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“It’s why I’m here now.” She glanced to Quentin who had turned full circle to watch her. The Burberry cashmere trench coat he wore complemented his well-built physique as it stretched the length of his masculine form tapering off at his knees. The collar sat straight up, and a peek of his strong neck teased her. The way his heated gaze cruised over every portioned detail of Phoebe almost made her quiver where she stood. “Good evening, Quentin.”

“My lady love...” his thick voice grooved.

A smile spread across her lips, and he winked as naughty thoughts of how they could redesign her office came to mind.

“Could you make out the image in the mirror,” Jordan said, interrupting their moment.

Phoebe’s eyes snapped to Jordan. “It’s DeAngelo Weatherby.”

“I thought so, too,” Jordan added.

“Why would he hire us knowing we would find this information out?”

“Honestly, I think he was the one who dropped the disc in our mailbox.”

Phoebe’s eyes rose. “That’s how you got this recording?”

“Yes. It was marked with only one word.”

“Which was?”

“Rose.”

Phoebe shifted her weight from one foot to the other, astonished at the

evidence they held. “I’m going over there,” Phoebe asserted.

Quentin’s brows furrowed, and that fierce protectiveness he always felt with her kicked in. He didn’t know the details of the case, but it didn’t sound safe for Phoebe to be going anywhere by herself. But before Quentin could expand on that thought Jordan spoke up.

“You have no reason to go see DeAngelo Weatherby. He’s not our client regardless to the fact that he’s paying us to win his sister’s case. We’re going to see Ms. Weatherby. She needs to know what her options are.”

“You know what this means,” Phoebe said. “Ms. Weatherby has to give up her brother or give up her partner.”

The room grew quiet as each of them played with those words in a different scenario. It made them all as equally uneasy to think of having to choose between loved ones in any situation.

“Have you had dinner?” Quentin asked, deciding to be the one to break the ever-growing ice.

“Is that an invitation, or are you worried about my nutritional needs?” Her lashes batted, and Quentin grew hard in his pants.

“Both,” he said with a lazy grin.

“In that case, I’ll be ready in an hour.”

“I’ll be here.”

Phoebe had a notion to stroll across the room and lay a mouthwatering kiss on his lips, but she decided to cut Jordan some slack. He was still processing their budding relationship, but it would be one of the last times she held back.

“We’ll go first thing tomorrow morning, so be ready. I’ll pick you up from home,” Jordan said, keeping his eyes on Phoebe.

Phoebe regarded her brother, standing stoic, with his jaw locked. She thought about commenting on what she’d heard upon entering his office then thought better about it. If Quentin was in his office, he’d obviously come to do damage control. Whatever he’d said to Jordan was their business, and if he wanted to talk about it over dinner, then they would.

“How much longer do you plan on staying tonight?” she asked Jordan.

“I’m not sure, the Weatherby case isn’t the only one I’m working on. Neither are you,” he added.

Phoebe stretched her arms, and Quentin followed her every movement. His eyes drifted up her tiny waist to her hefty bosom, small neckline and upturned head. She pulled deeper into her stretch, arching her back and yawning at the same time. The simple movements wreaked havoc on Quentin’s senses as his mind was assaulted with images of thrusting into her from behind and the things that could be accomplished with her sweet little mouth.

With all the strength he could muster, Quentin pulled his eyes away from Phoebe to glance at Jordan who was now pretending to be interested in a few papers strung across his desk.

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