Chapter 1
"Good afternoon, Assistant District Attorney Barstow."
Although she jumped at the sound of his voice, it was because she hadn't realized he was there, not because she didn't recognize it. A low, slightly gravelly tone that dripped with sensuality, even when he was merely saying hello—attached to a man like that who exuded sex unselfconsciously from every pore—was the farthest possible thing from forgettable. That was an uncomfortable truth that Allyria Barstow knew all too well, from first-hand experience.
He was leaning his impressive self against the frame of her office door, arms folded over his broad chest, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. He was still wearing the same tux from last night, she noted, swallowing hard, noting that the bow tie was hanging by what looked like a thread from his open collar, revealing the long, tanned column of his neck. The fit was extraordinary and obviously hand tailored, accenting the pure masculinity of his frame, the jacket clinging lovingly to the muscles that lurked beneath, the pants doing so to an eye-opening extent in certain areas that she had a hard time keeping her eyes away from, although she finally managed to drag them back to the neutral zone of work that was piled on the desk in front of her.
He continued smoothly, easing away from the door, "I'm not surprised to find you here, although I had hoped that, after your ordeal last night, you'd be taking it easy at home instead of trying to work yourself to death."
She refused to take that bait. Instead, she went on the offensive. "What are you doing here, Mr. Bove?" Allie frowned. "And, more to the point, wasn't the door downstairs locked?"
He had the grace to blush slightly—although not much—but he didn't sound in the least apologetic as he took several steps into the room, making the relatively good sized space seem much too small for the two of them to occupy at the same time, since he seemed to have sucked all of the air out of it. "I'm afraid that I have rarely met a lock that was much of match for me."
"Shades of a misspent youth, no doubt," she commented acerbically, avoiding his eyes while trying not to seem as if she was trying—and failing miserably—to remain inured by his presence.
"Something like that." He inclined his head, turning to close the door behind him, although why he bothered, she would never know.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and she was the only person who was enough of a workaholic to be in there. Everyone else had a better sense of self-preservation or, beyond that, an actual life to live outside of the office.
The sudden realization that they were alone didn't frighten her anywhere near as much as it should have. instead, desperately wishing that she hadn't decided against wearing a bra, she felt her nipples hardening into aching peaks beneath what she hoped were enough layers of clothes to either hide her unwanted response from his sharp gaze or render him disinterested, considering the disreputable state of the mismatched set of sweats she'd thrown on over an ancient t-shirt this morning.
But she couldn't possibly be that lucky. Lucas Bove wasn't the kind of man who missed much—or he wouldn't likely have gotten to the lofty, if questionably legal or moral—position he currently occupied, and she could literally feel his gaze flickering over those distended points as surely as if it were his tongue, rendering her breath even more ragged than it had been.
"I had rather hoped that we would be on a first name basis by now, Allyria." The slow, deep rumble added fuel to the fire she had no way of dampening.
Allie fought the urge to fidget—to cross her legs and lean into that dominant stare, knowing it would be a useless act to find some measure of ease in his presence that he would never allow.
"But you continue to resist me at every turn, in even the most benign things such as that." Lucas came to stand in front of her desk, easily dwarfing both it and her. "Despite what happened between us not so long ago."
There it was. He always brought it up—her one moment—okay, night—of weakness, and he never failed to remind her of it.
"Perhaps it's because of what happened between us," she threw back.
Coming around the desk with an elegance that belied his size, he hitched a hip onto the corner—much too close to her. But she could hardly allow him to see it affect her in any way. So, Allie leaned back in her chair, folding her hands over her stomach as if she hadn't a care in the world.
"Did I leave you unsatisfied?"
It was a highly impertinent question on so many levels—but mostly because she knew that he knew, beyond any conceivable doubt, that he hadn't. Christ, she'd damned near died on him more than once during those long, devilishly unforgettable hours she'd spent in his arms.
On that basis, she refused to answer him, merely raising her eyebrow, and receiving a wicked, knowing grin in return.
"And yet you disappeared out of my life the very next day, refusing to return my calls or respond to my texts."