Off Limits (4 page)

A
t 4
:15pm, I start to shuffle together the files I’ve prepared. After a long morning of answering handover questions for Rich about the Daniels’ case, I’ve spent the entire afternoon frantically catching up on everything I need to know about Suzie’s. I think I have a pretty good handle on the thing, but it remains to be seen how this whole working with a partner thing is going to go.

Especially a partner like Max Davis.

By 4:20, I’m ready for the meeting. At 4:25, I shove my office door open, a subtle hint.

By 4:30, I’m rolling my nails across my desktop in annoyance.
Really?

Mr. Slacker breezes in at 4:31pm with a broad smile on his face. Which is, really, unreasonably chiseled. Who has a jawline that solid, or cheekbones that high? His two-day stubble looks more like shadow painted on to accentuate just how sharply his bones cut across his face. And are those
glasses
? Sweet mother of all that’s holy, talk about panty-melting. “Got held up in a prior.” He kicks the door shut behind him, and even though I set out a chair on the opposite side of my desk for him, he drags it around to sit right beside me instead. “So, you all caught up now?”

My jaw clenches, and it takes every ounce of resistance I have not to let anything else visible clench, too.
Caught up
? Like I’m the one who’s running behind. “What was it you were telling me about your preparation, before?” I mutter, with a glance at the clock over my office door.

“Well, maybe if I had a larger window to aim for, I’d be on time.” He stretches his arms out behind his back lazily.

Ugh. We don’t have time for this. Ignore him and get straight to business, Chloe. “So, the main problem I see is that Suzie never officially registered ‘rub it in.’ She has some protection under the unregistered trademark regulations, but we’ll have to prove that she used it first and regularly, and that this company’s use of it is confusingly similar to hers.”

“Have you looked at their video yet?” He pulls out a tablet and taps on the screen, flooding it with a full-screen view of a lycra-clad woman on what appears to be a chair stuck on top of a ball vacuum, to my untrained eye.

I resist the urge to sigh. He’s right; we should view this together, and pick it apart while we can. “Go for it.”

He taps play, and we lean in over my desk to watch. His shoulder brushes mine for a second, before I readjust in my seat.
Don’t touch him, he’s probably contagious
.

He does smell amazing, though. Some kind of deep, forest-like scent, and beneath that, something that’s all him, savory and masculine. I try to breathe in a little deeper without letting on.

The video starts with the woman on the chair gyrating her hips in a slow grind. The chair rotates beneath her, not just in a circle, but up and down, side-to-side, like she’s rolling across the top of an exercise ball, but in a seat.

“Looking to flatten your stomach, define your abs and tighten your rear? Well, your ass isn’t going to tone itself just from sitting on it!”

“That’s Suzie’s saying too,” I murmur, and ignore the sideways, startled
How did you know that
glance from Max.

Let’s pretend I’m not
that
familiar with Suzie Steel’s workout videos, shall we?

On the screen, the camera spins around the model so we can watch her tiny butt rotate that chair from every angle.

“Our all new patented technology lets you perfect your problem areas, ladies.”
The voiceover woman really does sound like Suzie. Complete with overly peppy intonations and her gruff, low voice, a strange yet oddly effective combo for making me stick with my shabby workout routine.
“Just take a seat, crank the resistance setting up as high as you want—”
There’s a brief pause as the model elaborately mimes turning a dial on the side of the chair—
“Then rub it out.”

Cheesy music floats through the background as the girl on-screen mimes gritting her teeth and grinding her ass even harder around the chair. Not going to lie, it looks like she’s having the most painful orgasm of her life. I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from cracking up.

One sideways glance at Max tells me he’s having the same problem—and he’s even worse at disguising it. He’s just straight up silent-laughing, his shoulders shaking as he watches the video roll on.

“Say it with me ladies—Rub it out!”
A whole chorus of scantily-dressed girls in Rotator chairs repeat the slogan this time, beaming despite the fact that they’re supposed to be getting the tough workout of their lives.

The video cuts to sales and ordering information—
“Just ten easy payments of $9.99 when you call now!”
—and I trade bemused looks with Max.

“Just when you thought that phrase couldn’t sound any dirtier,” he says with a smirk, “they get a whole chorus line to recite it.”

“Plus they’re trying to market this to women, right? You’d think they’d have a bunch of guys half-naked on the video instead.”

His dark green eyes latch onto mine, suddenly intense. But after a moment, all he comes out with is, “So the ice queen has a type after all,” and an infuriating smirk.

I roll my eyes. “Oh yes, meatheads really do it for me.”

“No? Well, figures you’d be more into the intellectual types.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I mutter, even though he’s right.

“Nothing. Just that you probably prefer your hookups have a strong muscle between their ears, too. Which I can respect.”

“Why? It rules you out.” I side-eye him.

He smirks. “You know, I’m not who you think I am, Chloe.”

“So you’re not the toned, skimpily dressed swimsuit model type?” I reply, jerking my thumb toward the screen, where the video has begun to automatically replay, the girls’ chests bouncing as they run through their rotating chair workout routine.

“I didn’t say
that
. Just that I prefer an intelligent, toned, skimpily dressed swimsuit model type.” He winks.

“You claim you aren’t who I think you are, and yet
that’s
your type?”

“I have a lot of types.”

“What’s your favorite, then?”
Shit,
I immediately think, the moment the words are out of my mouth.
Why did I just ask him that?

He pauses for a moment, humming softly as though he’s pondering the question. “Bitchy,” he finally says, and my whole face floods with heat.

I narrow my eyes. “Are you calling me a bitch?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize my mistake, and I wish I could clap them right back in.

He leans a little closer to me—and we were already too close as it was—bending over his small tablet screen. I can feel his breath ghost across my cheek. At this distance, I can count his eyelashes, smell mint on his breath, notice small pinpricks of blue mixed into the mostly green of his eyes.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

Why have I forgotten to breathe?

He’s not saying anything, just holding my gaze, staring deep into my eyes, and I have the sudden, overpowering urge to lick my lips. Just another couple of inches between us would close this gap, and then . . .

“Who says you’re my type?” he says, his voice low and conspiratorial. Then he winks again.

And of course, to make matters worse, my face feels like it could start a small forest fire now. Ugh. Damn him.

Two can play at that game.
I twist in my seat, arcing my back just a little, in a posture that I know sets off my curves to perfection, not to mention makes my shirt gap just a little, enough to show a hint of cleavage near the top. Then I arch a brow at him over the thick frame of my glasses. “Really? So yesterday when you were stealing glances at my ass, that was just, what, an accident?”

The moment I say it, his eyes drop down along my body, like a command. I resist a little shiver of power, knowing that whatever he might claim, he’s clearly having trouble keeping his eyes off of me. “You might not be my type, but you can’t blame me for being a red-blooded male, Chloe.”

Just the sound of my name on his lips sets off a flare in my chest. Anger, yes, but also desire. Fucking hell, I want him. What is
wrong
with me? “Sure I can,” I respond. “Watch me, Max.”

“Oh so you do know my name. I’d been wondering,
Miss
MacIntyre .”

I push my chair back to stand and pace across the room, on the pretense of going for another file. Really, I just need space away from him.

What the hell was that reaction? What the hell did my body want me to do,
kiss
this bastard? I’d probably contract syphilis. With my back still to him, I say, “We’re going to have to work together on this. Which means we’re going to have to at least try to be civil with one another.”

“Who’s being uncivil? We’ve established that neither of us are each other’s types, that’s good. We wouldn’t want any . . . unresolved
tension
while we’re working this case, would we?”

Just the way he says it is a challenge. He’s daring me to admit I feel something. Daring me to call him out for feeling it too.

When I turn around again, he has a killer smile on, which shows off his perfectly white teeth. One of his eyeteeth, I notice, is a little crooked, snagging across his canine by a few centimeters. Somehow, it just makes the whole smile sexier, because of that one tiny flaw.

Double ugh.

The only thing I can do is shut him down. “Great. Glad we’ve established that we’ll be polite.” My eyes dart to the clock over his head. 4:42pm. Shit. I’m late for my next meeting already. “That said, since
someone
was late to our already tight meeting today, I’ve got to head out already.”

“What’s that, fifteen minutes have flown past already?” He raises a single sardonic brow. “I guess next time we’ll need to pencil in more time.”

Which was what he was complaining to me about yesterday. Which probably means he was late on purpose just to point out to me how inadequate 15 minutes was. “You know, 15 minutes can be plenty of time when you stay on task,” I reply evenly. “I know it’s probably not a concept you’re familiar with.”

“I can do a lot in fifteen minutes, Chloe, believe me.”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe next time we can talk about the case instead of spending the whole time engaging in provocative banter.”

“That wasn’t provocative.” His grin sharpens. “You’ll know when I’m really provoking you.”

I swallow hard. The way he’s staring at me right now, like he could eat me alive, is setting flames off in parts of my body I’d forgotten existed. I want to slap him, or kiss him. Or both. It takes every ounce of effort I have to draw my professional self to the fore, and crush my stupid sex drive. “What part of I need to leave for another meeting now did you not hear?”

“The part where you aren’t actually leaving.” He gestures at me, still calm and collected, leaning casually against my desk.

I could scream. Instead, I grab my folder from my desk, and lean across to snatch up my Blackberry. He makes no secret of the fact that, as I lean over the desk, his eyes graze my body, traveling straight down the loose silk shirt I’m wearing.

Definitely leaning toward slapping him. But dammit, it feels good to have him stare at me. To know that I’m affecting him too. That he can’t get enough of my body.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he just smiles in his best imitation of innocence.

“Try not to break anything, if you’re staying here,” I say as I straighten up and head for my own office door. “Email me your schedule for the week. I’ll set up our next appointment.”

“As you wish, captain,” he replies, giving me a salute and leaning back in his seat while kicking his feet up onto my desk, making it obvious he’s not about to vacate the premises anytime soon.

Whatever. I don’t have time for this. I storm out of the door and slam it behind me, then pause to lean against it and breathe deeply. Did he just chase me out of my own office? It’s only been one day and I’m going crazy. How am I going to stand a whole month of this?

No time to worry about it now.

Pull yourself together, Chloe
. Next item on the to do list. I march off down the hall, and try not to think about the fact that my brain won’t stop replaying that conversation—or, worse, the moment when we’d both leaned in across the tablet, our eyes locked, breath mingled.

I am so screwed.

“
G
reat
, so we’ll have that done by next Tuesday, and after that’s finished, we’ll need. . .”

I zone out a little as Chloe talks. Or rather, I get distracted by the way her lips—red today, a dark color that reminds me of cherries—form words. I can think of so many better uses to put those full, pouty lips to. I imagine kissing her, claiming that mouth as mine. I picture her on her knees before me, that pout wrapped around my hard cock as she takes me into her hot, wet mouth. Her shirt today is tighter than the one yesterday, even lower-cut in the front, and I can just picture the view I’d have looking down at her as she worked me. . .

“Max.”

Damn.
What did she just say?

The annoyance in her voice drags me forcibly back to the present. It also drags my eyes up to hers, which are narrowed behind her dark tortoiseshell frames. “Did you hear
anything
I just said?”

“You’re setting up a client meeting with Suzie for tomorrow at 9am,” I repeat, only registering the words that had just come out of her mouth as I repeat them. Thank god for my ability to multitask. It’s come in handy more than once in an extra-dull meeting—I can let half my brain drift while the other half keeps recording whatever the other person is saying.

If anything, though, she looks even more annoyed that I was able to answer her question. “I asked if that time works for you. Maybe if you weren’t so busy staring at my chest, you might’ve replied faster.”

“In my defense, at this angle it’s harder not to stare.” I let my gaze dip down her neck again. Especially with the way she hunches forward over the desk, arms splayed on the surface, I mean, any man in his right mind would be unable to resist. “Did you buy that shirt with the express purpose of distracting your enemies? Because I have to admit, it’s definitely working.”

She rolls her eyes skyward. “So you’re blaming
me
for your inability to keep your eyes to yourself.”

“
Blaming
makes it sound so negative. Let’s call it appreciating. I appreciate that you work what you have, Chloe, and you do it damn well.”

Chloe crosses her arms over her chest. Okay, she
has
to be doing that on purpose. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.” I flash her a wide smile. Is it my imagination, or is she actually blushing?

Before I can determine, she leans back in her seat and tosses her head. The motion makes her curls cascade over her other shoulder now. There’s something irresistible about that completely untamed, unruly hair, paired with her perfectly poised everything else—the shirt I’ve been making fun of, for all its slight immodesty, is neatly ironed, and seamlessly tucked into her knee-length pencil skirt. Every inch of her makeup is spread across her face as if she puts it on with a ruler in the morning—which I wouldn’t put past her, honestly.

But that hair gives her away. That hair tells me that little miss prim and proper has a wild side hidden somewhere underneath the prissy work clothes and wicked glare. And I want to be the one to unleash it. Something tells me that Chloe will be as fucking relentless in bed as she is in the courtroom.

“Look, if we’re going to work together, can we lay out some ground rules?” she says, her voice stern and commanding.

The stern, sexy librarian look is strong with this one. “Fine by me. I love rules and regulations—though I should warn you, I’m very good at finding loopholes.”

She lets out a little half-laugh at that, then proceeds to look even more annoyed, like she wishes she hadn’t let on that she finds anything I say funny. She holds up a finger. “First of all, stop trying to sleep with me.”

I heave a deep sigh and rap my knuckles on the tabletop gently to stop her right there. “Is that what this is about? Chloe, sweeets—” She glowers. “Not a fan of sweets? Okay. Chloe, despite what I know you’ve heard about me, I take my job quite seriously. I am not trying to get in your pants. Or up your skirt.”

Not strictly true. I can’t stop thinking about getting up her skirt, actually. Every goddamn minute lately, it feels like. I can’t so much as pass her in the hallway of the office without being in serious immediate danger of getting hard. Never mind after hours, when I’m alone in the privacy of my apartment, free to fantasize about everything I want to do to this woman. Every dirty thing I want to say to her while I’m buried balls deep in her tight, hot little pussy. Every way I want to make her beg for mercy.

That is, when I don’t feel so frustrated by her that I could scream.

Yet, for a moment after I say that, just a split second really, I could swear that a new expression flickers across her face. Not anger, not even annoyance, or the mild disdain that seems to be her base level feelings toward me. For a second, Chloe MacIntyre looks almost . . . disappointed.

And for an even briefer second, as I watch those soft, red lips drop into a frown, then curl back into an angry pout, I could swear that I am, too.

Any other time. Any other place.

I give my brain a good internal shake.
Do not go there, Davis. Chloe MacIntyre is a shark. She’d eat you alive.

“Well, good,” she’s saying, and I have to agree. Glad we’ve cleared the air. She opens her mouth to start on some other pronouncement, but as I glance away, my eye snags on the clock over the door.

Shit.

“On that note, I’ve got to run to my next appointment.”

“You have a lunch meeting?” Her gaze follows mine to the clock, which reads 12:10pm.

Fucking hell. I’m late. I push to my feet and grab my files, stuffing them into my briefcase. “Yes,” I say, with my back to her, so she won’t notice the evasion on my face. Somehow I doubt it will slip past Chloe’s notice.

“With who? Can you reschedule? We still have to prep for our meeting tomorrow, and—”

“Afraid it’s urgent. Email me anything you need me to catch up on.”

She stands too, now, and plants her hands on her hips. I assume she’s trying to look threatening, though the fact that she’s only about 5’9” even in the towering heels she’s wearing doesn’t help.

“You’re the one who insisted we spend more time on this case.”

“We have. And tomorrow we’ll have even more time. Have a good rest of your day, Miss MacIntyre.” I breeze past her toward the office door. But as my hand closes around the doorknob, she lets her parting shot fly.

“Give Hannah my regards,” she mutters.

I step out of the office without a reply, and swing the door closed behind me. Let her think whatever she wants. Let her think the same thing as everyone else in the office. It doesn’t matter.

Chloe MacIntyre might be the sexiest distraction at the office, but I can’t afford to lose track of my priorities.