happy.
I was pouring another cup of coffee for myself when Blane emerged from the bedroom, shrugging on his suit jacket.
“How do I look?” he teased, stepping into my personal space.
Amazing, that’s how he looked. He wore a black single-breasted soft wool suit, a crisp white shirt, and a sharp-looking silver-gray silk tie in a black paisley print. His dark-blond hair was still slightly damp from his shower, and I caught a whiff of his cologne mixed with the scent of his aftershave.
I made a small noise of appreciation, then reached up to twine my arms around his neck, standing on my toes to kiss him. Blane tasted of mint, and the feel of his freshly shaven skin was like an aphrodisiac. I loved him like this. He looked powerful, gorgeous, and masculine. A dangerous man under the cool veneer of civility. I couldn’t get enough.
While I may have entertained the thought that I was in control of our kiss, he quickly disabused me of the notion, and soon I was gasping for air, my pulse racing.
“You make me not care that I’m going to be late,” Blane muttered against the skin of my neck. His hands had moved to cup my rear, holding me against his body. I could feel the effects of our impromptu make-out session pressing hard against my abdomen.
Reluctantly, I stepped out of his grasp. His eyes glittered with a predatory light, and I shivered.
“Save it for later, counselor,” I said breathlessly, yearning to rip his clothes off and have my wicked way with him.
“Promise?” he teased.
“Absolutely.” I’d be counting the hours.
He glanced at his watch, frowning. “We have a new lawyer starting today,” he said, putting his cell phone and wallet in his pockets.
“Really?” I asked, only sort of interested. While Derrick Trent and Blane were the partners, they also employed about a dozen other lawyers in the firm. I’d once rarely interacted with them, but lately a few had asked me to do some investigating for them.
“Yes. They’ll be helping me with this case.”
Blane dug out a hard case from his luggage, unlocking it to reveal the gun he always carried. Indiana was a conceal state and Blane had a license to carry. I thought he was never fully comfortable until his Glock was wedged comfortably in the holster he wore at his hip.
The Matt Summers case was what Blane meant. I bit my tongue against what I wanted to say. Our argument hadn’t really been resolved, just postponed. I didn’t want to end our time together on a negative note, so I remained silent.
“Dinner tonight?” Blane asked, grabbing his coat, briefcase, and keys.
I nodded. “Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll call you later.” One more quick kiss and he was out the door.
He jogged down the stairs to his black Range Rover—the Jaguar remained in the garage for the winter months. He drove out of the lot before I closed the door on the frigid February morning air.
I had to get moving or I’d be late, too. Dumping my coffee into my travel mug, I fed Tigger, grabbed my coat and purse, and headed to work.
The law firm of Kirk and Trent wasn’t in downtown Indy proper, but nestled in a suburb on the north side of the city. It was about thirty minutes from my apartment, if you counted traffic, but I didn’t mind the drive. Since I now drove a company-owned Lexus SUV, I enjoyed the time spent commuting. Kade had gotten it for me after my car had been blown up—nearly with me inside.
I was humming softly to myself as I walked into the firm. Although the argument with Blane and my qualms about his case still lingered, I thought we’d taken a huge step in our relationship last night. And this morning, when I’d told him I wanted a family and kids, he hadn’t run for the hills like so many men would have.
Putting my purse in the drawer of my desk and shedding my coat, I thought with a snort of what Kade’s reaction would have been if I’d said the same thing to him.
Kade.
Oh no. I’d completely forgotten to remind Blane to call him
I was pouring another cup of coffee for myself when Blane emerged from the bedroom, shrugging on his suit jacket.
“How do I look?” he teased, stepping into my personal space.
Amazing, that’s how he looked. He wore a black single-breasted soft wool suit, a crisp white shirt, and a sharp-looking silver-gray silk tie in a black paisley print. His dark-blond hair was still slightly damp from his shower, and I caught a whiff of his cologne mixed with the scent of his aftershave.
I made a small noise of appreciation, then reached up to twine my arms around his neck, standing on my toes to kiss him. Blane tasted of mint, and the feel of his freshly shaven skin was like an aphrodisiac. I loved him like this. He looked powerful, gorgeous, and masculine. A dangerous man under the cool veneer of civility. I couldn’t get enough.
While I may have entertained the thought that I was in control of our kiss, he quickly disabused me of the notion, and soon I was gasping for air, my pulse racing.
“You make me not care that I’m going to be late,” Blane muttered against the skin of my neck. His hands had moved to cup my rear, holding me against his body. I could feel the effects of our impromptu make-out session pressing hard against my abdomen.
Reluctantly, I stepped out of his grasp. His eyes glittered with a predatory light, and I shivered.
“Save it for later, counselor,” I said breathlessly, yearning to rip his clothes off and have my wicked way with him.
“Promise?” he teased.
“Absolutely.” I’d be counting the hours.
He glanced at his watch, frowning. “We have a new lawyer starting today,” he said, putting his cell phone and wallet in his pockets.
“Really?” I asked, only sort of interested. While Derrick Trent and Blane were the partners, they also employed about a dozen other lawyers in the firm. I’d once rarely interacted with them, but lately a few had asked me to do some investigating for them.
“Yes. They’ll be helping me with this case.”
Blane dug out a hard case from his luggage, unlocking it to reveal the gun he always carried. Indiana was a conceal state and Blane had a license to carry. I thought he was never fully comfortable until his Glock was wedged comfortably in the holster he wore at his hip.
The Matt Summers case was what Blane meant. I bit my tongue against what I wanted to say. Our argument hadn’t really been resolved, just postponed. I didn’t want to end our time together on a negative note, so I remained silent.
“Dinner tonight?” Blane asked, grabbing his coat, briefcase, and keys.
I nodded. “Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll call you later.” One more quick kiss and he was out the door.
He jogged down the stairs to his black Range Rover—the Jaguar remained in the garage for the winter months. He drove out of the lot before I closed the door on the frigid February morning air.
I had to get moving or I’d be late, too. Dumping my coffee into my travel mug, I fed Tigger, grabbed my coat and purse, and headed to work.
The law firm of Kirk and Trent wasn’t in downtown Indy proper, but nestled in a suburb on the north side of the city. It was about thirty minutes from my apartment, if you counted traffic, but I didn’t mind the drive. Since I now drove a company-owned Lexus SUV, I enjoyed the time spent commuting. Kade had gotten it for me after my car had been blown up—nearly with me inside.
I was humming softly to myself as I walked into the firm. Although the argument with Blane and my qualms about his case still lingered, I thought we’d taken a huge step in our relationship last night. And this morning, when I’d told him I wanted a family and kids, he hadn’t run for the hills like so many men would have.
Putting my purse in the drawer of my desk and shedding my coat, I thought with a snort of what Kade’s reaction would have been if I’d said the same thing to him.
Kade.
Oh no. I’d completely forgotten to remind Blane to call him
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