Janelle Denison: Wilde Thing

Despite that, a semblance of a smile touched her lips. "I guess I should thank you for your time and advice and be on my way."

An odd sense of panic clenched his belly, one he couldn't fully define, but before she could clear the front of his desk, he blurted, "Wait."

She stopped and turned back to face him, her expression both startled and curious. "Yes?"

He scrubbed a hand along his tense jaw and knew there was no stopping what he was about to offer. "Tell you what, I'll take on the case for a thousand bucks." Though he hated even taking that much from her, since she was obviously financially strapped despite the success of her coffee shop-a fact he found unusual and interesting.

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, and damned if he didn't detect a hint of vulnerability beneath all that bravado. "Why would you do that for me?" she asked, her tone cautious and wondering.

Why, indeed. A variety of reasons popped into his head, mainly that he wasn't about to let her traipse into The Ultimate Fantasy on her own without any outside connections to keep tabs on her. If something happened to her, he'd never forgive himself, especially since he knew the details of the case. She needed guidance and more advice, and he wanted to be the guy to dole out both.

He spread his hands out in front of him, striving for a casualness he didn't completely feel. "Let's just say I have some extra time on my hands these days."

A bald-faced lie that she obviously didn't believe, either, judging by the skepticism that etched her classical features. But she didn't argue with him-that was how strong her desperation was to find her cousin.

"All right, if you're sure about that, consider it a deal." She exhaled a relieved breath and headed over to her purse and withdrew her checkbook. "And I'll sign my paychecks from The Ultimate Fantasy over to you, as well. That should help compensate some of your expenses."

"Don't worry about my expenses." He'd eat the rest himself, every last cent over a grand. "A thousand flat fee is fine."

Her lips thinned into a determined line. "I don't want to take advantage of you or your services, and I don't like being indebted to anyone. Signing my paychecks over to you is part of our deal."

He handed her the application to take, fill out, and return to him, impressed with her tenacity. "If it makes you feel better, then fine."

"It does, and I insist." She took the paper, then continued writing out the check. When she was done, she handed him the payment voucher.

He took their agreed-upon fee, folded it in half, and put it into his top drawer, to hand over to Beverly to deposit later. He glanced back at Liz and watched as her tongue darted out and dampened her bottom lip in a gesture that made him think of that sweet mouth and soft tongue of hers stroking elsewhere… lapping at his taut, heated skin, sliding along male erogenous zones, and swirling along the length of his rigid cock.

Oh, yeah, especially that.

The sexual tension between them was strong and undeniable, triggering a hunger in him that settled in his lap in the form of a killer hard-on.

If they were going to be working side by side, she deserved to know exactly how he felt about her, and just how much she tempted him. "I have to warn you, I don't know how the hell I'm going to keep my hands off you," he said.

Liz's chest tightened at Steve's unabashed statement, and an internal kind of heat rippled through her. Her pulse kicked into high gear, and she managed, just barely, to remain outwardly composed.

But she couldn't deny that his blatant interest aroused her. As did the casual way he sat in his chair and held her gaze, so confident and one hundred percent male. A dark-haired, blue-eyed rogue who had no qualms about hesitating to go after what he wanted.

At the moment, she was the object of his desires.

And he'd been hers for weeks.

She knew a challenge when she heard one, and she displayed an ample amount of daring to match his. "Who says I want you to keep your hands off me?"

A dark brow rose over one of those disarming, see-everything eyes of his. He looked both taken off guard at her brazen response and pleased at her temerity. "Nice to know the sentiment is reciprocated, especially since I've wanted you since the first time I walked into The Daily Grind for a drink and you asked me what my pleasure was," he said, stunning her with his confession. "It's that ring on your finger that's kept me from pursuing you sooner, but now that I know you're single and our interest in one another is mutual, maybe it's time we found out what my pleasures really are."

She pressed a hand to the fluttering in her stomach. She couldn't believe where this conversation was heading. Couldn't believe what he was suggesting. Letting this irresistible fantasy man of hers become reality in the purest sense awakened her baser feminine needs and beckoned to the wanton woman within her, who was drawn to that intoxicating blend of bad-boy eroticism and adventure he exuded.

When she remained quiet, he went on. "As much as I want you, I suppose it's only fair to let you know that I've been married before and I'm not looking for anything long-term or complicated-just in case that matters."

She offered him a wry smile, appreciating his honesty, even while her mind absorbed the enormity of what he was proposing. "Well, we definitely have that in common."

He tipped his head and regarded her speculatively. "You're divorced?"

"Widowed, actually, though the marriage should have ended in divorce," she said, revealing more than she'd intended. She highly doubted that sharing details of their private lives was part of any deal between them.

"Yet you're still wearing your wedding ring?" His curious gaze dropped to the ring on her left hand, silently asking for an explanation.

She twirled the gold band around her finger, for the first time ever feeling self-conscious for wearing it for the sole purpose of avoiding men's advances. "The ring isn't mine. It was my mother's, and my aunt saved it for me after my parents died, then gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday. I wear it because I'm not looking for anything complicated right now, either."

He rocked back in his chair and rubbed his thumb along his jaw in an absent caress, studying her from across the expanse of space separating them. Then, abruptly he asked, "Are you afraid of me?"

Odd question, she thought. "Should I be?"

"Depends on the situation and circumstances," he said, giving her the distinct impression that he was testing her, though she had no idea why. "Yes or no?"

Her heart beat hard in her chest, the thrill of the forbidden heightening her anticipation. "No, I'm not afraid of you."

Sliding back his chair from his desk, he crooked his finger at her, his striking blue eyes smoldering with a heady, come-hither invitation that made her insides turn to jelly. "Then come here, sit on my lap, and prove it."

Liz was coming to realize that Steve Wilde was a take-no-prisoners kind of guy, especially when it came to seducing women. Her, to be exact.

He sat casually in his office chair, so utterly male, so intensely sexual without trying to be, while waiting for her to obey his command. The arrogance in his gaze was entirely un-apologetic, as if he had every right to be confident. As if he knew she found his calm self-assurance not only a challenge but a huge turn-on as well.

He was right.

She could only imagine what he had in mind for her, but she was ready for anything. Anticipation swirled low in her belly, and unable to resist his allure, she moved across the space separating them and settled herself across his lap. His thighs were firm and muscular beneath her bottom, and the denim material of his jeans scratched the backs of her bare legs in an arousing way.