Colby Control

Reluctance miring his step, he entered enemy territory—her room.

The whir of a zipper jerked his gaze upward—just in time to see the black dress slide down the gentle curves of her body and puddle around the matching black stilettos, which she promptly kicked off.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she called over her shoulder.

Wearing only a lacy black bra and perfectly coordinated thong, she disappeared into the adjoining bedroom.

Sweat beaded on his upper lip. So she was going to play it that way, was she? His unexpected preoccupation with her feminine assets had given her a whiff of weakness in the competition.

Not going to work. He was only human and certainly not blind. Looking at what she flaunted wasn’t a weakness. To the contrary, it was a natural instinct. His being male would not override his professional sense.

He had his orders. She would learn to play by the Colby rules or she would be out the door.

That would make his professional life far less stressful and annoying. Back to normal, to the way things were before the merger.

Then why did he feel as if a rock had just settled in his gut?

No. No. No. He absolutely refused to admit, even to himself, that the woman was growing on him in any capacity whatsoever.

“Ready?”

Ted blinked. The slinky black dress was gone. As were the pointy stilettos. But the new outfit was every bit as disturbing on a purely primal level.

Black formfitting slacks with a matching black scoop-necked silk blouse that molded to her breasts as if she wore nothing at all. Could a person actually wear anything under something that tight?

“You ready or what?” she demanded when he didn’t immediately react.

It took two seconds too long for his tongue to catch up with his brain. “Yes.”

He opened the door, wondering where the heck she’d managed to stuff her cell phone.

As she sashayed past him and into the corridor, he got an answer to the question. The sandals she sported weren’t stilettos, but the chunky heels were sky-high. Leather straps and silver chains wrapped around her ankles. Clipped to a strap on the inside of her left ankle was the black slimline cell phone.

Chances were anyone—males in particular—who caught sight of her wouldn’t be looking at her feet. Not by a long shot. Ted mentally kicked himself for staring at her swaying backside.

This was going to be harder than he’d imagined.

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