The phone on my desk rings and I hit the speaker button. “Talk to me.”

“Mr. Holloway, you have a visitor down here in the lobby,” our receptionist says in a low tone. “She’s not on your appointment calendar.”

I glance down at my watch. The package was delivered to Leary about an hour ago, so she’s right on time.

I can’t help the grin that forms on my face.

“Let me guess,” I say casually. “Leary Michaels from Knight & Payne.”

“Yes, sir,” she says smoothly.

“Sign her in and send her to my office.”

Disconnecting the call, I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath, my eyes pinned on my door. Leary will be walking through it any moment, and I suspect she will be either very pissed off or very turned on—perhaps both.

Even with what little I know about her, I’m going to guess both.

That, of course, is an easy guess. I’ve already proven that I have an uncanny ability to piss her off. And our little interlude in the courthouse hallway? Yeah . . . she was fucking turned on when I slid my finger along the edges of her panties.

I know that I’m playing with fire. Any sane, rational female attorney would have taken the stockings and note card and made a direct complaint to the North Carolina State Bar about my behavior.

I’m taking a bit of a gamble with Leary. I don’t figure her for the type to cry to the teacher when her pigtails get pulled at recess. No, I expect she’s the type who’d throw a right hook back, and the mere fact that she’s here—in person at my office—well, that leads me to believe I’ve got her pegged.

She’s not going to report me.

Leary doesn’t even bother to knock on my closed office door. She merely opens it and strides right in as if she owns the place, not even bothering to shut it behind her.

Looking magnificent in a formfitting black shirtdress with black tights, knee-high tan boots, and a scarf around her neck in taupe, orange, and black, she comes off with polished sophistication. Her hair is loose, cut in long layers of chocolate silk that frame her shoulders and pour down her back.

And those soft brown eyes, looking almost bronze from the afternoon sun pouring in from my office window.

I’m a sucker for eyes.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” I say cordially and motion with my hand for her to take a seat.

She smiles at me nicely enough but ignores my invitation, instead walking beside my desk right up to my office window. It’s floor-to-ceiling tinted glass that overlooks the capitol building. If I lean all the way back and to the right in my chair, I can see the top of the Watts Building, where she works just a few blocks over.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she gazes out with an almost serene look on her face. I swivel my chair forty-five degrees so I face her, but I don’t say a word, waiting for her to make the first move in this metaphorical chess game we seem to be playing with each other.

“Jenna wasn’t prostituting herself at Pure Fantasy,” she says in an even voice.

“So just deny the request,” I reply matter-of-factly.

“I will,” she says, uncrossing her arms and flicking an impatient hand at me as she turns her body toward mine. “But I want to know why you asked. That wasn’t a shot in the dark. You had some reason to ask it.”

We lock eyes for a moment, then I let my gaze casually travel down her body. She’s built like a damn swimsuit model, dressed in expensive designer clothing, but I can tell she’d look fantastic in burlap.

Or just those silk stockings I bought her.

“You know I can’t divulge that,” I tell her. “It’s attorney work product.”

“Cut the shit, Holloway,” she snaps as she narrows her eyes at me. “You know I can find out with a few craftily questioned interrogatories of my own. Why not throw me some professional courtesy and tell me?”

My eyebrows raise at her, because I hear more than just irritation in her voice. I hear something close to sadness. Something about this case, maybe this question in particular, is very personal to her. I find this intriguing, and I also know that I can potentially use this as a weapon at some point down the road.

Resting my elbows on my armrests, I steeple my fingers in front of my face and give her a calculating look. “I’ll tell you for an exchange of information. Tell me why this particular question has you wigged out so much. You could easily deny it, and if your client truly hasn’t committed any crime, you have nothing to worry about. So tell me what I want to know, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

The corner of Leary’s lip turns up in what I’m thinking might be a sneer, but before she fully engages, she turns away from the window and heads toward the door. “Sorry . . . I don’t negotiate.”

Whoa, what the fuck?

I lunge from my chair and snag her wrist, stopping her before she can even make it past the edge of my desk. Her skin is soft under my hand, and she smells fucking fantastic. If it weren’t for the glare that she’s shooting me right now, I’d consider kissing the answer out of her.

Instead, I surprise myself by giving her exactly what she wants without the expectation of anything in return. “I ran a criminal background check on the owner of the club. He’s been busted twice before for whoring his girls out. This was during the time your client worked there.”

“That doesn’t mean she was prostituting herself,” Leary asserts.

“No, it doesn’t,” I acquiesce, stroking the inside of her wrist with my thumb. Leary still wears irritation all over her face, but her body relaxes slightly. “But based on what I found, you know that it was a legitimate question.”

“It was dirty,” she seethes.

“Probing,” I counter.

“Slick.”

“Wait a minute, are we still talking about the question or something else here?” I murmur, tugging on her wrist and pulling her in just a tad closer to me.

I’m stunned when Leary’s cheeks turn pink and she lowers her eyes coyly. I didn’t think this woman had a shy bone in her body, but I’m enjoying the power I’m obviously wielding over her.

“I can’t believe a little double entendre has you blushing,” I taunt, rubbing my finger over her wrist. A tiny gasp escapes her lips, and her eyes raise up to mine filled with confusion and desire.

I find it incredibly difficult to get one up on this woman, and just moments ago, she had me rolling over and spilling my guts to her. This moment now . . . where I have her flustered?

Feels fucking awesome and causes my cock to harden.

Leary takes in a stuttering breath, nibbles on her lower lip.

My cock goes harder yet.

“I can’t tell if you’re baiting me or you’re truly attracted to me. I find it confusing,” she whispers, and for a moment, I’m confused myself. This hesitant, almost shy side to Leary is at odds with the woman who stripped in front of me in the elevator.

I’m not sure I like it.

“But,” she says with more confidence in her voice, stepping in closer to me until mere inches separate our bodies, “there’s only one sure way to find out.”

Then she drops her free hand down and cups me between my legs. Her fingers immediately grasp and curl around my erection, squeezing me tight and even giving a firm stroke up my shaft. My eyes close, my head tilts back, and I can’t stop the groan that comes out of my mouth.

Just like that, she’s back in control.

Just like that, I realize her shyness was nothing but a fucking act.

“Mmm,” Leary purrs. “Very nice. I’d have to say you’re definitely attracted to me.”

A brief thought runs through my head: my office door is open, and anyone could walk by and see what we’re doing. But for the life of me, I can’t seem to care enough to stop whatever this is.

Instead, I cover her hand with my own and urge her fingers to grip me harder as I push my hips forward to create more friction. If her hand feels this good, I can’t imagine what her mouth would feel like.