Fat freaking chance.

And now he sits across from me in one of the smaller conference rooms at Knight & Payne, looking completely relaxed and in charge of this deposition. And there’s something about Reeve Holloway in a custom-tailored suit in a navy so dark it could be black, perfectly cut white dress shirt, and silver-gray tie with black crosshatching detail, with messily styled hair that’s just a little too long on top to be considered stuffy and stubble because he just apparently didn’t feel like shaving this morning . . . well, just . . . damn. How in the hell am I supposed to concentrate?

The room is only large enough for a small rectangular table that seats two each on the long sides and one each on the short ends. Reeve and the adjuster from Dr. Summerland’s insurance company, a young man about my age named Thomas Collier, sit opposite Jenna and me. The court reporter sits on the end to my right. She’ll be dictating into a soundproof mask everything that is said in this room, word for word, so a transcript can be typed up later.

We’re here because Reeve followed standard protocol and formally requested that my client Jenna LaPietra attend this deposition. Before the trial, this is Reeve’s one and only chance to talk to my client, who will be placed under oath with the expectation of telling the truth. Contrary to the way many legal formalities are portrayed on TV, depositions are not generally a place where the parties get combative. It’s usually fairly laid-back, and it’s nothing more than an opportunity for Reeve to learn as much about my client as he can, with the ultimate hope he’ll discover something that benefits his case and can later be used against Jenna.

Reeve drones on and on, calmly asking question after question about Jenna’s prior medical history. He spent very little time getting into her personal life, instead seeming to want to concentrate on the medical aspects, since at the crux this is a medical malpractice claim.

He looks entirely too gorgeous sitting directly across from me, and more than once my mind drifts to the way he pounded in between my legs last week. I have to wonder if he still thinks about it the way I do, but I can’t gauge, because he’s barely said two words to me since the deposition started.

“If you’ll give me just a moment, Jenna, so I can go over my notes,” Reeve says after she finishes answering one of his questions.

He began this deposition immediately calling my client by her first name, a solid tactic to help develop some level of trust. I, of course, prepared Jenna for almost an entire day yesterday, and she wasn’t going to lower her defenses. I told her to keep her answers simple and answer only the question, without expounding. So far, she’s been doing an admirable job.

Reeve’s head is bent over his notes, his brown hair falling over his forehead so I can’t see his face. It irks me the way he’s ignored me the last two days, and I’m not one for being ignored. I should be the ignorer, not the ignoree.

I uncross my legs under the table, and when I cross them again, I make sure to kick my leg out just a tad farther so the tip of my Stuart Weitzman pump brushes against Reeve’s calf. He jerks at the contact and his head snaps up.

“Oops,” I say with an apologetic grin. “Not much room under this table, I’m afraid.”

And there it is . . . what I’ve been hoping for. An absolute genuine smile, and because I’m the only one in this room who knows the size of Reeve’s dick and what it can do to a woman, I also recognize a sizzle of lust in his gaze.

My leg immediately extends back out, and I graze my foot up his calf, across the inside of his knee, and nudge gently at his inner thigh. I notice the barely perceptible tightening of Reeve’s jaw as he bows his head back down to his notes and starts to ignore me again.

That won’t do.

I pull back, roll my foot so my pump slips off, and raise my leg again. This time I stick my foot right in between his thighs and, as I thank God for my longer-than-average legs, my toe gently probes against his cock.

Reeve’s thighs slam together, trapping my foot as his head slowly raises up, and he pins me with a death glare. I try to look at him as innocently as possible.

“Can we go off the record?” Reeve says tightly to the court reporter, without taking his eyes off me.

The court reporter lowers the mask away from her face in capitulation.

“In going through my notes, I find that I’m getting ready to delve into some things that might be a bit sensitive to Jenna,” Reeve says as he looks at me with a bland face. “If you don’t mind, Miss Michaels, I’d like to take a short break and discuss these issues with you in private. You can perhaps guide me if there’s anything that might be too upsetting to Jenna.”

I blink at him in surprise and pull my leg back slowly when his thighs loosen their grip. This isn’t normally done, but then again . . . who’s to say what’s normal? I just accosted defense counsel under the table.

“If you think that’s necessary,” I say with an incline of my head. Turning to Jenna, I say, “We’ll break for a bit if you want to step out and smoke. I’ll come get you when we’re done.”

Jenna nods at me gratefully. Reeve has been questioning her for two hours now, so the break comes at a good time.

Everyone stands up from the table except for the court reporter. Jenna scurries out, already reaching in her purse for her cigarettes. I’ve tried gently to get her to quit during this last year I’ve been handling her case, but she swears she needs to have at least one vice. I accept this because I know all too well that women in her predicament often turn to much stronger addictions to help cope with their situations.

Reeve puts a hand on the insurance adjuster’s shoulder, giving him a slight push downward. “You stay here, Tom. Something that I’m noticing in my notes actually applies to another case that I have against Miss Michaels. It could be a problem. I’m not sure, but those talks would be confidential on the other case.”

I again blink in surprise, because Reeve and I don’t have any other cases together, but then it’s clear. He wants to speak to me privately, probably to rail against me for playing footsie under the table.

Lowering my face to hide my smirk, I exit the conference room with Reeve hot on my heels. He doesn’t say a word to me but silently follows me across the Pit, right into my office. He shuts the door and immediately stalks over to my desk, hitting the smoke button. He’s never been in my office before, but he saw me do the same trick with the button on the conference room table before the deposition started. The glass immediately turns dark gray, and we’re alone.

His back is still to me when I say, “Apparently you’re done ignoring me.”

Reeve spins on me fast, his face a mask of fury. In two strides, he has me by the shoulders and pulls me to him so he can slam his mouth down on mine. His teeth scrape brutally against my lips, but then his tongue is plunging inside me and the bite of pain is forgotten. His kiss is punishing and needful all at once, and I can feel anger vibrating off him.

I melt.

It’s a complete turn-on knowing he’s pissed at me yet still wants me beyond measure. When he pulls his mouth away, he grabs one of my hands and presses it to his crotch, pushing his hips forward so I can feel his erection burn against my palm. My fingers curl and clutch at his shaft even as he pulls his mouth from mine.

“You think you can ignore my calls for five days, put your foot against my cock, and not get a reaction out of me?” he growls menacingly.

I know I should be scared by the tone of his voice, but I’m not. I’m consumed with lust now and at a complete loss as to how to handle this enraged bull with a bull-size dick in my hand.

Reeve doesn’t give me a chance to make amends, though. His hand shoots up, grabs a handful of hair at the back of my head, and gives me a tiny shake before pulling back so my face tilts up toward his. Leaning in so his lips almost touch mine, he growls, “You need to fix this, Leary.”