Chapter Two
For the first time in memory, Warrick Harper was uncomfortable in his own office. As prosecutor he’d faced lots of adversity and opposition, but today was different.
His unease wasn’t because he was afraid of Isabelle or anyone following her, but his own possible lack of restraint as it pertained to the recently hired night manager at the Old West Town’s new hotel venture. He knew exactly who she was, although they’d never officially met.
Warrick was deeply attracted to Isabelle, and he had been since the first time he’d merely seen her. They’d never even spoken until today. He’d kept his distance on purpose, knowing this woman was not the temporary kind, which was his regular sexual conduct of late. A recent discussion with Colton also confirmed this point of view. He hadn’t sought her out for the same reason.
However, the more he saw her around town, even in innocuous places, the more he wanted her. And the more he considered the ramifications of a short tryst—especially how it wouldn’t be a good idea—the more ardently he wanted her in his bed.
He’d been looking for an opportunity to at least talk to her. His only option was that perhaps she was also only looking for a temporary affair. Hugging up against her so intimately, with her wide eyes so intently focused on only him, he changed his mind. This was not a one-night-stand kind of woman, and it was very unlikely she sought only a short-term arrangement.
Although now that he had finally met her in person, what were his first words? Holy fuck what is wrong with you? Now that was the very definition of suave behavior. Way to make a good first impression. But he hadn’t realized the person he’d run into was Isabelle until he saw her hair, and after he’d already said something vulgar.
Her unforgettable honey-blonde locks lived in his fantasies. Her unusual amber eyes stared deeply into his soul, promptly widening in desire each time he penetrated her in his dreams.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
For being a dick? For having impure fantasies about you?
Warrick cleared his throat to keep from saying anything else inappropriate. He gestured to one of the leather side chairs positioned in front of his desk. He disliked being uncomfortable in his own domain. But he did like Isabelle. The delectable scent of her filled his lungs, even now imprinting lavender mixed with vanilla onto his very soul.
“Would you like something to drink? I have coffee and water in here.” He gestured to a side table across the room.
“No, thank you.” She sat down carefully. He seated himself in the chair right beside her, instead of getting behind his desk. He didn’t want there to be any more adversarial words between them. He could also stay within range of her delicious scent.
“Do you know who might have been following you?” he asked.
She shook her head, inhaling deeply as if to calm herself. “It was only a gut feeling. I probably spooked myself. Not too many people here in the courthouse at closing time, I guess. I let my imagination run away with my good sense.”
He shrugged. He didn’t keep abreast of the courthouse traffic on any given day. “Well, you’re safe here.” Unless you turn that rich amber gaze my way, then I might have to taste you.
Isabelle turned and tilted her head up, staring at him like he might be her next meal. Had she read his mind? Or was that the other way around. Was he reading her mind? Was she interested? Did she want to be tasted? His gaze dropped to her full rose-stained lips, and his cock twitched beneath his fly.
“Thank you again so much,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For making me feel safe.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Warrick resisted the urge to lean in, knowing he wanted to kiss her too desperately to get any closer.
The luscious scent of her—already memorized by his lungs—put wicked, lust-filled thoughts in his mind. Truthfully, Warrick wanted more than just a kiss.
Even in their short acquaintance he already wanted to lick her skin from forehead to toes. He wanted to possess her body and soul. He wanted to share her with his best friend, Colton Landry, in wanton ménage sex over and over again. He wanted to penetrate her deeply and listen to her scream in satisfaction at his hand, as he had in all of his recent dreams.
Then she leaned closer. The aroma of her sultry, wickedly scented perfume wafting in his personal space only made his cock stiffen faster.
As if one of his tamer fantasies suddenly came to life, Isabelle pushed her face forward until her lips brushed against his. Oh fuck, I am reading her mind.
The sensation of those soft, bee-stung lips touching his mouth like he’d dreamed of since he saw her, pushed all rational thought from his head. Her subtle moan—the moment their lips made contact—erased the carefully collected control he’d managed to wrangle temporarily.