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That didn’t stop her recognizing the smugness to his stance.
Look at him, standing like he fucking owns the place, like he knows all the answers. And what kind of arson investigator wears a suit to the scene of a fire? A suit and a white shirt, no less?
Any arson investigator worth his salt wore overalls and a hard hat on the job. Not a fucking suit that made him look as if he’d just stepped out of a Hugo Boss poster, or fresh from some luxury city office where there wasn’t a hint of charcoal or charred debris to be—
“…she doesn’t, Prime Minister. No.”
The breeze blew his telephone conversation with the leader of the country back to her.
She?
She doesn’t what?
Were they talking about her now?
Jess drove her nails—blunt from too many years of biting them—into her palms. God, and to think only a second ago she’d actually pondered the possibility of him being likeable? Was she letting her pussy run her brain now?
Stopping at the edge where the burnt-out rumble became blackened ground, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at his back.
The wind, in a playful mood, ruffled the hair at the back of her nape, blowing whatever words Desmond was uttering away from her.
She saw him straighten a little. Saw his shoulders square a little more than they already were. Noticed his head dip in the most miniscule nod. And then he lowered the phone from his ear and slid it into his hip pocket, the action pulling the fine material of his suit pants tighter to the impressively sculpted right cheek of his backside.
Her traitorous pussy constricted at the sight. The pit of her belly joined in the response, as did her nipples and her pulse this time.
Jess bit back a growl of disgust.
Fuck, at this rate, she’d have a fucking orgasm watching the guy even as she imagined telling him to climb back into the plane that brought him here and sod off.
Great. Fucking great.
“That’s the third time I’ve caught you staring at my arse, Captain Montgomery.”
She jerked her stare up to Desmond’s face, her cheeks flooding with warmth.
The corner of his mouth twitched as his hidden gaze met hers. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Her breath caught in her throat and she lowered her gaze, a thoroughly confusing wave of tight need and desire rushing through her.
Damn it, why the fuck was she getting so turned on by getting busted? That made no sense. Anyone would think she wanted to be seduced by him. Him in his suit and arrogant, dominating—
“Captain?”
When she looked up, he was standing before her. Right before her. So close she could see the tiny bristles darkening his exquisite jaw.
Her breath caught again, her stare locking on the dark lenses of his sunglasses. She saw herself reflected in their spotless surface. Saw her lips part. Saw something in her face she’d never seen before—vulnerability.
Desmond’s nostrils flared, setting off another liquid charge of need within her. Another potent bolt of desire to submit to his strength and force and control. She ducked her head, unable to comprehend both the turmoil going on inside her and the electricity singeing the air between them.
“Jessica?” His smooth voice flayed her confused arousal. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
Fresh heat speared into her very core, followed by shame and exasperated anger. “Yeah,” she snapped, spinning on her heel to storm away. “I am.”
Oh smooth. Real smooth.
Ignoring the mental jibe at her childish behavior, and the knotted tummy at her confusing sexual response to him, she stomped her way around to the other side of the homestead. This far away from the seat of the fire, half a brick wall remained standing, although it was seared to a black charcoal and surrounded by charred wood, broken glass and fire-and smoke-damaged furniture.
The blueprint plans of the Broken Downs homestead told Jess this side of the house was the bedroom wing. Five bedrooms in all, mostly all destroyed or damaged by the fire.
