Page 20 of Marked By the Devil

Oh, God.

He’d been fantasizing about me already?

That is not good.

That’s not good.

Come on. You are stronger than this. You are better than this.

I frowned, fighting the odd realization that I could ever lower my standards to be drawn to a criminal like him. To accept how hot and wicked and exciting it would be to⁠—

Argh!

No!

“I do too,” I tossed back as flippantly as I could manage. It still sounded breathy, dammit. “For starters, since you’ve already gone through a file on me and have found all the answers you want, you can let me go.” I smiled without letting it reach my eyes.

He did it again, dragged his gaze over me like he had X-ray vision, seeing through my clothes.

And my body did it again.

My nipples beaded and my pussy throbbed.

I cleared my throat once more

“Let you go?” He reached the bottom of my chair, his fingers brushing against the underside of my thigh. His fingers hooked under the seat and he wrenched me toward him. The feet scraped over the floor. I jolted, surprised he’d touch me even like that. From the one-sided direction of his tug, the chair moved forward diagonally and I had to swivel on the seat to face him again.

“Just when we’re getting closer?” he taunted. He licked his lips as he watched me pant.

Don’t look at his lips.

Don’t look at his damn lips.

Do not look at his fucking lips.

“I do have some information here,” he said. Before I could calm down, he reached closer and gripped the other side of the chair, tugging me toward him again. The feet scraped loudly. The chair rocked forward. I jolted and tensed again.

He released his hold on the chair and rested his elbow on the back of his chair as he rifled through the papers he’d printed out. Putting his chin on his hand, he tossed out one sheet after another to let them flutter onto my lap or fall to the floor.

“You clearly have experience with looking into fraudulent accounts. Like this one. This one. That.” He flicked the papers out that showed the articles of arrests for fraud that were uncovered from my input when I worked in Oregon, where I’d lived before coming here.

“It’s ironic that you haven’t been around long enough to see the evidence of fraudulent activity ‘in house’.”

He held out pictures of Smithson talking to Rico Johnson. Another one like it had been taken as a still shot from surveillance of Smithson taking money from a thug.

The papers flew out at me, landing in my lap or on the floor.

“Maybe you need some more time to get to know your colleagues…” He held up a photo of Smithson on a yacht with another Mob boss. He folded it loosely, making the paper stiff enough to trace the edge of it along the hem of my shirt that was missing a few buttons from when he’d tackled me.

I ignored the tingle of awareness of his touching me like that.

I refused to be affected by this.

Him flirting.

Him ogling me and watching me like he wanted to lick every inch of me.

Him caressing me and seducing me.