Chapter 239

[ 1,118 words ]

Julian’s POV

Katia got up from the bench, her movements slow but entirely unhurried. Detective Reeves—looking like he had slept in his coat—stepped forward and unlocked the cell door with a heavy, metallic clink.

Katia stepped out, her eyes locking onto mine. “I thought you were not coming p>

“Well,” I said, my gaze dragging slowly down the ridiculous grey fabric of her jumpsuit, “unless you want me to fuck you here in this cell, we can go back in there and start right away. I’m sure the detective would be happy to give us 20 minutes. I sleep where you sleep, remember p>

Detective Reeves let out a dry, hacking cough that sounded like a cry for help. “Mr. Windsor, please. This is a federal processing area, not a motel p>

Katia’s lips twitched, a spark of her usual defiance returning to her eyes. “You are impossible p>

“Perhaps,” I said, leaning in slightly. “But I must say, Ms. Kensington, those jail jumpsuits look fucking sexy on you p>

Katia raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until she was nearly brushing my chest. Her handcuffs gave a small, musical clink against the grey fabric. “Well, should we borrow these cuffs, Officer Windsor? Because I am dying to see how you would handle this particular offender p>

I felt the sudden, heavy throb of my cock against my trousers. “Leave the cuffs on her,” I barked at Reeves. “And the jumpsuit p>

Reeves blinked, looking between the two of us like he was trying to calculate how much pension he would lose if he shot himself in the foot right now. “Sorry, sir, we can’t. Mrs. Windsor will have to change back into her personal clothing before she can be officially discharged p>

The room went entirely silent. I froze. Marcus froze.

Beside me, Katia’s eyebrows knit together. She looked at Reeves, then at me, her expression a mix of sheer disbelief and mild amusement. “Mrs. Windsor?” she repeated, letting out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Detective, I think your database has a virus. My name is Kensington. Or is the state of New York now forcefully marrying me off to my business associates p>

My heart did a violent, silent thud against my ribs. I slowly turned my head, raising a single, lethal eyebrow at Marcus. We had specifically gone to extreme lengths to keep our Las Vegas marriage a secret from the press and the public during an active homicide investigation, and this detective had just dropped her legal name like he was reading a grocery list. If Katia dug into this for even a second, the whole house of cards would come crashing down.

Marcus cleared his throat, his face turning a very interesting shade of pink as he desperately scrambled to save us. “Ah. Detective. There seems to be… an administrative clerical error on the bail release form. A tragic typo by my paralegal, who will be fired tomorrow morning p>

“It’s not a typo, counselor,” Reeves said, squinting at the computer screen. “The court order from the judge specifically lists the secure bond under the name ’Katia Windsor.’ I was going to ask about that, actually. Is there a tax loophole I should be aware of p>

Katia folded her arms, her handcuffs clinking as she shot Marcus a highly unimpressed look. “Marcus, did your office seriously file my emergency bond under Julian’s last name? Is that how WEG pushes corporate bail through the system now p>

“My client has been double-taxed for years, Detective,” Marcus lied with a completely straight face, stepping directly between Reeves and the computer screen to block Katia’s view. “It’s a highly complex corporate proxy structure. We will litigate the typo with the clerk of courts tomorrow morning. Now, about her clothes p>

“Yes,” Reeves said, turning to the property locker, completely baffled but too tired to argue. “We need the jumpsuit back. It’s city property p>

“Um, Detective,” Marcus said, peering into the empty paper bag on the counter. “My client’s personal clothes are currently missing. There is no grey silk suit in this bag. There is only a single sock and what appears to be a half-eaten bagel p>

Reeves stared at the bag. “What? That’s impossible. The property clerk logged it in at four p>

“Well, it’s not here,” Marcus said, raising his voice to his best courtroom baritone. “I am currently filing a motion for the illegal seizure and subsequent theft of my client’s luxury apparel by the state of New York. This is a civil rights violation of the highest order. My client is currently shoeless and trouserless p>

“We can’t let her leave in city property!” Reeves protested.

“Then I suggest you find her trousers, Detective,” Marcus snapped. “Until then, we are taking the jumpsuit. And the handcuffs p>

“You can’t take the handcuffs p>

“They are currently attached to my client’s wrists,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, dominant rumble that made Reeves step back. “And I am not waiting for your property clerk to find a key. We are leaving. Now p>

Katia looked at me, a highly amused smirk spreading across her swollen lips. She held up her cuffed hands, shaking them slightly so the metal clinked. “Well, Julian. It seems you get your wish p>

“Marcus,” I said, grabbing Katia’s arm and pulling her toward the exit. “Handle the paperwork. We’re going home. And remember to fix her name back to Kensington; we don’t want rumors p>

“I am a Harvard-educated corporate litigator,” Marcus muttered to himself, grabbing his briefcase. “Why am I arguing over the custody of a grey cotton jumpsuit? Why is this my life p>

I didn’t listen to the rest of his complaints. I led Katia out of the precinct, her handcuffs clinking like expensive jewelry against her wrists. The desk sergeant watched us go, his mouth slightly open as the tall, imposing Julian Windsor escorted a woman in an oversized grey prison jumpsuit and shiny silver handcuffs directly into the back of a luxury town car.

The moment the door shut behind us, isolating us in the quiet, leather-scented cabin, the humor evaporated.

I turned to her, my hands finding her waist, pulling her onto my lap despite the awkwardness of her cuffed hands. I buried my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her, trying to wash away the memory of the cell.

“You’re safe,” I whispered.

Katia rested her forehead against mine, her cuffed hands resting against my chest. “I told Delia I was sleeping in your house tonight p>

I let out a low groan of approval, my lips finding hers in a deep, desperate kiss that tasted like the reckoning we had been running from all week.

“Good,” I muttered against her lips. “Because I’m never letting you out of it p>

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