had wanted to do that, but that obviously wasn’t why she’d taken the position as his assistant. She had never once showed any interest in him. Until now. “Or, personally, they want me.”
Her eyes widened again, and so did her pupils, dilating as she stared up at him through the lenses of her black-framed glasses. The glasses were too big for her delicately featured face, which was probably why they kept sliding down her small nose.
“I—I don’t want you...” she murmured, but there was no amusement in her voice now. Not even a hint of laughter. But her voice had grown more husky, and her pulse quivered visibly, erratically, in her long, slender neck.
He leaned even closer, so his lips just brushed over hers as he whispered, “Liar...”
She gasped, which moved her lips against his. He took advantage of her open mouth and deepened the kiss. First, he nibbled on her lips, like he’d wanted. Then he slid his tongue between them, into the sweet heat of her mouth. Would her body feel the same?
Hot and wet? He wanted to find out.
He clutched the back of her head in one hand, his fingers closing over that knot of soft, thick hair. It tickled his palm, making his skin tingle. The sensation surprised him. This was Bette, his assistant. She wasn’t supposed to make his skin tingle or his cock swell and throb behind the fly of his dress pants.
But she was...
And it was...
His body pulsed and ached. He wanted her aching for him, too. So he moved his other hand, the one not in her hair. He slid it over the curve of her hip down her thigh to the hem of her skirt. He wanted to lift it, wanted to skim his fingers up the inside of her thigh to the heat of her core. But how drunk was she?
He didn’t want to take advantage if she’d had too much to drink. And he suspected that she had because she was kissing him back, her tongue chasing his into his mouth. He tasted the wine on her tongue, crisp and slightly sweet. He wasn’t surprised that she would drink a sweet and fruity white. She wasn’t sophisticated like the women he usually dated.
Not that he wanted to date her. All he wanted was the truth. Why was she leaving? And was she the one who’d sold their secrets to opposing counsel?
At least that was all his mind wanted. His body was making demands of its own. And he found himself giving in to temptation. He moved his hand beneath her skirt, stroking his fingertips up the inside of her thigh.
She wore stockings, but they stopped halfway between her knees and her core. His finger touched lace and silk. She was wearing a garter?
He never would have thought Bette was the type to wear sexy underwear, let alone lingerie. His breath caught as he touched bare skin, which was even silkier than the stockings and the garter.
But the stockings and garter excited the hell out of him, too. Was she hiding something else—something super sexy—beneath that cardigan?
He moved his hand from her hair down the nape of her slender neck, then around her throat. Her pulse beat madly beneath his fingertip. She was as excited as he was.
He traced his finger lower, over her collarbone to the first button of that sweater. He flicked it open and then moved down to the next and the next, revealing the deep valley of her cleavage. She wasn’t wearing a camisole, like he’d thought. She wore a red lace bustier adorned with tiny bows.
A garter and bustier?
His breath escaped in a ragged groan. Who knew Bette Monroe was so damn sexy and sensual? He’d had no idea.
Did someone else? Had she worn this lingerie because she was meeting someone? At the moment he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but the desire burning him up. His cock pulsed with excitement and the need for release. A release only Bette could give him...
She gasped and trembled against him. Then she tensed. And her hands pressed against his chest, pushing him back.
“I—I...” she stammered. Her face was flushed with color, and her eyes glittered behind the lenses of her glasses.
“You want me,” he finished for her.
She shook her head and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. He’d loosened the pins, which fell onto the hardwood floor. Her hair was long, so much longer than he’d realized. It reached nearly to her waist. And it was thick and wavy. How had he never noticed how damn sexy it was? How damn sexy she was?
“I want to leave,” she said, her voice steadier now as if she’d forced herself to stop stammering.
He stepped back and swept his arm toward the door. “Go ahead.” He’d never had to hold a woman against her will. Usually he was the one who had to fight to escape.
Bette moved forward but swayed slightly. Maybe she’d had more to drink than he’d thought, which was another good reason to stop. Because despite what she claimed, she wanted him. He could easily change her mind about staying with just another kiss, another caress...
And he was tempted to do just that because he wanted her, so much that it surprised him. She could have betrayed his and his partners’ practice. She could be a con, like him, like his father. Maybe the cardigan sweater and black-framed glasses were just part of the act and the lingerie was the real her.
Was that why he was suddenly attracted to her, because he hadn’t had a challenge in so long? Bette Monroe might pose his greatest challenge yet. He watched as she walked toward the door, watched her hips rock back and forth beneath that tight, sexy skirt. And he swallowed a groan of desire.
Then she stopped, halfway to the door, and turned back to him and said, “I won’t be coming back.”
He arched a brow. “Really?”
“I am not working out a two-week notice,” she said, and her voice wasn’t just steady. It was dead calm with determination.
He grinned at the challenge she was going to pose. Then he told her, with equal determination, “Yes, you are.”
She shook her head, tumbling all that glorious dark hair around her shoulders and over the cardigan. The thick tresses hid some of the red bustier he’d revealed. He’d always been a sucker for brunettes.
Had she known that? Was that why she’d interviewed to be his assistant two years ago? Had she been working him all this time?
“No,” she said. “I can’t work with you now.”
He shrugged. “Why not? Because I kissed you?” He intended to do a hell of a lot more than that to her. Over and over again. Now he wanted to see what was beneath that lingerie. He wanted to touch and taste every inch of her silky skin.
She nodded. “That’s sexual harassment.”
“You already turned in your resignation,” he reminded her. It was probably a fine line, but he was a damn good lawyer. His employment agreements were indisputable. “And you will serve out your notice, just as stipulated in your contract.”
“But—but...” Her mouth fell open on a gasp. “You can’t want me to work here still.”
Knowing that she was probably
