WHEN SEAN MCINTYRE first saw her, his sex drive let out an
endless, shuddering wolf whistle. One that would've
brought down the high-rise building if Los Angeles hadn't
been so strict about fortifying the place against
occasional earthquakes.
Or another natural disaster trigger, like his new co-
worker.
He settled back in his leather office chair, just taking
in the show, a grin easing over his mouth as she leaned
against the door frame. All long legs, curves and catnip.
Dark gypsy hair waved softly past her shoulders, matching
the black smoke of her eyes. She aimed a lowered gaze at
him, the tips of her red lips swooping upward in a gesture
more suited to a wet dream than the business offices of
Stellar Public Relations, Incorporated.
Sean raised an eyebrow, amused. Intrigued.
But, as usual, Louis Martin screwed up the moment,
bursting past the woman in a flutter of kinetic overload.
"There she is. Didn't know where you disappeared to," said
the short, balding boss man. "One second I'm giving you
the tour, the next you're…"
The woman interrupted him with one sultry glance. Louis
almost fell backward from the force of it.
"Sorry," she said, her voice as thick and slow as honey
dripping from a fingertip. She nodded toward the window
while returning her gaze to Sean. "I prefer the view in
this office."
He bit back a laugh. Cheeky. Already he liked her. Already
he wanted to peel off that slightly see-through, butterfly-
sleeved red suit that pushed the limits of professional
wear. Sharp, flashy, powerful. All the things a PR
representative should be.
And then some.
Louis fidgeted with his tie. "The view. Right. Your
office'll be down the hall, though."
Time to open his mouth, Sean supposed. "This is my lion's
den. Not fit for a lady."
"No wonder I feel right at home." She flashed him that
cool/hot gaze again.
Sean shifted. Nice. A thirty-two-year-old schoolboy with a
hard-on. Should he grab a textbook and hide behind it
while he got to his feet to shake hands? No English Lit or
Trig tomes available, you say? Then maybe he could just
stay seated and zoom his wheeled office chair on over to
her, introducing himself as half the cad he actually was.
That's right. A gentleman would stand up, take a woman's
hand, pay her proper respect. But gentlemen probably
refrained from popping wood the second a beautiful female
came within range.
He flicked a manila folder off the desk to his lap — the
better to fool you with, my dear — and performed the chair
slide.
But his cautious move didn't throw her off, not if that
knowing gleam in her eyes was any indication.
What the hell, thought Sean. He grinned as he stood,
flipping aside the folder, extending his hand. "Sean
McIntyre."
The woman perused his outstretched palm, her gaze slipping
to the front of his pants, her mouth still heated by that
lazy grin. She knew he was turned on. Not that it made her
a genius.
She tucked her fingers into his hand, sliding a nail along
his thumb in a wickedly disguised shake. "Fiona Cruz.
Pleased to meet you."
Cruz. The name rang an alarm. He'd heard of her successes
as a marketing machine for actors. She was good. Damned
good. But hadn't there been some hint of scandal
surrounding her…?
Time seemed to furl around itself as their skin pulsed
with the contact, touches languishing, almost as if both
of them wanted to see who would let go first.
Louis's voice sawed apart their grip, but not their
sustained eye contact.
"We brought on Fiona because she's gangbusters."
Sean coolly acknowledged the weasel's remark. This
introduction was Louis's way of turning on the burner
under Sean's chair, wasn't it?
"Got that covered, Martie," he said, knowing the nickname
would piss off the other guy.
The boss man's cheeks reddened. "It's Louis. As in Martin."
Fiona Cruz had started to wander around Sean's office,
trailing her hand over the rigid, metal bookshelves, the
writhing steel sculpture in the corner. A flame in the
center of a frozen twist of furniture.
He couldn't help admiring her beautiful ass, wanting to
cup the curves of it, rocking her against his groin,
feeling every voluptuous inch of her opening for him….
"McIntyre?"
Louis again.
"What?"
"Fiona's brought her rising star with her to the firm.
Lincoln Castle."
Sean blanched. "The soap star? That Lincoln Castle?"
As Fiona stopped by the window, which overlooked Wilshire
Boulevard with its palm trees and summer-in-the-city
streets, she tossed her words over a shoulder. "There's
only one man with a name that… singular."
Rage kicked him into gear, forcing his footsteps over to
Louis, where he shadowed the boss with his height. "Look,
do you have any idea how Castle is connected to my new
client?"
Louis shrugged. "Of course. Say, McIntyre, I've got a
conference call with Edgar Lux and his publishing house.
Can you show Fiona to her office when she's ready?" Then
he lowered his voice. "That is, unless she gets
comfortable in your chair."
Rather than saying something that would cause Louis to fly
into a fit, Sean kept his mouth shut, electing instead to
usher his boss from the room with a thanks-a-lot glare.
Louis dashed away, leaving Sean alone with a woman who
could very well be the end of his career at Stellar. If
you could call it a career anymore.
He turned his attention to Fiona, trying to focus his
anger. But he was distracted by the way her dress caught
the sun through its sheer material, a dreamcatcher winding
darker hopes through the threads of red while allowing
fantasies to pass through.
"Let me guess," she said, her back still to him, "watch
out for Louis Martin."
"The guy's harmless, unless you don't know how to play
office politics."
She turned around with a smile, leaning against the win-
dow frame, shifting the sunlight and blinding him with an-
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