she should be under prosecution.
Ward eyed her with suspicion as she kept her hands out of sight, her brown eyes guarded as she sat at his desk.
“Well?” he repeated. “What are you doing in my office?”
Slowly, she rose from the buttercream leather chair, her hands now tucked in the back pockets of her black jeans. Jeans that clung to her long legs like a second skin. “I was waiting for you.”
Her voice was cool and composed. Her sleek ponytail swished as she made her way around the desk, the silky glide of dark hair drawing his gaze like a hypnotic pendulum.
She was a smoke-and-mirrors show.
And his body reacted to her every time, no matter how often his brain reminded him she was trouble. “Looks to me like you were snooping around.”
“I’m nosy.” She shrugged, watching him through long dark eyelashes. “What can I say?”
“You call it nosy?” He strode forward, risking coming close enough to catch a whiff of...mint. “I call it breaking and entering.”
“Your assistant let me in,” she said neatly.
That gave him pause. He made a mental note to check her story. Even if it was true, she still should have been seated on the sofa or one of the guest chairs. “Did my assistant give you permission to use my computer?”
Her shrug called attention to her gentle curves. He snapped his attention back to the facts he knew about her. The woman before him had lied. Pretended to be someone else. Her actions were downright criminal. Brea could not be trusted. No matter how drop-dead sexy she looked in a turtleneck sweater.
“I just chose the most comfortable place to wait.” She picked up the silver picture frame from his desk, no doubt to distract him. “Who’s the kid? Cute little girl.”
“Put that back.” His voice was low, brooking no argument. The way he should have spoken to her about sitting at his desk. When she didn’t put the frame down, he took it from her hands.
Ward had lost everything when his ex-wife left him, taking his stepdaughter with her. Since he wasn’t little Paisley’s biological father, he’d lost all rights to her after the divorce from Melanie. He’d hoped his ex would be open to letting them visit—or at least talk—but that hadn’t been the case. His former wife just wanted to move on with her new life with her new husband.
Ward had been, for all intents and purposes, Paisley’s dad since he’d started dating Melanie, when her daughter was eight months old. He and Melanie had married a year later. The marriage had lasted for six more years...longer than it would have if there hadn’t been a child involved.
Ward wasn’t sure he ever would have given up, for Paisley’s sake. But Melanie had cheated, filed for divorce and was married to a guy twenty-five years her senior, wealthy, retired and ready to shower her with his money and time.
The metal on the frame dug into Ward’s palm.
“Sorry.” Brea twisted her hands in front of her, nails short, chewed down. “It was right out there for display.”
“Only if you were behind my desk, in my chair.” He placed the frame facedown so the picture of his stepdaughter wouldn’t distract him. He glanced back up to find Brea’s face showing a rare moment of vulnerability.
Calculated or legit? Experience with women told him it was more likely the former.
Her elegant throat moved with a slow swallow. “So, I wanted to see what my father’s office felt like, if it was the same as when I was a child, spinning in the CEO’s chair.”
He stuffed back images of his child doing the same.
And yes, he was surprised Brea had gone for the heartstrings. “That was well-played.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are throwing out that childhood memory to try and garner sympathy...or distract me from where you were sitting.”
He wasn’t letting her get away with invading his space. Heads would roll over her getting in here. For now, though, he couldn’t afford to let her escape until he had answers.
“Okay, I sat in my father’s chair because once I thought I would have a right to be there, that I would lead the company.” She nibbled her bottom lip, slick with gloss. “For a moment I wanted to pretend that life had played out the way I’d hoped.”
Was that another ploy to tug at his emotions and distract him? He wasn’t sure.
Regardless, his eyes were drawn to her mouth.
He tamped down a rush of attraction. “You were still in my chair. At my computer.”
All vulnerability slid from her face. She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “Fine. You’re right. I had no business parking myself there. What do you intend to do about it?”
“I could call security.” Ward’s mouth tightened into a thin line. He met her brown eyes with an unrelenting stare. The kind of stare he’d perfected in long games of poker, after his divorce. The poker table was where he’d regained command and control. Honed his skills for leadership. For impassive demands.
“You could. And when they find there’s nothing on me and it’s just your word against mine?” Her voice was rich and sultry. Those dark brows arched...playfully?
“If they find nothing on you.” He watched her face for signs he’d struck a chord.
Was it his imagination or did her eyes widen with fear? As fast as the look was there, it left.
“And my father? What will he think?”
Jack Steele would do anything to keep her here—in town, at the company, in the family—and they both knew it. Still, Ward bluffed. He was good at it. His fast-track career attested to that. “He’s on the board, but that doesn’t mean he can fire me.”
She ran her fingers along the edge of the desk, the movement slow and intentional as she looked up at him. Fire flashed in those eyes. “He’ll be upset and his opinion still carries a lot of sway with the board and investors.”
It was rare someone called his bluff. Instincts told him she was a worthy adversary.
Which made her all the more attractive.
Damn.
“You’re right. So, why were you in here when you know it could make things tougher for the two of you to reconcile?”
“I guess that proves I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” She toyed with the end of her sleek ponytail.
He chuckled softly, not tricked at all by her little hair twirl. “Are you sure you’re not a lawyer like your twin? Because you sure do have a way with words.”
“Must be genetics.” She flicked her hair back over her shoulder, drawing his attention to the curve of her breasts, outlined by the formfitting black sweater.
He
