched, Derek seized the opportunity to study the enchanting Miss West. A telltale silver shooting star on the pocket of her leather jacket steered Derek's eyes to Mercy's long, alabaster neck and small, rounded breasts. The silver teeth of two vertical zippers on the front of her body-hugging black jeans emphasized her narrow waist and the curve of her hips. Derek felt a spreading warmth in his loins when his gaze reached the black stiletto boots. He again visualized Mercy spread eagled on his bed, but now in thigh-high boots, before he shook himself back to reality. He stepped toward Mercy and prompted, "Miss West, you asked to see me?"

Before she could answer the approaching Judge Maguire, Mercy's alcohol-muddled brain was distracted by lights dancing across the log walls. She tilted her head back to admire a crystal chandelier suspended from the soaring three-story ceiling, and promptly lost her balance. Overcompensating, she leaned forward, took a faltering step, and smashed directly into Derek.

Eyes wide with surprise, Mercy looked up at His Honor. His breath caught in his chest when he saw the color of her eyes, the clear blue of a mountain stream, the blue of the sky on a sunny, cloudless day. Belatedly realizing that he still was gripping her arms, Derek steadied Mercy and casually brushed the sides of her firm breasts with his thumbs before taking a step back.

Derek noticed her body's immediate response to his touch, and inwardly groaned when Mercy's nipples stiffened and pressed against the fabric of her skin-tight tank top. Fuck me, he thought, Doesn't this woman ever wear a damn bra?

As they stared at each other, trying to individually regain their composure, they both heard approaching footsteps and turned toward the spiral staircase. Mercy's jaw dropped when she saw the impossibly elegant fashion icon, Gloria Star, emerge from the second floor.

"You have another guest, Derek?" Gloria asked in her velvet smooth voice?

"Miss West, allow me to introduce my mother, Gloria Star," Derek offered. "Mother, this is Miss West."

As she pulled Mercy into a warm embrace, Gloria purred "It's such a pleasure to finally meet one of Derek's friends."

With a look of incredulity, Mercy stared at Derek over his mother's shoulder and, in response, received only the slight lift of a single eyebrow.

"Mother, Miss West is an attorney who appeared in my court today," Derek clarified.

Holding Mercy at arm's length, Gloria noted her own shooting star logo on Mercy's leather jacket. She slipped her arm around Mercy's shoulders, and speculated, "I bet Miss West made quite a lovely appearance in your courtroom, Derek."

"You have no idea, mother," Derek replied in his constant monotone. "Why don't you rejoin our guests while I see what I can do for Miss West."

Gloria leaned in for air kisses on both of Mercy's cheeks then climbed the stairs to the party on the second floor while calling over her shoulder, "I hope to see you again very soon, Miss West."

The still silent Mercy spun on her stilettos to face the steely gaze of today's Villain of the Court. Remembering her purpose, she began, "Your Honor, …" but was cut short by Derek's blunt inquiry.

"Miss West, have you been drinking?"

Taking her silence as an affirmative response, he offered, "Might I suggest that you return tomorrow evening, when I'm not entertaining my mother and her friends, and when you are in, shall we say, a better frame of mind?"

As Mercy opened her mouth to object, Derek held up a hand in warning.

"I assume you endangered yourself and everyone in your path by driving in your impaired condition?"

Color flooded Mercy's cheeks when she couldn't think of any plausible excuse for her reckless actions.

With a disapproving frown, Derek walked to the wall, opened a panel to expose an intercom, pressed the Call button, and growled into the speaker, "Justin, join us in the foyer."

He turned back to Mercy without waiting for a response, and very methodically and deliberately surveyed her from head to toe. Damn if he wasn't captivated by her undeniable beauty, and challenged by her spirit, but this woman spelled Trouble with a capital T. He wanted to turn her over his knee and spank her bottom until his handprints stood out in red against her flawless, lily white skin.

When his gaze returned to Mercy's face, she was defiantly glaring at him with her incredible crystal blue eyes. "We'll pick this up tomorrow evening, Miss West," Derek said. "Until then, I suggest you carefully consider the events of the last twelve hours, if you can accomplish that task with a hangover."

Derek's ranch manager, all-around handyman, and most trusted confidant entered from a side door.

"Justin, drive Miss West to her home and make sure she makes it intact through the front door," Derek instructed without breaking eye contact with Mercy.

As her eyes narrowed in resentment, Derek gave a slight nod of his head, turned toward the stairs and bade Mercy goodbye.

"Until tomorrow, Miss West."

Chapter Three

Headache didn't begin to describe the throbbing pain in Mercy's head when she woke on Saturday. Her bravado of the evening before had vanished like smoke. She moaned in remorse and embarrassment when she remembered her reckless drive to Shooting Star Ranch and her failed attempt to confront Judge Maguire. Sitting up on the side of her bed, she retrieved her cell phone from its charger on the bedside table. She called directory assistance, then dialed Judge Maguire's residence, taking a breath between each number.

Her call was answered after the first ring. "Shooting Star Ranch."

"Mercy West for Judge Maguire, please."

"One moment please, Miss West."

Before Mercy successfully formulated what she hoped would be a semi-acceptable apology, she heard Derek's voice, the same dispassionate voice she'd listened to throughout yesterday's events. "Miss West?"

"Your Honor," Mercy began haltingly. Taking a deep breath, she blurted out whatever came to her pain-wracked brain. "I'd like to apologize for my unexpected arrival last night, and especially for disrupting you while you were entertaining . I'd like to call your assistant on Monday to schedule an appointment in your chambers so I may offer my very sincere apology in person. My actions last night were not known to Watkins & Elkins and are not a reflection on my employer or me, for that matter." Running out of air, she paused to take another breath.

"Miss West, what do you intend to use for transportation until Monday?" asked the Judge.

In complete bewilderment, Mercy asked, "Your Honor?"

At the tail end of an exasperated sigh, Derek explained, "Miss West, if you recall, your car is in my garage."

Mercy suddenly remembered someone at the ranch had driven her home last night and escorted her to the front door of her apartment. She slapped her forehead in frustration. "If Elizabeth Garza is available to drive me to the ranch this afternoon, would it be convenient for me to pick up the car then?" Not that she relished the idea of explaining to Elizabeth why her car was at Shooting Star Ranch, but it was the only solution Mercy could think of on the spur of the moment.

"Miss West," Derek replied in a tone usually reserved for small children, "I have cleared my calendar for this evening so we can meet at Shooting Star Ranch, as planned. Might I suggest that you retrieve your car tonight if you can refrain from consuming too much alcohol?"

"Judge, I assure you I don't normally drink to excess, especially when I haven't eaten all day," Mercy offered in what even she considered a lame excuse.

"Do you normally refrain from eating all day, Miss West?" Derek quizzed.

"Your Honor, I'm sure you'll recall that I was running a bit late yesterday morning. Ms. Garza and I worked through lunch and, regretfully, my dinner was limited to three rather strong lemon drop martinis."

"Three martinis, Miss West?"

"Regretfully, Your Honor."

"Miss West, Justin will pick you up at 7:00pm. I trust you will be punctual and sober when he arrives."

"Really, Your Honor," Mercy began before glancing at the screen on her cell phone and noticing the call had been disconnected. "Well, shit," she mumbled. "Does he always have to have the last word?"

Replacing the cell phone on the bedside table, Mercy gingerly rose to her feet and staggered to the kitchen, which was painfully bright in the morning sun. She filled a glass with crushed ice and water, stumbled to the bathroom, grabbed two aspirin from the medicine cabinet, and downed them in a single gulp. Deciding sleep was the best remedy for what ailed her, Mercy climbed back in bed and quickly drifted off into a restless sleep.

Throughout the day, Derek chuckled when he allowed himself to dwell on yesterday's events and Miss West's obvious discomfort during this morning's call. No way was he going to let her off the hook easily. It had taken less than twenty-four hours for him to discover how much he enjoyed getting a rise out of her and seeing her usually surprising response. If she was up to the challenge, so was he!

Chapter Four

It was mid-afternoon when Mercy chased away a nightmare and opened her eyes. Her heart was racing and the sheets were twisted around her legs like a cocoon. After a moment of wakefulness, she vaguely recalled the images that had floated through her subconscious mind.

A tanned, blonde man with an amazing athletic physique, dressed in tight faded jeans and a short sleeve white shirt, had been tying her wrists to a four-poster bed. She remembered not being able to move her legs. She'd raised her head to glance down toward her feet and noticed she was completely nude, spread eagle, with her ankles already strapped to two opposing bedposts. Most surprising of all, she did not remember being afraid or even resistant. Instead, when the assailant had stepped back to admire his handiwork and slowly remove his shirt to reveal his mind-blowing chest and abs, her body grew warm, flushing with anticipation. Mercy had smiled at him and beckoned him closer with her lust-filled eyes. In retrospect, she now thought the man looked a lot like Judge Maguire.

Whoa, she thought while throwing back the covers and crawling out of bed. I'll leave that one to Freud.

After a thirty-minute run on the treadmill, Mercy took her time getting ready for her meeting with Judge Maguire. She washed her long hair and rubbed sugar scrub over every inch of her body until her pale skin glowed pink. She felt refreshed and amazingly clear headed given her condition earlier in the day. Walking into her closet, she wondered, What does one wear to an apology?

She wanted to convey that she could be both elegant and conservative. After much consideration, Mercy chose a qi pao she'd picked up on a trip to Beijing. The traditional Chinese dress had cap sleeves and frog closures up the full length of one side, from the mid-calf hem to its high Mandarin collar. The black fabric was adorned with a classic design of muted silver dragons and chrysanthemums. Because the dress had been made especially for her, it hugged her body like a glove. To allow even small steps, hidden slits had been incorporated on both sides from the hem to high on her thighs. Mercy selected a pair of black patent leather Prada sandals with four-inch heels to complete the ensemble.

Satisfied that the wardrobe issue had been satisfactorily addressed, Mercy turned her attention to her waist-length hair. She brushed it back, twisted and wrapped it tightly, and secured the pseudo chignon with two black lacquer Chinese chopsticks. Opting for a bit of drama, she brushed dark grey shadow into the creases of her eyelids, added silver shimmer under her brows, outlined the lids with a grey kohl pencil, and finished with a coat of black mascara on her naturally long eyelashes. Mercy completed the look with a light dusting of blush on her cheeks and rose colored gloss on her full lips.

Mercy was outside and waiting when Justin pulled to the curb at precisely 7:00pm. He jumped out and opened the back door of the Escalade before Mercy reached the black SUV. "Good evening, Miss West," Justin said as she slid into the vehicle. Figuring she probably did not remember him from the previous evening when he'd more or less carried her to her front door, he added, "I'm Justin, Judge Maguire's ranch manager. Please fasten your seatbelt and make yourself comfortable. We should be at the ranch in about thirty minutes."

As they drove through town, Mercy attempted an apology. "Justin, about last night. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience."

"Miss West, I was happy to see you safely home," Justin replied politely. "Would you like to listen to some music during the drive?"

"Anything relaxing would be nice, thank you."

Within seconds, Tchaikovsky's String Quartet #1 drifted through the surround sound speakers. Surprised, Mercy asked, "Tchaikovsky?"

"Judge Maguire has eclectic tastes, Miss West," Justin explained. "If you'd like, I can change the setting to classic rock, jazz, blues, or just about anything else you'd like to hear."

"Soft classical is perfect for my mood tonight, Justin. Thank you."

For the remainder of the ride, Mercy sat back and thoroughly enjoyed a series of the most relaxing classical pieces she'd ever heard in one collection.

As they approached the imposing entry gate to the ranch, Mercy saw Justin briefly talk into his cell phone. As soon as he parked in front of the Architectural Digest worthy main house, Judge Maguire opened the front door. Mercy's heart missed at least one beat, if not two. There he stood, backlit by the chandelier in the foyer, tanned, barefoot, in tight faded jeans that emphasized his trim waist, narrow hips and muscular legs, and a short sleeve, white seersucker shirt, open at the collar. Images from this afternoon's dream flooded her mind as Justin opened the door of the SUV and offered his hand to help Mercy out of the vehicle.

Derek had a few brief moments to feast on the vision before him as Mercy approached to formally shake his outstretched hand. His pulse quickened and his eyes widened imperceptibly as he watched the fabric of her unusual dress grow taut across her chest and hips with each step she took. Except for her toned arms, she was demurely covered from the top of her neck to mid-calf, but she might as well have been wearing a bodystocking. When Mercy slowed to navigate over the uneven cobblestones, Derek noticed the strappy stilettos and inwardly groaned.

Judge Maguire greeted Mercy in what she now recognized as his customary succinct style, "Miss West."

"Your Honor," she began, "I'd like to again apologize for my outburst in court yesterday afternoon, and for invading your privacy by arriving at your home uninvited last night. If you'll please tell me where to find my car, I'll get out of your hair so you can enjoy the remainder of your weekend."

Not only no, but hell no, Derek thought to himself. I definitely want you in my hair, Miss West, and most definitely want you in my bedroom. Without changing the timbre of his practiced monotone, he said aloud, "Miss West, I was about to sit down to dinner. May I assume that you have not yet eaten?"

"I have not, Your Honor," Mercy replied with her characteristic candor.

"My housekeeper is off on Saturday evenings, but I believe she left something in the refrigerator. Since you're already here, join me."

Mercy perceived the invitation as more of a declarative statement than a question, but still was a bit taken aback when Derek walked inside the house without waiting for a response. With a brisk wave of his arm, he bade Mercy to precede him up the spiral staircase. "The kitchen is on the second floor, Miss West."

Not knowing how to gracefully decline, Mercy accepted the invitation with a brief smile to Derek and began making her way up the stairs.

Following close behind, Derek marveled at the construction of her body-hugging dress when it didn't split at the seams with each roll of Mercy's hips as she climbed the exceedingly long and winding staircase. The angle of the stiletto heels afforded Derek an opportunity to study the well-defined muscles in Mercy's calves as they flexed with each step. The rounded cheeks of her tight rear strained against the dress in a way that made the embossed silver dragons dance. Well before they reached the second floor, Derek was forced to clandestinely adjust the bulge in his jeans.

"The kitchen is this way, Miss West," Derek directed as he shot past her.

Mercy's jaw dropped, not only at the sight of Judge Maguire's muscular backside in the tight jeans, but also in awe of the completely open, massive space she'd just entered. The log walls and hardwood floors she'd admired in the foyer were mirrored on the second floor. A kitchen worthy of a celebrity chef filled one corner. The wood gave way to natural stone backsplashes and dark marble countertops onto which under-counter halogen fixtures produced puddles of light. An island with a breakfast bar for six shone under silver pendant lights that matched the commercial grade stainless steel appliances. The kitchen opened to a dining room, with a long, rectangular rustic wood table and seating for twelve in high-back chairs upholstered in a suede that matched the natural stone in the kitchen.

With a turn of her head, Mercy noticed multiple seating areas on the opposite side of the second floor. Taupe leather sectionals, fawn suede sofas, and deep brown and beige upholstered chairs and ottomans had been skillfully placed around occasional tables that ranged from large travel trunks to designer chrome and glass pieces. Splashes of brown and white on cowhide rugs defined each space. Only the groupings of colorful abstract art on the walls broke the monochromatic palette of the enormous room.

In stark contrast to her parents' Manhattan penthouse and the overly grandiose gold leaf and white décor of their Paris townhome, this space was contemporary but rustic, elegant yet also warm and inviting.

Before Marcy could take in the magnificent view of the Rockies afforded by a wall of windows interrupted only by a floor to ceiling stone fireplace, she realized Derek already was in the kitchen, retrieving two prepared plates from the refrigerator.

Walking with both plates toward a sliding glass door, he called over his shoulder, "I prefer eating al fresco, Miss West, despite this evening's cooler temperature."

Mercy followed Derek onto a wraparound deck and blew a long whistle. "Wow! This is what I call heaven on earth."

The Rockies rose majestically into the sky as the last moments of a singularly beautiful sunset bathed their peaks in hues of purple, orange and gold. With a final flash of green, the sun gave way to a rising Comanche moon. Hearing soft whispers of bubbling water, Mercy looked down and spotted a long rectangular hot tub spilling into a breathtaking infinity pool the size of a small lake.

Derek held out a chair for Mercy, inviting her to sit at a round table already set for two with a waiting bottle of Cristal tucked into a crystal container filled with ice. At the center was a grouping of lit candles in hurricane lamps and a small arrangement of calla lilies. In an attempt to diminish the appearance of an unmistakably romantic setting, Derek explained, "My housekeeper, Mrs. Blair, set things up before leaving this evening."

He took one step toward his seat when Derek stopped dead in his tracks. As Mercy sat, the previously concealed slits on either side of her dress opened to reveal a considerable amount of alabaster skin. Still slightly behind her and to one side, Derek's eyes were free to roam undetected from her knee to almost her hip, where the black fabric once again hid what he now longed to see.

Collecting himself, Derek asked, "Champagne, Miss West?" as he expertly held the cork and twisted the bottle so not a drop of bubbly spilled when it popped open.

"Are you celebrating tonight, Your Honor?" Mercy inquired.

"Not a celebration, Miss West," Derek quickly rebuffed. "Although I turned forty at exactly noon today, Gloria took care of any and all celebrations last night." Handing Mercy a tall flute of champagne, Derek added, " I simply thought the sparkling wine would complement Mrs. Blair's salad. Lunch is my main meal of the day, Miss West. I hope a dinner salad isn't too light for you?"

Mercy answered with a smile and a quick shake of her head, before taking a bite from the chilled plate of mixed field greens with mango, avocado, thin slices smoked duck breast, and small crumbles of feta. Closing her eyes, she moaned in culinary ecstasy when the spicy chili vinaigrette hit her palate. "Remind me to ask Mrs. Blair to cater my next dinner party," Mercy exclaimed in appreciation.

Remind me to make you moan again, only louder and longer, Miss West, thought Derek. Studying her over the flickering candles, he marveled at the perfection of her pale complexion. "What is your ancestry, Miss West?" he asked.

Although surprised by the question, Mercy explained, "Scandinavian, Your Honor. On both sides. My father's great-grandparents shorted their name from Westerveldt to West when they were processed through Ellis Island."

With a nod of his head in acknowledgement, Derek next asked, "And you decided to accept a job in Montana, why?"

Mercy swept her hand across the view of the Rockies, now in shadow against a cloudless, moonlit sky, and simply responded, "This, Your Honor."

She took a moment to admire the landscaped grounds and smiled when she noticed tiny white lights strung through the branches of trees whose leaves already were turning from green to orange and gold. "And you, Your Honor, what brought you to Montana?"

Offering Mercy a plate of miniature chocolate cupcakes topped with dark chocolate ganache infused with a hint of fresh orange peel, and refilling her glass of champagne, Derek explained, "After law school, I worked for a couple years as President of Gloria Star Enterprises. I could see myself neither in the fashion industry nor the chaos of Manhattan, Paris and Milan for the rest of my life, so quit. I moved to Montana soon thereafter and took up residence at Shooting Star Ranch."

Since this was the most Mercy had heard Judge Maguire speak outside the courtroom, she decided to press her luck with another question. "And your election to the bench, Your Honor?"

"The previous judge retired shortly after my arrival. Even as a newcomer, I seemed to fit in well with folks in town, so I threw my hat in the ring," Derek explained. "I won an uncontested election in a landslide victory, Miss West."

Although the explanation had been delivered in Derek's typical monotone, Mercy threw her head back, exposing the length of her long neck, and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Derek keenly observed as she relaxed her ramrod straight posture into the deep back cushion of the chair. His eyes narrowed and his pulse quickened when Mercy absently licked a stray drop of champagne from her full lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Although the laughter had subsided, he noted with pleasure that her smile remained as she gazed at the silver rays of the full moon dancing across the waves in the infinity pool. Encouraged, Derek poured Mercy a third glass of champagne while he still sipped his first.

Mercy thought back to the previous evening when she'd stormed into Judge Maguire's private residence, unannounced, ready to do battle 'til the end like a gladiator of ancient Rome. She was bowled over by the fact that she now was thoroughly relaxed and genuinely enjoying the same man a short twenty-four hours later. A little unnerved by the realization, Mercy suddenly stood and moved to the rail of the deck to look out on the calming mountains, twinkling tree lights and the water feature of the hot tub, constantly cascading water into the pool.

She slowly turned to Derek, still seated at the table but watching her with intense eyes. "Your Honor, may we discuss yesterday's verdict?"

Recognizing an opening when he saw one, Derek schooled in that infuriating tone reserved for toddlers, "Miss West, while I do not feel in any way compelled to explain my decision, I will acquiesce just this once, but only if we continue this conversation in the pool." Before Mercy could object, he added, "I always swim at night, Miss West. The water helps me relax."

"Even if I wanted to, Your Honor, I don't have a swimsuit," Mercy quickly offered as a totally appropriate and plausible excuse.

Joining her at the rail of the deck, Derek pointed over Mercy's shoulder toward a structure to the left of the pool. "Miss West, you'll find everything you need in the pool house." He placed both hands on her waist and turned her toward a stairway on the side of the deck. As he made his way back into the house, he called "I'll meet you in the pool in 10 minutes."

"Really?" Mercy mumbled as she slipped off her stiletto sandals and marched down the outside steps in a huff. "He gets the last word again?" Her jubilant mood of only moments ago evaporated into thin air.

Chapter Five

Derek already was swimming laps before Mercy, seemingly ensconced in the well-appointed pool house, finished unbuttoning the countless frog closures of her qi pao. In retrospect, she now begrudgingly admitted that the dress had been a very poor choice. She turned to a rack of women's swimwear and spent several precious minutes surveying the available options. Although she'd hoped for a modest maillot, Mercy found only a long row of skimpy bikinis in various sizes, designs and colors. With a dismayed curl of her lip, she supposed tall, lanky fashionistas and supermodels likely were more accustomed to postage stamp sized coverings than the functional swimwear needed for swimming laps in a Montana pool. Glancing at a clock on the vanity, Mercy quickly selected the most modest style she could find, tied the ends of a sarong high on her chest, slipped into a pair of flip flops, and grabbed a towel before striding out the door.

Derek stopped in the middle of a butterfly stroke and almost choked on a mouthful of chlorinated water when he saw Mercy emerge from the cabana. Despite her obvious attempt to cover herself, a cool breeze whipped the light fabric of the sarong away from her body, and he got his first nearly unencumbered view of her lean, fit body. Her small breasts, sinewy abs, tiny waist and narrow hips were shy of an hourglass figure, but absolutely faultless in Derek's opinion. He noted that she moved with the grace of a gazelle on her long runner's legs. Before he could go too far in imagining those legs wrapped around him, Derek swam to the edge of the pool, and lifted himself out of the water.

Mercy froze several feet away and stood spellbound as she watched water pour over the flexed muscles in Derek's arms and chest as he pulled himself onto the stone pool deck. Rising to his feet, Derek silently walked past Mercy with his navy swim trunks plastered to his magnificent ass and muscular thighs. He extracted another bottle of Cristal from a wine refrigerator in the outdoor kitchen, and collected two champagne flutes from the bar before making his way to the hot tub.

Derek broke Mercy's reverie as he stepped into the water and opened the champagne with a loud pop. "Miss West?"

She stammered, "Your Honor, I thought swimming laps was on the agenda."

"Miss West, I'm more in the mood to relax now, if you don't mind."

Mercy accepted Derek's outstretched hand to help her into the vigorously bubbling water, and moved through the warm, waist-high pool to a contoured bench as far away from Judge Maguire as possible.

As Mercy stepped into the hot tub, Derek noticed the slightly altered shooting star logo on her relatively modest white bikini. With a secret smile of utter delight, he remembered approving research for the fabric during his tenure at Gloria Star Enterprises. At this very moment, he considered that investment to be among the company's best. He rather doubted Miss West knew the bikini would become completely transparent when the especially treated fabric was saturated with water. He walked to where she was preparing to sit in a far corner of the hot tub, handed her a chilled glass of champagne, settled in opposite her, and sat back to enjoy the show.

Mercy sank deep into the water until only her chin and face were visible above its bubbling surface. For a few moments she laid her head back against the stone deck, relaxed into the pulsating jets, and reveled in the contrast of the hot water on her body and the cool air on her face. Soothing music floating through outdoor speakers almost lulled her into a state of complete bliss before she remembered her purpose. "Your Honor, your Terry Rush verdict and sentence?"

"Miss West," Derek began reminded, "this will be the only time I discuss with you my rationale in a case tried in my court. Is that clear?"

Mercy nodded her head. "Crystal clear, Your Honor."

In the monotone that Mercy now expected, Derek explained, "My strong preference is to not remove a child from his or her home. In fact, I tend to give the child's parents the benefit of the doubt when conditions permit. However, in this specific case, although Mr. Rush shows a lot promise, he suffered a serious lapse in judgment while on the brink of adulthood. I am not confident that he would not again fall victim to the negative influence present in his home, and this may be my only opportunity to intervene before he would be tried as an adult. After giving the matter a lot of thought, I developed an approach that hopefully will help Mr. Terry shape the future he's envisioned for himself in an environment that will provide tools that will serve him well in school, athletics and beyond. I did what I thought was best for the young man, Miss West. Given the same set of circumstances, I'd undoubtedly make the same decision again."

With a growing sense of understanding but still concerned, Mercy sat up straight and asked, "But, what about the responsibility Terry Rush feels for his mother, Your Honor?"

Unknowingly, Mercy's change in position revealed her breasts to Derek through the now completely transparent bikini. As the cold night air hit her exposed wet body, her nipples hardened and stood out in stark relief against areolas only slightly darker than her pale skin.

Derek's body immediately responded to the sensual sight. He choked out "The state has comprehensive programs to take over his mother's medical care, Miss West. And that's the end of this discussion."

Seeing the hurt yet oddly defiant expression that clouded Mercy's face, Derek locked eyes with hers and slowly closed the expanse between them before reaching up to pull a fallen leaf from her hair.

Startled by the intimate gesture, Mercy quickly attempted to break the rising sexual tension between them. "I don't believe I've ever heard this particular piano solo, Your Honor. It's lovely."

"Debussy's Girl with the Flaxen Hair, Miss West," Derek replied in a much quieter tone.

He slowly raised his hand once again to Mercy's corn silk hair, all the while watching her eyes transition from crystal blue to an amazing, sultry hazy grey. He gently removed the chopsticks that kept her chignon in place and allowed his gaze to follow the fall of the golden mane over Mercy's bare shoulders and into the churning water.

At the limit of his reserve, Derek gripped the point of Mercy's chin and crushed his lips to hers. When Mercy opened her mouth in shock, Derek forced his tongue through the opening and plundered her mouth long and hard. She tasted of champagne and chocolate, a heady combination.

Her head spinning, Mercy placed her hands on Derek's chest and exerted a slight amount of rather unconvincing pressure to place some distance between them. She looked into his stormy eyes and saw a raging passion that also was flooding her body. "Your Honor?"

"Cut the Your Honor crap, Miss West. My name is Derek."

With a slight nod of her head, Mercy acknowledged and replied with her own name, "Mercy, Your Honor."

Mercy, Your Honor . The words registered just enough for Derek to briefly imagine how much he'd appreciate them in a much different setting.

"It's Derek," he growled as he grabbed the back of Mercy's head and jerked her forward so their mouths were again locked in a fiery battle. His passion was fueled to a nuclear level when, after the briefest hesitation, Mercy's hands grabbed his shoulders to pull him even closer, then slid around his neck. Her tongue feuded with his, giving with as much intensity as she received.

Mercy gasped for air between sore, swollen lips when Derek finally lifted his mouth from hers. He gathered her hair into his fist and grazed his teeth across the sensitive skin between her neck and shoulder. She exhaled all the air from her lungs and moaned before rolling her head to the side.

Derek deeply inhaled Mercy's exotic scent with each breath he took as he nibbled along a path from the base of her neck to her ear. Pulling her fisted hair until she lowered her eyes to his, he whispered, "What are you wearing?"

"Intoxicating, Your Honor."

"Appropriate, Miss West," he replied in a heated voice while moving his hands to the back of her neck to untie the bikini.

Mercy shot up like a bullet, grabbing Derek's hands to block their progress. Still breathless, she stared wide-eyed into Derek's face, unsure of what she should do next. He slowly lowered his gaze to her breasts, fully exposed under the transparent wet fabric, and waited until Mercy looked down as well.

"Shit" she hissed as she reflexively moved to cover herself with her arms.

Derek gently moved Mercy's arms and held them away from her body so he could admire the perfection of her breasts and rigid nipples. Lifting his gaze to her uncertain eyes, he slowly leaned toward her and tenderly ran the tip of his tongue across her swollen lips. He watched attentively as Mercy's face softened and her eyelids fluttered shut. When she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, Derek moved his hands to stroke the inside of Mercy's thighs and was rewarded when she moaned in pleasure. He gradually brought her legs around his waist and pulled Mercy into an embrace until his erection was pressed hard against her flat stomach. Her sharp intake of air sucked the breath from his lungs.

Still clasped together in an unyielding hold, Derek eased his hands up Mercy's back, sending shudders through her body. Holding the back of her neck in a loose grip, he gradually increased the pressure of his mouth on hers until she grabbed his head and kissed him with every fiber of her being. Riding a wave of uninhibited passion, Mercy didn't object as Derek untied her bikini and let the fabric slip away.

The skin-on-skin feel of Derek's muscular chest against her bare breasts transported Mercy into an alternate universe. As his tongue sparred with hers and traced the edges of her teeth, she pulled Derek closer with all the strength in her arms, rubbing her torso against his. Derek cupped one of her breasts in his hand. He tugged and rolled the nipple between his thumbs until the world as Mercy knew it ceased to exist. She slid her hands down his back, pulling Derek against her until she could grind her hips into his. The friction of his rock-hard erection, now sandwiched against her, was almost more than she could bear.

Mercy finally broke the kiss to throw her head back and wheeze cool air into her lungs through clenched teeth. Before logic could insinuate its way back into her brain, Derek grabbed her hair and pulled her head back down. "I want to fuck you until you scream, Mercy" he hissed into her ear.

He saw the pupils of her eyes dilate with passion before Mercy collapsed her head into Derek's neck and slid her hand toward his groin. Catching her wrist before her fingers touched his aching erection, Derek hauled Mercy out of the hot tub, wrapped her in a towel, and picked her up as if she weighed no more than a feather.

Derek maintained eye contact with Mercy as he climbed the outside steps to the deck on the third floor of the main house. He crushed his mouth to hers and coaxed her willing lips apart as he walked through the door to his bedroom. Standing Mercy on her feet, Derek tossed her towel onto the floor and bent to slide her bikini bottom down the length of her long legs. Catching it with her toes, Mercy kicked off the remainder of her swimsuit as Derek stepped out of his trunks.

His body haloed in moonlight, Mercy's eyes traveled over Derek's broad shoulders, granite chest and six-pack abs before gazing boldly at the undeniable evidence of his arousal. He reached out for her hand and pulled her into a tight embrace before rocking back onto the four-poster bed, with Mercy landing on top.

Derek rolled to his side and ran a single finger over Mercy's smooth skin from her throat to her waist. Spreading his hand flat across her stomach, he leaned forward and kissed her breast before taking the nipple between his teeth and biting first gently then with increasing pressure. Mercy gasped in surprise and tried to roll away. Derek caught her other breast in his hand and flicked the nipple with his tongue until it stiffened.

He sucked greedily until Mercy moaned, rolled back toward him, and threw her leg over his hip. Derek slid his hand between her legs and cupped her while she moved against him. His fingers toyed with the short pubic hair before he parted the lips, traced increasingly small circles around Mercy's clit and then gently rubbed it. When she arched her back, Derek slid down her body and replaced his hand with his tongue. He licked and sucked until Mercy fisted her fingers in his hair and pulled his face closer.

Mercy's brain couldn't process all the sensations she was experiencing. With neck arched back and eyes shut, she felt Derek's outstretched hand massage her breast and tease her nipple while his tongue toyed with her clit. She was floating through air, weightless, then suddenly stiffened as Derek inserted a finger and stroked the ridge on the front wall of her core. When he increased the pressure and pace of his tongue, the soles of her feet burned as if on fire. The heat radiated up her legs, across her stomach and deep into her chest. The roar of a locomotive filled her ears until she could hear nothing beyond the blood coursing through her veins. Her body buzzed and tingled until all her remaining consciousness once again focused on Derek's tongue. In a flash, a kaleidoscope of colors filled her vision and her world exploded into a million pieces. Mercy's scream should have shattered the windows as the first surge of the orgasm swept through her. She rolled away from Derek's tongue and blindly pulled his head toward her face so she could devour his mouth as she rode the wave.

Derek had never experienced a more responsive woman. Every inch of her body reacted to his touch. He'd just about lost it when she'd screamed. He positioned himself between her legs and began to push his hardness into her hot, wet center but found it so tight he feared he wouldn't last a single minute. He was determined to stretch her orgasm out as long as Mercy's body could take it. He waited until her contracting muscles relaxed between spasms and she gasped for air. Not wanting to set off another wave until he was deep inside, Derek slowly eased into her.

He stopped as if blasted by a spray of ice water and froze in position when he encountered a totally unexpected obstacle.

"What the fuck?" he spat at the writhing Mercy.

Not understanding, she lifted her hips and reached out to pull him deeper. Derek seized her thighs with an iron grip and halted the forward thrust. He extracted himself, rolled onto his back, and furiously ran his fingers through his hair while glaring at the ceiling. His mind and body reeling, he inhaled deeply and methodically slowed his breathing.

Sensing the separation, Mercy surfaced enough to recognize something was wrong. Realization dawned when she glanced at Derek who lay as still as stone with a lethal look in his eyes. Her body still quivering and her muscles contracting in final butterfly spasms, she quickly covered herself and rolled to the edge of the bed, tightly cradling her knees to her chest.

After several deep breaths, Derek was calm enough to talk. He reached across the bed and noticed a tear slip from the corner of Mercy's closed eyes when he turned her toward him. With a sigh, he tucked himself tight up against her and brought her head to his shoulder. He lightly stroked his fingers up and down her arm and caressed her back until he felt her start to relax. He buried his face in her wildly sexy hair, and whispered, "Explain."

Chapter Six

Derek encouraged the reluctant Mercy to break her agonized silence by enfolding her in a gentle hug. In a small, quiet voice, Mercy admitted, "I've never been with a man."

"That became quite obvious at the last possible moment, Mercy," Derek said while staring over her head at the wall. "Why didn't you tell me? How did you let this happen?"

When silence filled the room instead of Mercy's voice, Derek stroked her hair and tightened his hug. With more confidence than she felt, Mercy murmured against his chest, "Nothing else mattered tonight. I wanted you. You wanted me. In the moment, that's all I cared about, thought about."

"But you're 27 or 28, right? It's my understanding that most women of your age had their first experience many years ago, and several since then. Why not you?"

"I'll be 28 in December," was Mercy's only reply to Derek's barrage of questions.

Feeling her silent tears occasionally drip onto his chest, Derek tilted Mercy's chin until he could see her closed eyes and damp lashes. "Open your eyes, Mercy," he softly requested.

With a shudder, Mercy lifted her gaze to Derek's face and saw his eyes filled with concern and uncertainty. "Why?" he mouthed.

Pulling the sheets up to her chin and holding them tight against her chest, Mercy laid her head on Derek's shoulder and began, "My parents sent me to a boarding school for girls in Switzerland. I didn't go on an unchaperoned date until after I arrived at Yale. At first, I didn't have any patience with the awkward fumbling and groping and sloppy kisses. I thought the toga parties and keg parties were ridiculous. After a while, I started enjoying fixing hair and makeup for the girls in my dorm before their dates more than going on dates myself. More and more, my social life became centered around friends, some male, but mostly female. I was content. I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything. There was no drama in my life. I could focus on my studies without distractions, and I made good grades. Eventually, I stopped dating altogether … and that carried over to law school."

Sensing she'd run out of steam, Derek allowed her a few moments to her private thoughts before prompting, "Why tonight? Why here? Why now?"

"When I first saw you, you're face reminded me of the statue of David. I love that face." With a small chuckle, she added, "And the rest of his body, for that matter, but mainly his face."

Her giggle made Derek smile. "And?"

"I sat in that blazing hot courtroom all day, watching you. Nothing fazed you. I was in awe of the way you commanded the courtroom and everyone in it. You were firm but fair, even though I didn't exactly agree with your verdict, Your Honor."

"So we're back to Your Honor, are we?" Derek chided.

Mercy continued, "Then I show up at your home. Uninvited. Drunk. When your mother is here, of all people. Speaking of which, Gloria Star … really?"

"That's another conversation, Miss West. Continue," Derek replied with a smirk.

"You were calm. Gracious even. You handled the situation with aplomb when you just as easily could have thrown me to the curb."

"Not in your condition, Miss West."

In a voice barely above a whisper, Mercy confessed, "After our conversation this morning, I went back to sleep and dreamt about you. About this bed. Call it a subconscious premonition, if you'd like. When I saw you tonight. When you took the time to reassure me about Terry. When you kissed me, held me, made my body feel and do things I'd never imagined. I couldn't help myself. Didn't want to even if I could."

"Oh, God, Mercy," Derek groaned. "Yesterday in the courtroom, I was trying so hard to concentrate, but every time I looked at you all I could think about was getting you into this bed."

Mercy smiled and tilted her head to look into Derek's eyes. She traced his chiseled cheek with her fingers until he lowered his gaze to hers. "I wasn't saving myself for anyone special or any special time, Derek. But if this is going to happen, I'm glad you'll be my first."

Derek looked into Mercy's sincere eyes for a long moment. He brushed away the final traces of tears with his thumb and caressed her beautiful face. Sliding her body up his side until her eyes were even with his, he leaned toward her and gently kissed her lips as if she was the most cherished woman on earth.

Chapter Seven

Derek held Mercy close to his side as he rolled to his back and reached for a remote on the bedside table. With the touch of a button, flames leapt from logs in an enormous stone fireplace tucked into a wall perpendicular to the bed. Derek kissed the top of Mercy's head and murmured, "Don't move."

Mercy watched as Derek walked across the room and flipped on lights in the bathroom. Within seconds she heard water running. Waiting for Derek's return, Mercy sat up against the headboard, clutching the sheet to her chest, and marveled at the panoramic view of the dark soaring mountains highlighted by the light of the silver moon. She was lost in a trance and didn't notice Derek when he returned to her side and held out his hand. "Come."

He guided her across the length of the bedroom, into a bathroom lit only by candles reflected in mirrors, and led her into a shower the size of her closet. Derek pulled Mercy close and tenderly kissed her lips while walking her into jets of hot water that pelted her from neck to toes. She stood with her hands on his shoulders, and lifted her face to the soft rain that fell from the tiled ceiling.

Derek filled his hands with shower gel and massaged it over Mercy's shoulders until she leaned into him. He leisurely ran his slick hands over her arms, enjoying the feel of her skin. Lifting her hands, he washed them one finger at a time before lingeringly kissing each palm. Bending her back under the rain, Derek massaged the musky scent into Mercy's breasts before bathing her stomach and hips. He gently turned her and rubbed her back until every ounce of tension fled Mercy's body. He bent to his knees and spread the gel over her thighs and long legs. Taking his time, Derek relished the feel of the firm muscles of her exquisite derriere. As he stood, he slowly glided his hand between Mercy's legs and cupped her from behind. Mercy held her breath. He slid one arm around her shoulders to pull her back to his chest then rubbed his palm over the folds of her core. When he parted the lips and began circling her clit, Mercy moaned with pleasure. Gently tugging her hair until her head fell back to his shoulder, Derek massaged Mercy's scalp and ran his slick fingers through her long mane.

Mercy remained relaxed and entranced under the gently falling rain as Derek stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He held open a bath sheet and bade, "Come."

Wordlessly, Mercy obeyed.

Derek smoothed the Egyptian cotton over her body, wrapped her hair in a dry towel, and enfolded her in yet another. He tenderly lifted Mercy and carried her to a wide, deep cushioned glider by the fireplace. She closed her eyes, hugging her knees to her chest, as Derek sat behind her and combed the tangles from her hair. When the long, wet tendrils hung to her waist, Derek drew Mercy onto his lap and rocked her into a state of complete contentment.

Pampered and soothed, Mercy slid her arms around Derek's waist and nestled her head against his shoulder while Derek lightly ran his fingers over her exposed legs, thighs and arms. Her skin warmed and tingled wherever he touched.

Absently, Mercy lifted her hand and caressed Derek's chiseled face, trailing her fingers down his neck. When she felt a stirring under his towel, she lifted her face to look into his hooded eyes. She tentatively pulled his head down and touched her lips to his.

Derek stood, carried Mercy to the bed, and gently laid her on the soft mattress. Leaving his towel in place around his waist, he slid in beside her and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Mercy felt at ease and safe.

Leaning up on an elbow, Derek gazed into Mercy's eyes while he unfolded the towel from around her. For a long moment he simply stared at her beautiful face, her hair fanned across the pillows, and her youthful, innocent body.

Holding her face in his hands, Derek kissed Mercy with tenderness and care. He moved his mouth to her ear and nibbled the lobe before trailing kisses down her neck. He lightly sucked the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder and gently bit until Mercy squirmed. Cupping her breast in one hand, Derek stole a moment to marvel at its small perfection then glided his tongue over the nipple.

When Mercy tried to reach for him, Derek caught her wrist, brought her arm to his mouth and kissed the inside of her elbow.

Mercy's breath quickened.

Derek painted a path with his tongue across Mercy's stomach and hips, and slowly ran his hand up the length of her legs. His fingers brushed against the inside of her thighs as his mouth moved to her center. He licked the lips before parting them with his tongue and swept it over the exposed soft skin. Derek grazed Mercy's clit with each pass then gently sucked on it. His finger drew circles around her opening until a wet creaminess coated it. He slid his slickened finger inside and toyed with the ridge on the front wall.

Mercy could no longer breathe.

Her hips lifted off the bed as she arched her back. Derek's mouth and hand followed her. When she reached for him, Derek blindly grabbed her wrists in his free hand and held them in an unyielding grip against her stomach.

Mercy felt the heat rising from her feet, sensed the room spinning and her world falling from beneath her when a tsunami of passion suddenly crashed over her. She threw her head back and screamed as the wave threatened to drown her.

When Mercy pulled away from Derek's mouth, he slid up her body, reached for the packet he'd placed under the pillow, tore it open with his teeth, and slid the sheath over his rock-hard erection. He turned Mercy on her side to face him, pulled her leg over his hip, and slowly eased into her. It took every ounce of his control to not cum when her tight muscles contracted around him. When the spasm passed and she gasped for air, Derek pushed through her barrier of innocence.

Mercy felt the resistance and a brief sharp pain but forgot it when another wave washed over her. She threw her head forward, grabbed Derek's face and looked deep into his eyes before she fell back and again spiraled out of control. The feel of him inside her increased the contraction of her muscles until she arched back and screamed.

As Mercy gyrated her hips against him, Derek pushed his length into her and had to again fight for control. He held himself inside, letting her body adjust, and waited for her spasms to end. When she collapsed onto the mattress, panting, Derek thought to himself, You're not finished yet, Miss West.

He pulled back his hips until the ridge of the throbbing head of his erection was at her opening. He slowly pushed forward and slid back into her. Mercy, eyes closed, threw her head to the side and groaned. His length and girth stretched her and filled her completely.

Derek again pulled back then set a slow pace until Mercy's tired body involuntarily responded. As he gradually increased the pace, Mercy's hips met his. His length was buried inside her with each thrust. Derek grabbed the hair at the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his. He pillaged her mouth with his lips and tongue, and quickened the pace of his thrusts.

Mercy's gasp sucked the air from Derek's lungs before she broke the kiss and screamed. Falling into the abyss, swept away by passion, Mercy gripped Derek's hips so she could hungrily grind against him. When the first wave passed, Mercy tried to scoot away to escape the overwhelming flood of sensation. Derek followed her across the bed, never breaking hold.

"Come on Mercy, one more time," he murmured to her.

Derek increased the friction by plunging deep inside then skimmed his finger across her clit. At the contact, Mercy screamed again and lost all inhibition. She wildly moved against him. Clutched him closer. Clawed his back. When her muscles contracted around him like a vise, Derek quietly groaned and felt himself losing control. He grabbed her thigh for leverage, thrust deep inside once, twice, and finally gushed into her on the third.

For several long minutes, neither moved. As he recovered, Derek felt the last of Mercy's butterfly spasms before he slowly withdrew. He glanced down and saw the blood of her innocence smeared across her inner thighs. Before a cogent thought could register in his mind, he felt Mercy shudder. Lifting his gaze to her closed eyes, he saw tears slide down her cheeks before she began to sob.

Too overcome by emotion to utter a single word, Mercy covered her face with her hands and cried. Derek gently moved her hands away. Kissed each palm. Drew her to his side, and wrapped his strong arms around her. He held her. Smoothed her hair. Lightly ran his fingers along the lines of her arms and the muscles of her back until she calmed.

Watching her closely, Derek wiped away the last of her tears and marveled at the depth of Mercy's passion, her openness and responsiveness. My God, he thought, and this was her first time.

Rolling onto his back, Derek kept his arms around Mercy and draped one of his legs over hers to pull her closer. He firmly held her head to his shoulder until he heard her breathing slow.

He stared at the ceiling and finally broke the ringing silence in the room. "This could get complicated, Miss West."

Mercy leaned in to gently kiss the side of his neck. "I hope so, Your Honor."

She nuzzled closer, exhausted, sore and aching. She reveled in the warmth of Derek's body next to hers, the tightness of his hug. As her head grew heavy and her breathing evened into a slow, steady rhythm, Derek heard her whisper before she drifted off, "I sincerely hope so, Your Honor."

Derek closed his eyes and smiled.