her mother—had given Samara the confidence and skill to walk in just about anything. And her legs looked positively fierce in the stiletto heels, if she didn’t say so herself.
Slicking her lips with red and finger-combing her hair, Samara donned her black Burberry trench coat, cinched the belt around her waist, then left the house humming Beyoncé’s “Naughty Girl.”
Marcus’s law firm was strategically located on the northeast end of Massachusetts Avenue—close enough to the city’s political presence and Capitol Hillers, but easily accessible to the historic H Street urban corridor with its disenfranchised residents. His practice specialized in civil litigation on behalf of plaintiffs in personal injury, wrongful death, medical malpractice, environmental and products liability, defamation and a number of other tort cases.
The firm occupied the entire tenth floor of a large glass office building. Samara boarded the elevator. As she watched each passing floor number light up, anticipation grew within her until it was a throbbing ache between her thighs. She was horny as hell, but Marcus Wolf was the only man on earth who could satisfy her hunger.
Just seeing his name prominently displayed on the double glass doors made her body tingle all over. THE LAW OFFICES OF MARCUS WOLF & ASSOCIATES.
Watch out, counselor. Court is now in session.
Samara pushed open the door and entered the large reception area. Although it was after hours, a solitary lamp glowed from a table in the far corner of the room. Behind the U-shaped reception desk, boxes containing manila folders and office supplies waited to be unpacked and filed. Lush landscapes and seascapes captured on canvas hung on the gallery-white walls, which looked freshly painted.
Stepping further into the office, Samara called out, “Marcus?”
After another moment of silence, he answered, “Come on back, Samara.”
Taking a deep breath, she started down the corridor. As she walked, her heels sank into a thick pile of Berber that absorbed her footfalls.
Marcus’s office was located at the end of the hallway, confirmed by the brass nameplate on the door that read MARCUS WOLF, J.D., ESQ., FOUNDER AND CEO.
The man himself was seated behind an enormous mahogany desk in a large office suite featuring mahogany-paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an impressive view of the downtown skyline, now shadowed in nightfall. More cardboard boxes were piled on the floor and on a round worktable in the middle of the room.
Marcus was on the phone with a client. When he glanced up and saw Samara standing in the doorway, he went very still. Her nipples grew erect as his dark eyes slowly raked over her, taking in her long bare legs and sexy stiletto heels. She could tell, by the way his lids grew hooded, that he liked what he saw.
She couldn’t wait to show him more.
“Thanks again for calling, Mr. Toussaint,” Marcus said into the phone. “I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”
Samara stepped into the office as he hung up the phone and slowly rose to his feet, never taking his eyes off hers. He’d shed his suit jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his gray pinstriped shirt were rolled to his elbows. He looked breathtakingly masculine, and sexy as all get out.
“You should know that the doors were unlocked,” she told him, toying with her belt strap. “If I’d been some deranged defendant who’d lost to you in court, you’d be in trouble right now, Mr. Wolf.”
His mouth twitched. “Is that right?” he murmured, rounding the desk to walk toward her. With each step that brought him closer, her heart drummed wildly in anticipation. When he’d reached her, he gazed down at her. “And what about you, Ms. Layton? Am I in any danger with you?”
Samara licked her lips into a sultry smile. “You tell me.” Without another word, she untied her trench coat and let it fall open to reveal her half-naked body.
Marcus’s eyes widened, and he swore softly under his
Slicking her lips with red and finger-combing her hair, Samara donned her black Burberry trench coat, cinched the belt around her waist, then left the house humming Beyoncé’s “Naughty Girl.”
Marcus’s law firm was strategically located on the northeast end of Massachusetts Avenue—close enough to the city’s political presence and Capitol Hillers, but easily accessible to the historic H Street urban corridor with its disenfranchised residents. His practice specialized in civil litigation on behalf of plaintiffs in personal injury, wrongful death, medical malpractice, environmental and products liability, defamation and a number of other tort cases.
The firm occupied the entire tenth floor of a large glass office building. Samara boarded the elevator. As she watched each passing floor number light up, anticipation grew within her until it was a throbbing ache between her thighs. She was horny as hell, but Marcus Wolf was the only man on earth who could satisfy her hunger.
Just seeing his name prominently displayed on the double glass doors made her body tingle all over. THE LAW OFFICES OF MARCUS WOLF & ASSOCIATES.
Watch out, counselor. Court is now in session.
Samara pushed open the door and entered the large reception area. Although it was after hours, a solitary lamp glowed from a table in the far corner of the room. Behind the U-shaped reception desk, boxes containing manila folders and office supplies waited to be unpacked and filed. Lush landscapes and seascapes captured on canvas hung on the gallery-white walls, which looked freshly painted.
Stepping further into the office, Samara called out, “Marcus?”
After another moment of silence, he answered, “Come on back, Samara.”
Taking a deep breath, she started down the corridor. As she walked, her heels sank into a thick pile of Berber that absorbed her footfalls.
Marcus’s office was located at the end of the hallway, confirmed by the brass nameplate on the door that read MARCUS WOLF, J.D., ESQ., FOUNDER AND CEO.
The man himself was seated behind an enormous mahogany desk in a large office suite featuring mahogany-paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an impressive view of the downtown skyline, now shadowed in nightfall. More cardboard boxes were piled on the floor and on a round worktable in the middle of the room.
Marcus was on the phone with a client. When he glanced up and saw Samara standing in the doorway, he went very still. Her nipples grew erect as his dark eyes slowly raked over her, taking in her long bare legs and sexy stiletto heels. She could tell, by the way his lids grew hooded, that he liked what he saw.
She couldn’t wait to show him more.
“Thanks again for calling, Mr. Toussaint,” Marcus said into the phone. “I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”
Samara stepped into the office as he hung up the phone and slowly rose to his feet, never taking his eyes off hers. He’d shed his suit jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his gray pinstriped shirt were rolled to his elbows. He looked breathtakingly masculine, and sexy as all get out.
“You should know that the doors were unlocked,” she told him, toying with her belt strap. “If I’d been some deranged defendant who’d lost to you in court, you’d be in trouble right now, Mr. Wolf.”
His mouth twitched. “Is that right?” he murmured, rounding the desk to walk toward her. With each step that brought him closer, her heart drummed wildly in anticipation. When he’d reached her, he gazed down at her. “And what about you, Ms. Layton? Am I in any danger with you?”
Samara licked her lips into a sultry smile. “You tell me.” Without another word, she untied her trench coat and let it fall open to reveal her half-naked body.
Marcus’s eyes widened, and he swore softly under his
Similar Books
