the right side of her breast brushing against his shoulder.
“What are you thinking with these projections? Geesh, what would you do without me, Pika? Knucklehead...” she grumbled, pushing even closer, the side of her breast nearly colliding with his nose.
“I know you want me and all, but really, Ailani, could you get your damn boob outta my face?” he complained roughly. He barked out a laugh when she distractedly batted a hand at him, ignoring him as she continued to peruse the document.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would think I didn’t do anything for you, Ailani...but we both know that isn’t true. What with you practically nursing me and all,” he continued, knowing she wasn’t paying much attention to what he said.
“Pika,” she mumbled, her voice completely distracted. “Whatever,” she finished, dragging out the word, the frown on her face growing.
Without looking behind her, she blindly reached for the chair she’d dragged to his desk earlier. Moving it closer, she plopped down in the seat.
As she examined the document, Nick continued to make completely inappropriate, off-color comments to Ailani, chuckling when she continued to ignore his baiting.
If she even heard it. Which he doubted she did.
When it came to her job as ranch foreman, all else became background noise to her. Which made it even more fun for Nick to tease her.
Just as he grinned and opened his mouth to make yet another inappropriate comment about her boob pressing into his face, a cough at the door caught his attention.
“One of your men told me you were alone. But if I’m interrupting, I can...you know, come back later.”
His eyes flew to the door and the grin slowly slipped from his face.
He jumped from his chair like a soldier would when his commanding officer entered. So fast that his chair shot out from under him and probably would have toppled over had Ailani not caught it.
Not that he was giving his foreman any attention.
That honor went solely to the woman who had claimed more of his attention than she had any right to.
The woman who had him waking up in the morning, rock-hard shaft in his hand, finishing off the job she’d started. If only in his dreams.
Her voice alone brought his cock to full-on “salute” status. Just like the good soldier that it was.
Husky and low...it poured over him like scalding rain. Even as it held a chastising note, it was turning him on in ways he’d never experienced from simply listening to a woman’s voice.
Hell, maybe that whole chastising tone she had going on added to the overall effect.
Whatever it was, it—she—had him hooked.
Her voice was velvety smooth and sexy, the type that reminded him of rainy days and sleeping in with a lover. But then his glance ran over her, head to toe. As hot as her voice was, it was nothing compared to her body.
Damn.
Live and in living color. On his turf... With no more provocation than that, his cock stirred.
Although he’d only seen pictures of her from the internet, those pictures were scorched permanently into his mind.
One of those images came to mind. The one he’d found of her at the Wildes’ ranch and had printed out on the spur of the moment. The same one he’d glanced at just last night before he’d succumbed to sleep.
The dream spurred from that image had been one that had haunted him as he’d wakened. His cock hardened even more as his gaze raked over her now.
There was no denying who stood in his doorway, one arched brow raised, small bow-shaped lips pursed, stiletto-heeled foot tapping.
Sinclair Adams.
Chapter 4
Confrontation time.
Sinclair kept her expression tight.
Closed.
Control... She had to keep it around her like a security blanket.
She was afraid if she didn’t, she would lose it.
Control was her best friend. Especially now. Thoughts of what her last few hours had been like, from the time she’d arrived in Hawaii and the fiasco surrounding all of that...to now, as she observed the scene in front of her. In one all-encompassing swoop, from the large office with its floor-to-ceiling windows that faced a gorgeous picturesque scene straight out of a movie, to the desk in the center of the room...and the commanding man who sat behind it.
There was also a beautiful woman with massive breasts standing close by... Sinclair took it all in. Okay, so maybe she was being catty. The woman’s breasts weren’t all that massive.
No matter, she thought, tightly reining in her envy.
She was squarely in the middle of the enemy’s camp. She felt her back stiffen as she lifted her chin, automatically “preparing.” For what? She would wait and see.
Her gaze made a swift survey of the office, taking special note of the custom-built book cabinets and the obviously expensive furnishings.
The walls were painted a muted deep red. One wall was nothing but an assortment of mirrors in various sizes and shapes.
Bold decorating choice, just like the red. The color choice and the mirrors were oddly erotic to her.
She shook her head, negating the thought before it had a chance to bloom any further in her mind. She continued her quick assessment.
There was an array of beautiful oversize rugs covering the polished hardwood floor, and a variety of artfully arranged statues that she would love to get a closer look at, had she been here for any other reason than the reason she was.
She brought herself up short.
She hadn’t come to the Kealoha ranch to admire the beautiful furnishings, the amazing scenery...or the exotic-looking woman who was now staring at her as though she knew her.
She was here for business. She turned her attention to the man she’d come to do battle with.
And that is exactly what it was in her mind: a battle. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the woman standing so close to him.
And it definitely wasn’t any of her business who the woman was. The same woman whose breasts—breasts that Sinclair doubted were her own—had been pressed against the side of Nick Kealoha’s face as if she were about to breast-feed the man, when Sinclair had approached the door.
Sinclair knew she was being unfair; she didn’t know the woman. For all she knew the massive boobs could actually belong to the woman. She mentally shrugged, pretending not to feel the least bit of anything about the woman, her breasts, or where they had been pressed....
Nor the man they had been
