Chapter 5
As they stepped out of the elevator Devlin took her arm, just as he had every other time they’d walked together. Again, Gabrielle wondered if it was his upbringing that prompted him or if it was merely an excuse to touch her.
Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the deserted garage.
Unable to resist, she glanced at him. His hair fell across his brow, a slash of gold in the gloom.
His profile presented the chiseled perfection of one of Michelangelo’s sculptures.
A masterpiece of living, breathing man, not marble.
Sleek, powerful, beautiful, a jaguar ready to pounce the minute he found out the truth about her and Franco.
Devlin was much too astute to chatter. No, he’d let her mull over what he’d said in the library, and if that wasn’t bad enough, his silence only intensified her awareness of his presence. Magnified the smell of him, the faint whiff of his aftershave and more, the male scent of power and danger.
What was wrong with her? Instead of finding ways to keep him in the dark, all she could think about was sex.
Don’t do it. She couldn’t seriously be considering getting involved with Devlin Sinclair, could she?
Not getting involved, she corrected herself. Just having wild sex with him.
Taking a firm grip on her unruly imagination, she shook her head.
Stupid idea. They worked together. The last thing she needed was an office affair, especially with her primary rival.
She didn’t think she’d misinterpreted the signs, either.
She could tell when a man wanted her. But she had a feeling that sex wasn’t the only item on Sinclair’s agenda. If only it were.
For the five hundredth time, she remembered what kissing him had been like. If he’d thrown her into meltdown with a kiss, what would more be like?
Forget about that. Try for once to think logically about the situation.
What did he expect to get out of this? Beyond the obvious, of course.
He’d made his suspicions about her and Franco clear.
Maybe he thought that if they slept together she’d confide in him—and that would give him the upper hand.
Or it could all be typical male reaction to a challenge.
He’d made a move—more than one—and she hadn’t immediately succumbed to his charms. The ultimate competitor, a good-looking male defense attorney.
Her resistance to him had to rankle. Fortresses to be breached and all that.
But what if the seducer became the seduced?
If she could cloud his thinking, then she’d have the upper hand.
Finding the thought marvelously appealing, she smiled wickedly.
“Plotting something?” he asked her.
Halting beside her car, she slanted him a mischievous look. “Do I look like I’m plotting?”
He turned her to face him, holding her arms lightly. “You look—” he traced two fingers over her mouth “—tempting as hell.” His eyes had darkened. He gazed at her but made no move to kiss her. Yet.
Devlin knew exactly what he did to women.
No man who looked like he did could be unaware of his power.
He was a master of the game. The maestro of smooth moves.
Had he ever let a woman get to him? She seriously doubted it, and she knew an ardent wish to give him back some of what he dished out.
Could she? The challenge was irresistible.
“You know what Oscar Wilde said,” she said, deliberately speaking in a husky whisper.
Devlin drew her closer. Despite her best efforts, her heartbeat sped up. A sizzle of tension stretched its sultry tentacles between them.
“No, what did he say?” he asked, his voice as husky as hers.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a smoky challenge in her own. “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”
He smiled, the slow, sexy smile she knew made women want to rip off their clothes for him.
And dammit, it had the same effect on her.
His eyes darkened to a charcoal-gray. Slowly, he lowered his head until his lips covered hers.
Bent on rocking his boat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with an intensity intended to shoot him straight into hormonal overdrive.
For a brief, shining instant she tasted victory in his surprised reaction.
And then she couldn’t think at all. His arms tightened around her and his mouth grew firmer, his tongue answering the taunting movements of hers with bold thrusts of its own.
His hands slid down to cup her bottom and pull her firmly against him.
Dimly, she thought about stopping him, about pulling back, but her blood hummed, her heart pounded as if a freight train lived in her chest, her skin tingled.
She ached as she hadn’t in years. If ever.
He continued to kiss her, to explore her mouth with his tongue, to tantalize her with a nibble of her lips, a sharp nip, another deep, bone-melting kiss.
All the while his hands roamed slowly, suggestively over her bottom.
Her mind chanted a distant warning but her body melted like a snow cone in the Texas sun.
Gabrielle groaned and gripped his shoulders, then slid her hands down to his chest. His muscles felt sleek and powerful.
Not at all like those of a lawyer who sat in a courtroom or read briefs all day long.
She wanted to touch him, touch bare, warm skin, feel its heat against her own.
Unconsciously, her fingers kneaded his chest and she angled her mouth to deepen the kiss.
Drowning, she started to go under for the third time.
His mouth still fused to hers, Devlin boosted her onto the hood of her car with a move so easy, so practiced, she knew he’d done it a thousand times before.
And she didn’t care. His hands covered her breasts.
Shaping them, molding them, caressing them.
Her nipples stiffened beneath his palms. She whimpered against his mouth, not realizing she’d done it until his mouth left hers, and she moaned again when she felt his teeth nip at her neck.
Leaning her back, his body heavy on hers, he trailed his lips down her throat, pressed a hot, wet kiss into the hollow at its base, then skimmed the skin of her chest just above the cleavage.
His hand slipped under her skirt and between her thighs, smoothing over the soft skin below her panties, gliding closer to the source of her heat, closer to the sweet ache of longing.
In the dim mist of her mind she heard a noise, an annoying, distant clanging.
Opening her eyes slowly, she gazed into dark gray eyes, fathoms deep with desire.
Her gaze lifted, and she looked upward, confused by the harsh, glaring light, the steel beams, the hard feel of metal beneath her back.
Again she heard the clanging sound and finally placed it. A car running over something.
Sanity returned, as harsh and cold as the lights. What in the devil was she doing? This wasn’t her plan at all. She was supposed to be in charge here. Yet she was lying on the hood of her car in the garage parking lot, for God’s sake. Moments away from being thoroughly debauched.
“Stop,” she said, panting. “Devlin, wait. We can’t—” He cut her off with a kiss, his lips hard against hers. Helpless for the moment, she responded, but then, grasping at what little will she had left, she wrenched her mouth away from his. “Don’t. We have to stop.”
Devlin stared at her, his hand still beneath her skirt, for a moment looking as dazed as she felt. But she didn’t believe he could be. He was too calm, too composed. Too damned experienced to be rocked as she had been. Already the look had faded from his eyes.
“All right.” Very slowly, he dragged his hand down her thigh, leaving her aware of each agonizing, taunting inch of his journey, and placed a hand on either side of her hips. His voice was seductive, as deep and dark as the devil. “Come to my place.”
She shoved him away and bounded off the car before she could do anything else stupid. Like agree. “No.” Striving for composure, she pushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ears. In a firmer voice she repeated the word. “No.”
His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. His expression hardened. The line of his jaw tightened, as did his lips. Her heart began to thud again, from fear this time. Made uneasy by his continued silence, by the way he looked at her, she said,
“Just because I let you kiss me doesn’t mean?—”
His harsh laughter interrupted her. “Let me? Sweetheart, you melted into a hot puddle of honey. You were as much a participant in what just happened as I was.” He took a step forward. Gabrielle took two steps back.
His expression changed from angry to thunderstruck.
“What’s the matter with you? Do you think I’m going to attack you?”
“I-I—” She stammered and fell silent, shaking her head. Oh God, this was getting worse by the second. Why did she always do idiotic things around him?
“You do. My God, you really think I would.” He stepped close to her, crowding her, overpowering her with his presence. His scent surrounded her, heady, masculine, potent. A throb of fury trembled in the air.
Her temper flared at his words. “Don’t act so sanctimonious. Men do this sort of thing all the time. I ought to know, I’ve defended several of them. You’re staring at me, looking like murder. What am I supposed to think?”
If anything, he appeared even angrier. But she felt a brief surge of . . . shame? Why should she be ashamed of a perfectly reasonable reaction?
Sarcasm laced his voice. “You can relax, sweetheart. I think I can manage to restrain myself.” He took a step nearer, almost but not quite touching her, his lips curving into a hard smile when she didn’t back away.
“I don’t have to force women. They come to my bed willingly, or not at all.
Don’t confuse me with your clients.” With that, he turned on his heel and left her.