Thaddeus Jones gulped when his paralegal sauntered into the office twenty minutes late. His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth and he’d swear every ounce of spit dried up. Where the hell did she get those shoes?

The black stiletto heels elevated her legs and shortened the calf muscles to their best advantage. He salivated, wanting to run his hands along the back of her well-toned legs.

Get a grip! This isn’t a restaurant, and she is definitely not on the menu.

She noticed him then. Had he been staring? She gave him that irritating finger-tipped wave of hers.
Rather than give her the satisfaction of seeing him slack-jawed and sweating, he gathered himself and strode over to her desk intending to find out why she’d been late.

“Ms. Sullivan—“ he began.

“Mr. Jones,” she smiled then turned her back on him. As she bent over to place the feedbag she called a purse beneath her desk, every thought in his head evaporated. The stiletto-heeled confection in front of him tempted him to within an inch of his ironclad control.

“I…”

She straightened and smiled, “Yes?”

The tease. His hands fisted at his sides to keep from reaching out and grabbing her by the hips and pulling her deliciously curvy bottom hard up against him.

Did she know what she did to him? Her smile said yes, but her manner said no. When he just stood there, she shrugged and sat down, powering up her computer and monitor for the day. By the time she’d accessed the company e-mail account, he was fully in control and irritated that he’d momentarily lost it.

“I’m waiting.”

She tilted her head to one side and finally asked, “For?”

Why did this one woman have the power to simultaneously excite then frustrate him? He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting at her, managing a clipped tone, “Your excuse?”

“Excuse?” She had the gall to feign innocence.

Deciding to play her game and use body language to his advantage, he perched on the edge of her workstation and crossed his arms. “Why were you late?”

An emotion he would have said was fear flashed in the depths of her exotic-shaped eyes. He’d seen the reaction countless times in the courtroom and was ready for her to lie to him.

She dipped her head down, fiddled with the mouse and finally looked back up at him. “I…um—“

“The truth.”

She blinked and a thin sheen of moisture filled her expressive eyes.

Damn! Was it her mother? All of the partners in the firm knew about Mrs. Sullivan.

“There was an accident on Route 287.”

Relief speared through him. She was obviously unhurt and therefore only delayed because of the accident. Her tardiness had nothing to do with her fragile comatose mother. He rose and stepped back. “Have you ever thought of leaving fifteen minutes earlier?”

She nodded and slowly smiled. “Every day.”

Flummoxed by her reply, he had to ask, “Has the thought ever morphed into action?”

Her smile faltered. “Not yet.”

“You might want to give it a try tomorrow. I need the Simpson brief and the interrogatories completed by five o’clock this afternoon, but expect another case to hit my inbox before then.”

Nodding that she understood, the thorn in his side got up and swept past him to the break room. A hint of something soft and subtle teased him. He inhaled and was swept back in time to summer and the beach. Baby Oil? Shaking his head, he watched her walk away.