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This time, he looked up and met dark green eyes somewhere between emerald and forest. His phone buzzed against his thigh, and he leaned on his arm, glancing at the photo on his screen, a very familiar nude pump with dangerous heels and not-so-familiar puppy teeth prints all along the vamp.
You forgot to close the dressing room door
He kept his face expressionless because if he laughed or even smiled, he was a dead man.
The meeting broke up, and he walked to his office while she chatted with Merchant about a case. He’d done little more than read a couple of emails when she appeared in his doorway, hair over one shoulder, a dark contrast to her ivory blouse.
One elegant brow arched. “You’re paying for those shoes.”
“I’ll get with Jane and have them replaced.” He couldn’t really argue — Fisher had been his idea. He leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze linger on her face. “Let me take you to lunch before you pick up the kid.”
That brow curved a tad higher. “Are we discussing work?”
He shook his head. “No.”
A smile curved her lips. “All right.”
Pushing to his feet, he shrugged into his suit jacket. Her gaze lingered on each movement, and he stilled. How damn long had it been since he’d witnessed that? He reached for his phone and tucked it in his inside pocket. A hint of color flagged her cheekbones, and a grin tugged at one corner of his mouth.
They were definitely getting somewhere.
Resting a finger at the small of her back, he ushered her toward the elevator. Through cool silk, her skin warmed his fingertip.
“You know we’re flouting the rules,” he murmured, for her ears only.
She flicked a questioning glance up at him, lashes shadowing her cheeks. “What rules?”
“We’re fraternizing.” At the elevator, he pressed the call button. He let his gaze dip over her — she’d hung on to five pounds or so of her pregnancy weight and the black slacks clung a little to her hips and thighs instead of skimming.
Hot as July in Georgia.
“We are not breaking any rules.” Her chin tilted. “You are not my supervisor.”
The doors swished open, and he flattened a hand track for her to precede him. She pushed the ground floor button. Stepping in behind her, he rested his shoulders against the wall. “We both know you like when I’m in charge.”
She slanted a glance at him, and he laughed softly, caught in a moment that felt like them. Lips pursed, she turned her gaze back to the digital display.
“I booked Danielle to sit for us Saturday.” He knew when to let the sexual flirtation lie. “And Tuesday night so I can take you to dinner.”
“Excellent.” She smoothed the edges of her hair. “I’ve enjoyed this week.”
“Me, too.” He straightened as the elevator drew to a stop with a subtle jerk. “Kinda wondering what we’ll be up to tonight.”
“The odds are that it’ll be one of your ideas.” She stepped into the lobby, heels clicking on the tile. “We still have three of yours.”
“Hey.” He fell into step beside her. “You had your chance to fill out all three slips.”
In the cafeteria, they grabbed their meals and snagged a table near the bank of windows. Settling in took a few moments, and he paused in the middle of layering potato chips on his sandwich, eyeing the way her hair gleamed in the sunlight.
He’d missed this.
“So I started Tom Anderson’s book on free climbing.” He replaced the top piece of bread and lifted the sandwich for a bite.
“Really? Finally?” Interest flared in her eyes. He’d had the book for months, along with the new Jon Krakauer and a John Ivey he’d missed, but he hadn’t made time for any of them. “What do you think?”
“That the whole idea is terrifying.” At the same time, he got it, the freedom and challenge of climbing without ropes. The logical part of him recognized the danger and near-stupidity of the sport. Yeah, sometimes he climbed without a harness in the gym, but on an actual rock? Hell, no.
Amusement curved her lips. “I meant the narrative, Calvert.”
