I need to pull it together. I’m all over the place, and his mood has not improved from last night. If anything, he’s getting darker. The window zips shut as he settles back in the seat.

“You’ll start trailing Rebecca. If she asks you to scrub the toilets, you do it, understand?”

“Completely. But I’ll be ruining really expensive clothes.” I smile, hoping to lighten the vibe, but he ignores me and answers his phone as Iain passes me a coffee and bagel.

“Thank you,” I whisper, taking the coffee, trying not to groan out loud at how good the first sip always is.

“Doug, I thought I said no and good luck,” Jett says into the phone.

The paper crinkles loudly when I take my bagel out and I freeze, looking over at him. My heart flips. I’m in over my head. The way he watches me leaves me… breathless.

I bring the hot coffee to my lips while he listens on the phone. Clearly this is some big case. His blue eyes caress my face.

“That’s a crime of passion, Doug. You know how I feel about those cases,” Jett informs him while reaching for my bagel.

“Do they have the murder weapon yet?” I almost gasp, because I’m trying not to look like I’m eavesdropping, but to be involved in what goes on in a murder trial is too good to be true.

“You know what? Send me your files. If I decide to take over, that’s exactly what I will do. I run everything, you stay on as co-counsel, but this will be my show. Please tell your client, Mrs. Hopper, that.” He hangs up and takes a bite of the bagel.

And all I can do is watch him. He’s always hot, but when he’s in his element, he’s fucking immortal.

A god among men. God, I’m so wet, if I rub my legs together, maybe I could come? I mean, Iain is pulling into a dark parking garage.

“You okay?” His voice makes my eyes widen, but I actually groan out loud when his large, tan hand touches the inside of my leg.

I shake my head no. Because I’m not. I’m on fire; I want him. It’s like I’m sick or something. But I don’t trust myself to speak. The car stops, and suddenly, as if I wished it, Iain is gone and it’s just me and Mr. Powers.

Fucking Mr. Powers.

“Spread your legs,” he says, and I move so fast and feel so desperate I barely register the sting of hot coffee on my hand.

“Give me the cup. You look a little frantic,” his voice coaxes as I try to breathe. He saves me any further humiliation by gently taking the coffee out of my hand.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whisper.

Please, fuck me. Please.