“My preparation—and my follow-through, I might add—are just fine.”
She lifts a single eyebrow over the rim of her glasses. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”
I grin and scoot my chair a little closer to hers. “Well, actions speak louder than words. If you’d like, I’d be happy to prove just how good my follow-through is.”
To my surprise, she leans in too, close enough that I catch a whiff of the perfume she’s wearing. Something delicate, probably expensive as hell. Sweet and a little spicy. It makes me want to taste her, run my tongue over her naked body to see if it matches her flavor.
“Please do,” she purrs, and it takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to close the gap between us and claim her mouth right here and now. She’s leaning closer, I could make a move . . .
Then she slaps my chest with a file, which I catch belatedly, slow on the uptake after my short, moment of weakness. “In the courtroom, that is.” She’s already pushing away from the desk and standing up. Her tight pencil skirt has ridden up her thighs, and I catch a glimpse of the tops of her stockings, before she yanks the skirt back into place, all the way down to her knees.
Dammit. Cut-off stockings and garters? Who knew our sweet little Chloe had a kinky side? I suppress a smirk as I meet her eye. “I’m going to need more than fifteen minutes eventually, you know.”
She glares at me again, which either means she caught me checking her out, or just that this is her favorite facial expression. “That’s good. If you finished in fifteen minutes every time, I’d have to call that less than impressive.” With that, she sweeps out of the room, leaving me torn between a laugh and a scowl.
This might be an even tougher case than I thought.
Mostly because watching her curvy, luscious ass storm out of the room makes me hard as a rock. I try to force her out of my mind for the rest of the afternoon, but it’s no use. I’m pretty much useless with how distracted she’s made me. To the point where I catch the elevator down to the second floor, lock myself in an empty conference room, and jerk off, leaning against the table, wishing it was her I had pressed against the wood instead.
Fucking hell, I think as I come, my mind still full of images of her—eyes narrowed behind those sexy glasses, full lips pursed in distrust. I haven’t been this turned on at the office since I can’t remember when.
It’s gonna be a long couple of months.
I pace across the kitchen floor in my stockings, the ridiculous ones with the garter belt, because everything else I own was out with the laundry people today. I’m still wearing my work shirt, though it’s unbuttoned over my bra, but I tossed my skirt into a heap on my couch the moment I walked through the front door.
Not like there’s anyone here to impress or offend anyway.
“And that’s not even the worst part,” I say into the phone, which I have awkwardly cradled between my ear and my shoulder as I yank open the freezer and dig through it for the pint of Ben and Jerry’s I know I still have somewhere in here. I’d prepped a whole series of meals for the week, which I cook on Sundays and freeze for defrosting other nights. But screw it.
Tonight, I’m having Americone Dream for dinner.
“Worse than being taken off the case you’ve spent like two months straight on?” asks the voice on the other end of the line. Heather Healey, my best friend in the world.
Well, okay. Possibly my only friend right now, since I all but fell out of touch with Sheri, Ang and their squad. But it’s not like I had time to go to all the brunches and soccer games and shopping spree trips they’re into anyway.