Page 44 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

This is my fault, I got a little too cocky. With my years of winning, I thought this would be a slam dunk.

I should have accepted that detective’s help because it seems my connections are beginning to lose their effectiveness. Andwhy would they search her place while she was away, did someone tip them off, or was this a setup?

I need to find whoever did this. They must know what happened to Brandon.

The door opens, and I glance in that direction, wondering why she’s not asleep.

Then she comes into view—with her hair down and a pillow clutched to her chest. Her shirt has been stripped down to a camisole.

But it’s her feet—the matte black color on her toenails that does it for me. Lust shoots to my groin as I take another look at her—tousled hair, sleepy eyes with drooping eyelids, and the pillow.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be that pillow?

“I—I can’t sleep,” she says sheepishly.

I sit up. “Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head.

“No. I just…my thoughts. I’m frightened.”

My eyes narrow as I see her expression clearly and the tears that gather in her eyes. It makes my heart ache, so I get up from the couch. To do the only thing I know how to since words have failed.

I wrap my arms around Savannah, pulling her in for a hug. She sighs wearily, laying her head on my chest. The smell of the shampoo she must have used to wash her hair this morning fills my nostrils.

A simple lavender scent becomes an aphrodisiac, and my body reacts to it faster than I can temper my thoughts. Savannah feels it, too, and she goes still in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say, moving away. “That was not supposed to happen. I assure you,” I lift both hands, “I was only going to offer you comfort… I’m sorry.”

“But I didn’t say anything,” she says, suddenly clear-eyed.

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. We shouldn’t—you should go to bed,” I say reluctantly.

Savannah doesn’t move an inch, even as I head back to the couch. She stands there, and I eventually have to look away, covering my crotch with a pillow.

When I hear her footsteps approaching, I turn sharply.

“Savannah—”

She halts in front of me and bends low, so low that our faces are inches away from touching. I feel her breath, I hear her soft sighs, and I see the look of vulnerability in her eyes.

“Kiss me,” she says.

“I shouldn’t,” I say softly.

“I know but I want you to,” she whispers.

“We should call it a night before we do something we won’t be able to take back in the morning,” I try to resist.

She shakes her head.

“I don’t want to.”

“Savannah,” her name wrenches out of my mouth, but I don’t get to say anything more as her lips press against mine, stealing my words. And my breath. And my clarity.

A bit of my sanity, too, because it takes only seconds for me to wrap my arms around her waist and pull her down on my lap. Primal instincts kick it, and the kiss goes from acknowledging the attraction between us to consummating it.

I bite her bottom lip before soothing the slight pain with my tongue, making her whimper. Her tongue explores the corners of my mouth in a ravishing manner that has my heart stopping its work to redirect blood flow to my groin.

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