Avery wants to nail the man responsible for her sister's disappearance, CEO Carter Thebes, but the last thing she expects is to feel sorry for him, or worse, develop feelings. Can she unearth his secret before her emotions undo her efforts?
***
Aver...
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His hand twitched to touch her again, to pull her into his arms. That desire was so strong and so foreign that Colton balled the hand into a fist and shoved it into his pocket before he plucked the audacity to rest it on the small of Avery's back as if it belonged there. What was wrong with him? He did not believe in lust at first sight let alone something more—but the way that treacherous heart of his bloomed achingly in his chest, some may think he was in love.
Love! Ha! What an odd and flippant thought. Colton slung his coat over a shoulder, unable to remember ever feeling those feelings for anyone. Not that he wasn't capable of love. He was. He just hadn't found one worth losing his mind over.
And who was he anyway, daring to get so familiar with a woman he'd just met?
I'm just doing what Carter would do... He assured himself, eyeing that enticing curve of her lower back as they were spewed out by the revolving door.
Definitely Carter!
When a wall of rain hit him, whipped about by the wind, he gasped, Avery and her back forgotten for a moment. "Shit, it's raining."
"Yep," was her response, standing there already shivering in her blouse and her pencil skirt, doused in rain.
"I think this calls for an extra hot coffee." He tried not to stare at her or answer the pull that had him wanting to take her in his arms, away from the rain. Seriously, who was this guy? And why was it taking all his energy not to glance at her wet shirt clinging to her chest, and that interesting choice of bra peeking out? It wasn't like he hadn't been with a woman before. He had. Many. Sure, there was no way he could match Carter's numbers, but he wasn't a celibate monk! But lately, his desire for casual flings had died, along with the hope that one day he'd find his own Mrs Thebes.
Yet, the urge to see Avery in her bra, without that clinging white shirt, hit him unexpectedly and he cleared his throat, quickly holding his coat out to her. "You look cold."
She peered at his outstretched hand like he was holding a live snake or something. He loathed eyeing her chest as if to say, 'everyone can see what I can see'. He could almost imagine her naked. Almost. An uncomfortable burn twisted in his chest at that. He did not want everyone to see what he could see. Far from it. If he wasn't on the verge of thinking, 'She's mine,' he would have chalked it down to empathy, how he would have hated for people to ogle him if he were in her shoes.
"Thanks." She finally reached for the coat. Whether it was because she realised what he was trying to say was, 'Your shirt is seethrough,' or whether she was indeed cold, he didn't care, as long as she no longer stood in front of him like some damned siren, tugging at his mind.
