On Thin Ice by Eve Gaddy Page A

him, the faint whiff of his aftershave and more, the male scent of power and danger. What was wrong with her? Instead of finding ways to keep him in the dark, all she could think about was . . . sex.
    Don’t do it, she told herself. She couldn’t seriously be considering getting involved with Devlin Sinclair, could she? Not getting involved, she corrected herself. Just having wild sex with him.
    Taking a firm grip on her unruly imagination, she shook her head. Stupid idea. They worked together. The last thing she needed was an office affair, especially with her primary rival. She didn’t think she’d misinterpreted the signs, either. She could tell when a man wanted her. But she had a feeling that sex wasn’t the only item on Sinclair’s agenda. If only it were.
    For the five hundredth time, she remembered what kissing him had been like. If he’d thrown her into meltdown with a kiss, what would—?
    Forget about that, she ordered herself. Try for once to think logically about the situation. What did he expect to get out of this? Beyond the obvious, of course. He’d made his suspicions about her and Franco clear. Maybe he thought that if they slept together she’d confide in him—and that would give him the upper hand. Or it could all be typical male reaction to a challenge. He’d made a move—more than one—and she hadn’t immediately succumbed to his charms. The ultimate competitor, a good-looking male defense attorney. Her resistance to him had to rankle. Fortresses to be breached and all that.
    But what if the seducer became the seduced? If she could cloud his thinking, then she’d have the upper hand. Finding the thought marvelously appealing, she smiled wickedly.
    “Plotting something?” he asked her.
    Halting beside her car, she slanted him a mischievous look. “Do I look like I’m plotting?”
    He turned her to face him, holding her arms lightly. “You look—” he traced two fingers over her mouth “—tempting as hell.” His eyes had darkened. He gazed at her but made no move to kiss her. Yet.
    Devlin knew exactly what he did to women, Gabrielle mused. No man who looked like he did could be unaware of his power. He was a master of the game. The maestro of smooth moves. Had he ever let a woman get to him? She seriously doubted it, and she knew an ardent wish to give him back some of what he dished out.
    Could she? The challenge was irresistible. “You know what Oscar Wilde said,” she murmured, deliberately speaking in a husky whisper.
    Devlin drew her closer. Despite her best efforts, her heartbeat sped up. A sizzle of tension stretched its sultry tentacles between them.
    “No, what did he say?” he asked, his voice as husky as hers.
    She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a smoky challenge in her own. “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”
    He smiled, the slow, sexy smile she knew made women want to rip off their clothes for him. And dammit, it had the same effect on her. His eyes darkened to a charcoal-gray. Slowly, he lowered his head until his lips covered hers. Bent on rocking his boat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with an intensity intended to shoot him straight into hormonal overdrive.
    For a brief, shining instant she tasted victory in his surprised reaction. And then she couldn’t think at all. His arms tightened around her and his mouth grew firmer, his tongue answering the taunting movements of hers with bold thrusts of its own. His hands slid down to cup her bottom and pull her firmly against him. Dimly, she thought about stopping him, about pulling back, but her blood hummed, her heart pounded as if a freight train lived in her chest, her skin tingled. She ached as she hadn’t in years . . . if ever.
    He continued to kiss her, to explore her mouth with his tongue, to tantalize her with a nibble of her lips, a sharp nip, another deep, bone-melting kiss. All the while his hands roamed slowly, suggestively over her bottom.