Storming His Heart by Marie Harte

only convince his body of the same. He inwardly cursed his growing erection and escorted her to the elevator. Allowing himself to feel anything deeper for a Buchanan was less than smart and more than dangerous.
     
    “Rafe.” Storm tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help it. Damn, he looked just as sexy today as he had Saturday. She tried not to flinch at the jolt to her system when he placed his large hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the elevator. They stepped inside and he deliberately stared down at her from his formidable height.
    Trying to intimidate her, maybe? “Something the matter?” she asked in a haughty tone, sure to set his teeth on edge.
    Instead, he smiled. “You look beautiful, as always.” His gaze traveled down her body with thorough scrutiny. “I wouldn’t know you had a bruise on your leg the size of my hand if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
    Or touched with your own hands. She counted to five before she spoke, scared she’d sound as breathless as she felt. “That bruise is why I’m here. I wanted to know—”
    “Here we are,” he interrupted when they reached his floor.
    He guided her into the hallway and down the corridor, past the curious gazes of several Westlake employees. Storm gathered they didn’t often entertain clients on this level. They entered an office at the end of the hall. He shut the door behind them and stood with his back against it.
    A glance around the room showed her he kept his office very neat, as opposed to her own happy mess. The guy even had a tidy trashcan. She had a hoop fashioned on the wall above hers. A random assortment of balled up paper often littered her floor.
    She moved around his office, looking hopefully on his desk for a word or two that might clue her into anything Westlake currently worked.
    “Sorry to disappoint you, but I cleaned up when I heard you were in the area.” Rafe crossed his arms over his chest and watched her through hooded eyes.
    “Gee, so thoughtful.” Knowing she wouldn’t learn anything he didn’t want her to know, she sat down on a leather sofa that looked as if it had been used often. She could envision Rafe sleeping on it while working a tough case. Dedication ran strong in all of Westlake’s agents. Even the crazy ones , she thought with a frown.
    She propped her feet on his table, amused when he scowled.
    “By all means, make yourself at home,” he muttered.
    “Let’s get right down to it, Rafe. Or would you prefer I call you Savage?” She didn’t think his last name suited him very well. Rafe had a controlled presence at odds with the name Savage. Even when he’d had her tied up in Miles’s study, when he’d seduced her in her own bedroom, he’d been the epitome of control.
    His lips twitched. “I imagine Rafe is one of the nicer names you’ve called me. Let’s stick with that.” He sat down next to her, his sexuality almost palpable. A couch, blinds over the windows, Rafe so close…
    She cleared her throat and sat up. “I did some digging of my own today. I couldn’t find anything on the car that hit me and have nowhere else to go with the incident. There was no mention of it in any newspaper, and unless you were behind the wheel, you couldn’t possibly know what happened to me.”
    “Your point?”
    She smiled sweetly at him. “Like all the freaky agents in your bumbling, bureaucratic firm, you’re psychic. So if you weren’t there and you didn’t read about this, you either have someone watching me—which I don’t believe because my brothers and I would have seen an agent by now—or you had a premonition.”
    “Clever.” His eyes blazed. With anger or arousal? “I had a vision of the accident. Speaking of which, you never did tell me what you know about Hank. Have you checked him out? Maybe he set you up?”
    “Hank? No way. We were out on a date. Plowing into a woman with a car is no way to get into her bedroom. Besides, Hank’s my neighbor. And I