All Night Long (Man of the Month 9)

As he considered her words, she stood up, then came around to lean against his desk. He lifted a brow, watching her, but didn't urge her away. Slowly, she eased to the middle, so that she was standing right in front of him, her rear pressed against his desk, and her breasts about eye level as he tilted back in the leather chair.

She wore bright blue stiletto slides with perfectly matched toenail polish, and now she lifted one foot and placed it on the edge of the seat, right between his thighs. There was no contact between them, but even so, his balls tightened. He looked up and their eyes locked. "A damn good time," she repeated.

"Is this what you're looking for?" He slid her foot free, then tossed the shoe to the ground. Slowly, he moved her bare foot to the crotch of his designer slacks. "Negotiations with your buyer during the day? And more intimate negotiations with me at night?"

"Would that be so terrible?"

"You walked away from me once. Why come back now?"

"Same answer." She curled her toes, and he almost came right then. "I like you." Her grin turned impish as she focused on his cock, now very evident under the silk blend material of his slacks. She raised a single eyebrow. "And I think you like me, too."

"Under the circumstances, I won't even try to deny it."

"Good." She flexed her foot, and it was all he could do not to rise up and push her back onto his desk. A few buttons and zippers, and he could be buried inside her in seconds. He couldn't deny he wanted it--hell, he practically craved it--and unless he was delusional, she wanted it, too.

If she'd walked into his office a few years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated. He would have locked the door and fucked her senseless on his desk, his conference table, against the floor-to-ceiling windows with the cityscape looming behind them. He would have spread her wide and buried his face between her legs, his hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her moans.

But that was the Easton who spent his days working his ass off toward his goal of opening his own firm. And in those days, he'd been more than happy for a wild time to take the edge off.

Today's Easton, however, had to watch his back. And even if she was all about a repeat performance, a steady relationship, and a ring, a wild child like Selma was not the woman a judicial candidate needed to have in his bed. Or on his arm.

Gently, he eased her foot away. "I do like you," he repeated. "But like isn't the issue." He pushed back his chair and stood, not meeting her surprised, wide eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just not taking new clients right now."

Chapter Four

With only fifteen minutes to the start of the Man of the Month contest for Mr. April, the noise level in The Fix on Sixth had reached almost epic proportions. So loud, in fact, that in order to be heard, Selma had to lean sideways and practically yell into her brother's ear.

"Do you have any idea what possessed Landon to strut across the stage?" Their friend, Detective Landon Ware, was currently in the smaller back bar that served as a staging area during the bi-weekly Man of the Month contests. Soon, though, the emcee would call his name and he'd stride down the red carpet and onto the stage, where he'd rip his shirt off, flex his muscles, and generally try to garner votes.

"It's really not like him," Selma said. "Has he told you what's up?"

"Not a word."

"Weird." She cast a sideways glance at Matthew, wondering if he was keeping Landon's secrets. Secrets were something they were both good at, but that was about where the similarities ended. Because where she'd gone a little wild after their birth mother ditched them, Matthew had played by the rules even more. That probably made sense. He'd always been an introvert. And Selma was about as extroverted as a person could get.

Still, she wished a little of her personality had rubbed off on her brother. Despite his naturally hot body that had been enhanced by gym ownership, Matthew hadn't had a steady girlfriend in ages. Not that he didn't attract female attention--he did. He never lacked for a date, though he rarely got serious, always claiming he was too busy working or training.

Maybe that was true, but Selma thought it went the other way, and that he worked and trained to avoid dating. A genuinely nice guy, he'd always been shy around women. And while he dated on and off, he'd never settled down. Neither had Selma, of course. But she had no intention of settling any time soon. Matthew, however, longed for a family. And she wished there was a way to hug some of her crazy vivaciousness into him.

Then again, he was probably sitting beside her wishing he had a way to pass off some of his calming influence to her.

"You're coming to the gym tomorrow morning, right?" he asked, his voice raised over the din.

"Are you buying me breakfast?"

"Sure."

"Then I'm there."

"Cool. I wanted to run something by you, and--hey, isn't that Easton? Did you talk to him about selling the distillery?"

She turned to follow the direction of his gaze, only to find her stomach curdling in what could only be jealousy when she saw his head bent close to Taylor's. She couldn't see his face, but she didn't need to. That chiseled face was etched in her mind. And there was no mistaking the thick, dark hair or those incredibly broad shoulders, strong enough to hold a woman tight.

What on earth were he and Taylor discussing so intently? Were they involved? Was that why he'd turned her down?

She was pondering that unpleasant possibility when Cam, the bartender, sidled up. With his sultry blue-gr

ay eyes, it was no wonder he'd won the title of Mr. March. Now, though, he just wanted their orders.