She doesn’t slow down, so I quicken my pace, grabbing her elbow just as she clears the back door.

“Want to tell me what that little show was in the elevator?” I ask her as I turn her to me. “You knew who I was, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” she says as she leans in toward me with a husky voice that hints at sex and dirty words. “And let’s just say your reaction, or lack thereof, told me all I needed to know about you.”

Dropping her elbow, I rake my hand through my hair. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

Leaning in closer, she puts her lips near my ear, and I almost shudder from the nearness as she whispers, “You’re all talk and no action. A docile baby, really. It’s going to be so easy to kick your ass in this case.”

I jerk back, my man card now having been fully stomped upon. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

Reaching up, she pats me on the cheek with her hand and laughs. “I never kid about stuff like that, Mr. Holloway.”

She starts to walk away, but there is no way I’m letting that happen without redeeming myself and my poor, busted ego. Quick as a striking snake, my hand shoots out and grabs hold of her wrist.

In one fluid motion, I spin her around and pull her toward me. I reach out with my other hand and lay it in the center of her chest, pushing gently and walking her backward into the wall. When she’s pinned flat against it, I step in close to her . . . really close.

Leary’s eyes flare briefly, then narrow with anger. “What the hell are you doing?”

Keeping my hand on her chest, I drop my other to the hem of her skirt and start dragging it up her leg. For a moment, she does nothing, then one of her hands grabs my wrist, attempting to stop my progress. “Are you crazy?” she hisses at me.

Her strength is no match for me, and I keep my hand moving upward. When her skirt gets to the top of the lace on her stockings, I bend my body to the side so I can see what I’m revealing. “I want to see if your panties match your stockings and garters.”

“We are in fucking public,” she practically wheezes, and her head flips to the right to make sure no one’s coming down the hall. I can feel her heartbeat ratchet up a beat, thumping madly under my palm that’s still resting on her chest.

Shrugging and with my eyes pinned to the black lace and creamy flesh exposed just above it, I tell her, “Oh, well. Besides, didn’t seem to bother you when you put on that little striptease in the elevator. So quit being a baby and let me see.”

I dare a glance up, and her eyes are no longer heated through with offense. Instead, I see challenge staring back at me, and I’m thinking she didn’t like being called a baby. Her hand goes lax against my wrist, and I push the material of her skirt past her hip.

“Just as I thought.” I breathe out softly when I get a look at her lingerie. “Black lace panties . . . goddamn perfect.”

For a brief moment I’m overwhelmed with the urge to slide my hand between her legs and cup her lush heat. But I’m all about proving a point.

I let my thumb graze along the elastic edge that sits in that sexy crease just between her pussy and her upper thigh. She gives the tiniest gasp and my eyes seek hers again, which have a slightly fevered look to them.

“Oh, Miss Michaels, what I wouldn’t give to run my tongue right along this edge,” I tell her as my thumb sweeps back and forth against it.

Leary swallows hard and her bubblegum-pink tongue slips out and swipes at her lower lip. I nearly groan but tamp it down hard. I’m the one in control now.

Staring at her for a moment more, I whisper, “Maybe another time.”

Dropping her skirt and stepping away, I shoot her a charming smile. “Can’t wait to see you again . . . in or out of the courtroom.”

Her mouth hangs open slightly when I turn to walk away.

CHAPTER 3

LEARY

I’m a pretty smart cookie. Graduated first in my class in high school and went on to do my undergrad at Duke and then law school at Stanford. While I didn’t graduate at the exact top of those two schools, I was in the top ten percent of both. I was also on law review at Stanford, as well as a member of their trial advocacy team that placed third in the nation during my third year.

Again . . . smart cookie.

But even the brainiest of people have their weaknesses, and unfortunately, mine happens to be legal research. I have a trial starting next week, and there’s going to be a huge argument over a statement I’d like to introduce into evidence that the other side is claiming as hearsay. I know there’s an exception to the hearsay rule that applies to this exact situation . . . at least, I seem to remember reading something along those lines in another case¸ but fuck if I can find it now.

I normally assign this shit to my paralegal, but she’s on maternity leave, and the temp I have working in her place doesn’t know how to do legal research. So, here I am . . . slogging through the overwhelming LexisNexis database to find this obscure case that expounds on the exception I might have read about but am not really sure if I did. It could just be that I want that exception to exist, so maybe I created it in my mind.

Pushing back from my computer, I glare at my monitor.

Give me the answer! I shout at it telepathically.

My cursor just blinks in monotonous fashion, mocking me.

Knock, knock, knock.

Looking up, I see Ford standing at my door. I wave him in and peer back at the computer, hoping something will leap out at me.

“What are you doing?” Ford asks as he takes a seat on the other side of my desk.

I don’t even spare him a glance. “Legal research.”

“You? Doing legal research? Are we on the cusp of Armageddon or something?” he teases me.

“Stuff it, Ford,” I say while reading a court-of-appeals case summary on my screen. “My paralegal’s out so I had to break down and do it myself.”

“Want some help?” he asks amiably.

“No, thanks. I can figure it out on my own.”

“Such stubborn pride,” he muses, and I finally slide my eyes to his. He’s smirking at me.

“What’s that look for?” I ask as I push back from my desk a little.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . you’ve been wound up pretty tight since your motion hearing last week. You won, right? What’s the deal?”

“I’m not wound up,” I mutter, but God, I’m so wound up. I’m no longer pissed that Reeve Holloway would waste my time with that motion. It’s done. I won. Anger gone.

But jeez . . . what he did to me after the hearing was over?

In the freakin’ hallway, just outside the courtroom. Where anyone could have walked up on us. He shocked me and then—I admit, with no small amount of shame—turned me on more than I’ve ever been in my life.

I thought the guy was a pushover. The way he just silently watched me in the elevator as I took my stocking off clued me in to all I thought I needed to know about him. He didn’t have any game. He had no confidence, no gumption. He would be easy pickings.

Then he turned it all around and practically had me begging for him to touch me more when he pulled my skirt up and looked at my lace panties.

I didn’t miss the hard-on he was sporting, either. He was as turned on as I was, and there’s no denying he is sex on a stick. He was handsome in his profile picture on his firm’s website, but he was even better looking in person. When I saw him outside the courthouse with his head down as he looked at his phone, I couldn’t help but stare. He’s tall with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and with each stride, his well-muscled thighs pulled at the charcoal gray of his dress pants.