Chapter Four

Tori sidled through the busy pub on her way to the loo, the distracting barrister once again sliding into her thoughts.

A masculine voice interrupted her wayward musings. “Hiya!”

She looked toward the bar.

Surprised right down to her toes, she skidded to a stop, belly butterflies doing loop de loops in her gut.

“Oh! It’s you!” The rogue himself, Ian King, stood before her. Without thought, her hands brushed her conservative suit free of nonexistent wrinkles. “Hi,” she added, her voice a breathy exhalation.

“Happy birthday.” He stepped closer and offered her a solitary rose.

She took the proffered flower and felt herself blush. Her erotic daydreams and night fantasies—the ones she kept denying she had—coalesced in front of her like magic into one sexy, seductive, shameless package.

Needing to put distance between them, she stepped backward and looked down at the rose. Raising the lavender-colored bud to her nose, she inhaled the delicate scent. “Um, thank you. It’s beautiful.” Her eyes snapped back to him. “How did you know it was my birthday?”

“I made it my business. And I think you know why.” King stepped nearer to her, so close they almost touched.

The growing crowd of after-work revelers had surged in around her, trapping her in place and pushing her toward him.

He inhaled the air near her hair. “Is that lavender?”

Dazed, she nodded. The air had suddenly gone thin. She needed to get away from him, but she didn’t move. She stared like a trapped deer into his ice-blue predator’s eyes… And the oddest melting sensation made her knees weak. Barely inches separated them, the pull to lean closer as strong as if he were reeling her in by invisible twine.

She swayed closer, and for a second his hard chest brushed against her breasts.

Jerking back, she sucked in a breath, but there didn’t seem to be enough air in the pub. Her chest felt tight, her lungs empty, and she panted.

Seeking escape, she made to go around him to the loo. “Well. Thank you. For the pretty rose. Lavender is my favorite color. Love the color. My favorite perfume, too,” she babbled uncharacteristically.

“It suits you.”

His determined manner and intense gaze turned the twine into steel cable that kept her locked in place.

Without preamble, he gently touched her hand. His voice dropped lower, huskier. “Go out with me.”

His quiet request felt like a command rather than an invitation, and it did strange tingly things to her insides. Struck dumb, she stood there docilely, yielding to his strange allure.

Everything happened in slow motion. The way he leaned ever closer. His insistent caress on her hand. Everything except for the electric sensation zinging with lightning speed from his hand to hers, up her arm, and outward through her body. Rather than shocking her, the sizzling electricity sealed her hand to his, as if the forces of nature desired their physical connection.

But the sparks between them jumbled her mind. Like individual atoms out of kilter, memories and fantasies flashed through her in an uncontrollable explosion—from illusions of them wildly banging, to the reality of them flirting in court, to worries about the impropriety of her messing around with a colleague, and, finally, to the difference in their ages.

He leaned even closer then, and it started all over again, her mind circling around every doubt and dream she’d had about what sex should be like, what she felt deep inside that she was missing. What she worried she would never experience in her entire life.

Torn between her safe, hard-earned life and her yearning for something more, the vague, unfocused longing transmuted in that moment into the very solid, very real person of Mr. Ian King.

She wanted this man.

Too honest with herself to ignore the truth, she admitted wanting him. Badly. Right this minute. In her life. In her bed. Inside her.

What should she do?

She wanted to say yes.

Scream yes!

He stood watching her. Waiting.

She could feel him willing her to say yes. A thousand times, yes.

He slowly raised her hand. He bent low and kissed the back of it, a polite, gentlemanly thing that felt anything but. His warm, full lips on her skin sent fresh jolts skittering along her nerves. Tingles of pleasure traveled through her at lightning speed straight to her sex, making her pelvis clench. His intense gaze kept her eyes locked with his.

He slowly, deliberately rotated her hand and kissed the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Fresh electric shock waves snapped through her. Gasping, she wavered, her body swaying against the intense arousal rocking through her. It shocked her out of the sexually induced trance he’d created.

This isn’t right. He’s too young.

But was that really true, or only rules she’d constructed for herself?

Feeling like she was being torn in two—between duty and desire—she opened her mouth and said words she detested.

“Thank you, but I must decline.”

She hoped he didn’t notice her voice’s breathless quality. She felt a need to explain the rejection, but vanity kept her from acknowledging the true reason—she was too old for him.

“You’re a barrister in my court. It would be inappropriate for us to form a liaison. But thank you again for the flower and kind invitation.”

As the words left her mouth, she recalled that it hadn’t felt like an invitation at all—rather more like a command. Why did his authoritative tone affect her so much? Reduce her to a willing suppliant, making her knees weak and her mind mush? In court, she reveled in her leadership role, and it disturbed her carefully constructed self-image that she liked the femininity and willingness this man’s actions inspired in her.

What did it mean?

Unsettled, she puffed her chest and raised her chin. She attempted to sweep past him and put an end to this…whatever it was. She tugged on her hand, but he tightened his grip, refusing her release.

“It’s just a date. One date. So we can see what this is between us.” He grinned, revealing a hint of arrogance. “You know you feel it, the pull that draws us every time we’re in the same room. Don’t be a chicken…Victoria.” The slow drawl of her name made it a sensual caress.

“It’s Justice Whittingstall to you,” she retorted, jerking forcefully on her arm.

He released her hand, but the hotheaded young barrister didn’t give up the argument. “Come on, say yes. Nunc aut nunquam. It’s now or never.”

“I know Latin, too, thank you very much. And I choose nunquam.”

A part of her admired that King also spoke the ancient language she loved, one small thing they shared…even though she shouldn’t want any commonality. She couldn’t risk a liaison with a sexy young barrister from her court. And instinct told her he wanted exactly and only that—sexual satisfaction and nothing more.

“I’m not going to fold so easily. I look forward to more fun sparring with…my lady.” Clearly, he enjoyed this game she had never agreed to play.

Great gobs of giddy fury consumed her. She wanted to stamp her foot at his innuendo-laden emphasis on my. Wipe that smirk off his face with a slap of her hand. Throw herself into his arms to rub herself against him until he was as speechless as she.

Grabbing tight control of her emotions, she forced her voice into a quiet, calm timbre. “I’m not your anything.”

He leaned in and murmured into her ear, “But you want to be.” Pulling away, he whispered so low she had to strain to hear. “Be warned…my fair lady, every time I’m in your court, you will know how much I desire you. You’ll see it in my eyes. Hear it in my voice. And then you’ll feel it…deep inside.”

She gasped, frozen in place, unraveled and weakened as much by his irresistible masculinity as by his phenomenal nerve.

She should be outraged!

But that wasn’t the emotion swamping her.

Drowning her.

Even the way he’d said “my fair lady” had sounded dirty, naughty, exciting. He’d talked to her as if she were a slut.

Her intellect resisted, but her body welcomed it, becoming thoroughly, wiltingly, warmly aroused. It almost seemed as if he knew the truth—that the exact opposite of a demure lady lurked within her.

She turned abruptly and left him standing there.

Thank god he couldn’t know what he did to her. A wild, hungry thing waited impatiently to be released…and Ian King held, possibly, the only key to unlocking those secret desires.