He drew in a breath, and let it out, frustrated. He didn’t understand why she cared so much about litigious wastrels. There were so many more important things to concern herself with—such as if he had something on him as hard as her nipples.
He did.
The hair at the side of her face danced against her cheek, and she licked her lush lips.
So pretty.
And his goddess, he was so ripe for her. That thing inside him that made him a beast could smell her wetness, more so with each rub of her thighs together. She thought she could shove back the desire, but she wanted him, and he wanted to be wanted. He wasn’t going to let her stop, or hide away.
“Mmm.” He wanted to part his legs and press her hand between them so that she could feel what she did to him. “What will you give me for each answer?” he whispered.
She scoffed mockingly. “That’s not how these things work.”
“You’re consuming my time, are you not? Is my time worth so little?”
“You’re doing your civic duty.”
He sighed, and asked mulishly, “Well, which side are you on?”
Her brow furrowed. “Side? What do you mean?”
“Which side of the mess are you on?” he asked, already bored with the prospect of rehashing the drama. “The gold car or the blue car?”
“What difference does that make? I won’t ask you any leading questions. I’m just gathering facts so that I can investigate further.”
“Gold. Or. Blue?” He leaned in a bit more with each word he enunciated.
Her eyes widened momentarily and her cheeks flushed becomingly. She blinked, stared for what seemed like a minute, and then scowled.
Too late. She’d already shown her hand of cards. She was intrigued by him, perhaps almost as much as he was intrigued by her. She might have thought him inscrutable, but goddesses weren’t meant to be understood.
“Blue,” she said, sighing.
“Hmm.” He nodded and righted his posture. “Do you suppose I’ll answer your questions neutrally and truthfully knowing that that your client is a man I despise?”
She closed her eyes and put her head back. “Shit.”
“Yes. Indeed.” Andreas despised both drivers, truth be told, but he didn’t see why she needed to know that yet.
“I understand that every witness account has some bias,” she said.
“And?”
“And I want you to tell me what you saw anyway. You let me worry about the bias.”
“Are you that desperate?”
“I’m that thorough.”
“I see.” He twined her silky hair around his finger again and, righting her head, she watched him curiously out of the sides of her eyes. “You should let it down.”
“What?”
“Your hair, sweet Mary.” He tickled the ends along her jaw and over her parted lips. “Like you do when you go out dancing.”
“Dance?” She let out a strained titter that made her breasts bounce enticingly. “I don’t dance.”
“But you do.” Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze up from her chest. “I saw you. You were at Elton’s some weeks ago, and the jukebox was loud, and I believe you were drunk.” He let the hair fall down into her cleavage and somehow suppressed the urge to brush it away. “You had your hair down and it flew around you. You were dancing wild and recklessly, and smiling. Laughing.”