Affair of Pleasure

The lawyer shrugged and gave her a helpless look. “You could always pretend to be married.”

“No,” Wolfe said immediately, an indecipherable emotion flashing across his face too fast for her to see it. “That’s unacceptable. As fun as it would be pretending to be Nichelle’s man for a week, absolutely not.” His jaw tightened, and a muscle ticked just under the skin. “I’m not going to jump through some ridiculous hoops just for a little money.”

A hint of hot chocolate marred the firm curve of his lower lip. The wet smear caught Nichelle’s eyes, making her want to stroke it away with her thumb. Or her tongue. She tore her glance away and pulled her mush brain back to the conversation.

“A little money?” Nichelle quirked a brow at Wolfe.

“Okay, a lot of money.” He flashed her an annoyed look and a smile at once.

Their eyes met and held. A fluttering awareness took wing in Nichelle’s belly.

She licked her lips. This was getting a little ridiculous. Damned near every time she looked at Wolfe now, she was ambushed by the feelings that had taken her over in the French hotel room. “Clint, could you give us a few minutes?”

“Take as long as you like. I have another meeting in about an hour.” He left and took his tablet with him.

The door barely closed behind him before Nichelle turned to Wolfe. “I want this to happen.”

“Easy, tiger.” His smile was warm and teasing, but there was a hint of seriousness there. It was obvious he wanted her to really consider what she was going after.

“I have,” she said, as if he’d spoken those words out loud.

Nichelle was competitive to a fault. She knew that and most days tried to channel it for good versus evil. This was for good. For both hers and his.

She leaned into him, a hand on his thigh. “Just say yes to this fake marriage, Wolfe. I can make Quraishi come to us. Kingston Consulting needs this. You know we do.” She felt the big thigh muscle jump under her palm, and her thoughts derailed.

Damn.

Wolfe didn’t speak. Early afternoon light tumbled through the wide windows to fall over his shaved head and the goatee framing the lush and slightly pink firmness of his mouth. In one breathless moment, Nichelle was pulled back to that hotel room in Paris. The Eiffel Tower peeking over his bare shoulder, the low hum of the air conditioner beneath the heavy thud of her pulse as she watched him and realized how easy it would be to cross the room and touch him. Then taste and allow herself to be tasted in turn. She pulled her hand from his thigh.

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