been a betting man, he would have put money on her having been a straight-A student in school—the type who willingly sat at the front of the class to ensure she didn’t miss a single word the teacher said.
The good girl had never been his type, and if he really wanted the distraction of a willing female to help get him through the weekend, he’d be better off hitting a club or the hotel bar when five o’clock rolled around. But his gaze lingered on the brunette, because it was a shame that a good girl should have a mouth that suggested it was capable of doing wonderfully bad things.
Now that she was set up, she turned to the balding man in the ill-fitting brown suit who was seated on her left. Making friends with her neighbors, he realized, when she said something, smiled and shook the man’s hand. Then she turned to the woman on her other side, a skinny redhead with sharp eyes, and repeated the process.
Having finished with the introductions, she sat back in her chair. As more stragglers found their way to the room and filled the last few seats, she let her gaze move around the table. Then her eyes locked on his, and his stomach clenched as it absorbed the punch of sexual awareness.
He hadn’t experienced anything like that in a long while, and he knew then that he wasn’t going to walk away from her so quickly when the hour-long session was over.
* * *
Most of the seats were taken by the time Kate found the conference room where tables were set up around the perimeter to facilitate discussion. But she found a space between Lyle, a victims’ rights advocate from Carson City, and Marcia, a former prosecutor-turned-defense-attorney from Fresno, California.
When she was settled in her chair, she let her gaze scan the room as last-minute arrivals squeezed into vacant seats. Her lazy perusal came to an abrupt halt when she saw him.
He was wearing a light gray micro-check shirt that stretched across mouthwateringly broad shoulders with a loosely knotted plum-colored tie at his throat. His hair was brown, a few shades lighter than her own, and cut short. His forehead was high, his brows thick, his eyes—green? Brown? She couldn’t quite tell from across the distance that separated them, but they were focused and intense. The bronze skin suggested that he spent a lot of time working or playing outdoors. The strong jaw, square and dark with stubble, gave him a slightly dangerous and yet somehow appealing edge.
There was no ring on the third finger of his left hand, resting casually on top of the table, but she knew that wasn’t always proof of unmarried status. Then he caught her eye and winked boldly, and she felt heat spread up her neck and across her cheeks as she tore her gaze away. She was embarrassed to have been caught staring. She was also—unexpectedly and undeniably—aware of him on a purely visceral level.
It had been a long time since she’d been attracted to a man and even longer since she’d shared any kind of physical intimacy with one. She didn’t know precisely how long, but it had been at least twenty-eight months because she hadn’t been away from Haven in that period of time—and she definitely hadn’t hooked up with anyone in her hometown. Heck, she couldn’t even have coffee with a male colleague during morning recess from court without her sister texting to ask for details before her cup was empty.
So maybe it was the extended duration of her most recent dating hiatus that was responsible for her reaction to him. Or maybe it was his shoulders. Apparently she had a weakness for guys with great shoulders and strong jawlines and—
And somehow her errant gaze had drifted back to him again. Chiding herself for her reaction, she folded back the cover of her tablet and swiped to unlock the screen.
The moderator closed the door, effectively silencing the quiet murmur of conversation and focusing attention in his direction. After a brief introduction, he handed out some case studies for the participants to review and discuss.
As the debate evolved, Kate found herself arguing against the position taken by the broad-shouldered stranger who’d caught her eye. He insisted that adult crimes deserved adult punishment; she maintained that children didn’t have experience making decisions or controlling their impulses and shouldn’t be held to the same standards as their adult counterparts.
When the moderator finally called time on the session, neither of them had given an inch. And yet Kate found herself invigorated rather than frustrated, because while she didn’t agree with her opponent’s position, she had to admit that he’d made some good points and he presented his arguments in a rational and respectful manner.
As most of the other attendees funneled toward the door, he moved the other way—toward her. She took her time putting her materials away, pleased to note that her hands were steady despite the pounding of her heart. She uncapped her water bottle and tipped it to her lips to moisten her suddenly dry throat.
He wore jeans with his shirt and tie, and well-worn cowboy boots on his feet. Six feet two inches, she decided when she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. And his eyes weren’t green or brown but an intriguing combination of both. Hazel, she decided, though the word failed to describe the magnetism of his gaze. Tiny lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth, and a thin scar slashed through his right eyebrow.
“Reid Davidson,” he said.
She took the proffered hand—wide-palmed and strong—and felt a tingle of something dangerously tempting shoot up her arm and arrow toward her center. “Katelyn Gilmore.”
“Defense attorney?” he guessed.
She nodded. “Among other things.”
“Six months out of law school?”
She narrowed her gaze, not sure if his question was a legitimate guess or a subtle insult. “Four years.”
He seemed surprised by that revelation. “Four years and you’re not completely disillusioned yet?”
“My determination to fight for justice doesn’t blind me to the flaws in our system.”
“That’s...admirable,” he decided.
She slid the strap of her briefcase onto her shoulder. “You’re a prosecutor,” she guessed.
“No,” he said quickly. Vehemently. “I’m not a lawyer.”
“So what do you do, Not-a-Lawyer Reid Davidson?”
“I’m a sheriff.”
She nodded, easily able to picture a shiny badge pinned to that wide chest. “And you throw the book at anyone who doesn’t toe the line in your jurisdiction.”
He didn’t deny it. “It’s my job to uphold the law.”
“The law doesn’t exist in a vacuum,” she argued. “It requires context.”
“Apparently you have some strong opinions on the subject,” he noted. “Why don’t we continue this discussion elsewhere, and you can enlighten me?”
She absolutely wanted to continue this discussion—or any discussion—if it meant spending more time with the broad-shouldered sheriff with the mesmerizing eyes and sexy smile.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked, determined to play it cool despite the anticipation racing through her veins.
“I could buy you a drink,” he suggested.
