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“Very. I just wish I wasn’t using it to bring down Anna.”
“To bring down a spy,” Stephen reminded him. “I have that on my PC, too. It’s just smart protection. Did you know it was invented by a private investigator?”
A P.I. That didn’t make Parker feel any better about spying on the woman whose only sin might just be having perfect legs. And a killer smile. And beautiful hair. And that sweet laugh. And a sharp intellect. And—
“You’re having second thoughts.”
Parker sipped the beer, which still tasted flat and bad. “I’m way past second, bro.”
“Hey, if she’s the spy, this will be the smartest business move you ever made. You’re a hero for trapping her.”
He didn’t feel like a hero. He felt like a heel. Keeping her close all day long, feeding her BS just to see if she’d spread his lies to the competition. And all the while, every time she moved or breathed or looked at him with all that unmistakable longing in her eyes, his whole being constricted with the fight not to take her in his arms and annihilate her with his mouth.
“What if someone else gets to my computer and it’s not even Anna?” he said as the bizarre thought took hold. “What if she gets blamed for something she didn’t do?”
“What are the chances of that?” Stephen asked.
“Slim. None.”
“Relax. Here comes Brittany.” Stephen gave his sister an inviting wave. “Let’s torture her.”
But Parker’s heart wasn’t into teasing his sister, so he let Stephen and Brittany talk while he stared at the horizon.
A beautiful redheaded model glided by and gave him an interested smile, but he just looked past her, his mind seeing a different woman altogether. A little while later, Brittany introduced him to her newest waitress, Tiffany, and he barely noticed her generous cleavage, so she turned her charms on Stephen. Even the arrival of two Miami Heat cheerleaders didn’t snag his attention.
Brittany brought him another beer. “Your first one’s flat and warm by now.” She picked up the barely touched pilsner glass. “If I didn’t know you as an arrogant master of the universe, I’d say you were lovesick tonight.”
Parker pulled his focus from the darkening Atlantic Ocean to his sister. “I’m not lovesick, Britt.”
She laughed. “No argument on arrogant, I see.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “Then what’s your problem?”
He swallowed the smart-ass retort he’d usually give his sister and just shook his head. “Business, of course.”
“Of course,” she said, perching on the rattan armrest of the sofa. “It’s never anything else with you, is it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Just wondering if there’s a heart in that big old chest of yours, or just a calculator.”
Was that how he seemed? To her? To everyone? To Anna? The thought made his chest ache. Not the way a calculator would at all.
A customer called Brittany and she stood, giving Parker a rare squeeze on the shoulder. “Too bad you’re such a machine, Parker. If you’d loosen up, I might actually like you.”
He looked up, ready to remind his sister that she had the right to be flighty; she was the youngest. He, on the other hand, had the weight of the family name on his firstborn shoulders. But Brittany had taken off, and Stephen was flirting with the new girl.
He’d had enough.
“Where are you going?” Stephen asked when Parker stood and set the new beer on the table with a thud.
“I’m leaving,” he said vaguely.
Stephen frowned at him. “You changed your mind?”
Parker opened his mouth to argue, but just held up a hand. “I’m going to handle this my way.” He hustled away before his brother could argue.
If she was the spy, he’d catch her in the act. Forget tracking her keystrokes and placing blame, he’d walk in and find her there, make her freeze before she had time to close whatever info she was stealing and then they could have it out.
He’d fire her and she’d be gone, no chance for an excuse.
This catching-her-with-software was just not his style.
Propelled by the need to take action, and maybe by the need to see her again, regardless of what he found her doing, Parker was in his car in no time. He zipped back over the causeway and whipped down Brickell toward his office. He parked underground in the high-rise and made it to the elevator in a few steps, his blood already spiked.
Would he tell her he’d set her up? Would she be gone already? The elevator seemed to drag up each of the twenty-two floors as his gut tightened in anticipation.
The soft ding of the elevator echoed in the empty hall. To his left, the wide glass doors of Garrison, Inc. were closed and locked, the reception area bathed in shadows formed by up lighting under the brass Garrison logo on one wall.
He had a key, of course, and turned it quietly, then locked the door behind him. He stood for a moment near Sheila’s desk, listening. He heard nothing.
Could Anna be gone? Something like disappointment shifted in his stomach and he walked soundlessly down the hall to his office.
Anna’s desk was empty, her computer off. But the file with the spreadsheet information was right on top. Curious, he opened it. It was untouched. She hadn’t done it yet? In two hours? Had she spent the entire time raiding his computer?
His door was closed tightly and he paused, wondering if he should just use his key or jiggle the handle. The latter could alert her and she could quickly clear the screen.
But her moves would be tracked with the software.
He jiggled, but it was locked. Quickly, he slid his key in and with a dramatic thrust, pushed the door open.
The room was empty. A Garrison, Inc. logo danced around as a screen saver on his computer. That meant the computer had been untouched for at least half an hour.
He stepped toward his desk, and then he heard it.
High-pitched, heartfelt and as flat as a sick puppy. Singing.
She could have danced all night.
Audrey Hepburn might roll over in her grave at Anna’s rendition of a signature song, but Parker Garrison simply froze and imagined the woman he wanted… wet, naked and belting out a ballad in the shower.
If she was a spy, he’d fire her. If she wasn’t, he’d…
Join her.
In two steps, he was at his keyboard, typing the password to access the results of some investigator’s programming.
She hit a high note. It hurt.
He tapped a few more keys and there were the results.
He blinked and leaned closer to make sure he was reading right. And he was. Anna Cross hadn’t so much as touched his keyboard, even though she’d had two hours to raid about four dozen “proprietary” files on his hard drive.
Anna Cross wasn’t the spy.
A slow, satisfied grin pulled at his mouth. He was so happy that he could kiss her.
He walked to the bathroom door, put his hand on the knob and decided he would do precisely that. And anything else she’d let him do.
Anna held her arms out until her fingertips touched either side of the slick marble walls. The dual shower heads pulsed rivers of warm water down her back and over her chest, giving her the sensation of being suspended in between two waterfalls. She dropped her head back, let her hair slide down her back and nailed the final note with a flourish even she had never obtained before.
The slow, rhythmic snap of one person’s applause from the other side of the frosted-glass door hit her as hard as the water.
With a gasp, she twisted the knob that operated both heads.
“Please don’t stop on my account.”
Oh, God in heaven. Parker.
Adrenaline left her whole body quivering. He couldn’t see her through the steamy glass, but she still covered her bare breasts automatically.
Taking a deep breath, she dug for a perfectly normal voice. “You said I could use the shower whenever I wanted.”
“I did and I meant it. I see you went running.”
She remembered her shorts and tank top dropped on the floor outside the shower. “Uh-huh,” she managed to say.
Suddenly, a fluffy towel curled over the top of the shower door. “Here you go.”
Anna glanced down at her body, her skin rosy from the heat, water still sluicing down her breasts and stomach, into the triangle of curls between her legs.
She shivered, despite the steam.
He was there. Parker. On the other side of that glass. And all she had to do was… open the door. Invite him in. Take what she wanted so much her whole being ached.
“Are you all right in there?”
She didn’t answer him, unsure of what she might say, what shocking invitation she might issue if she opened her mouth.
“Anna? Are you okay?”
She reached toward the glass and placed one fingertip on the steam. That was all that separated her bare and willing body from him. One thin sheet of fogged-up glass.
“Why did you come back?” she finally asked.
Behind her, a drop of water hit the marble floor and another dribbled down the drain. Her finger trailed a thin line in the glass, clearing a quarter-inch view.
“I wanted to… check on you.” His voice was low and seductive. And so close. He had to be just inches from the glass door.
“I’m fine.” She made a second line in the fog. “See?”
His five fingertips touched the glass, leaving ovals where his skin pressed against it. “Yes, you are. Very fine.”
She lifted her left hand, and matched his handprint, fingertip for fingertip. “And so are you.” He might not have heard her, since she breathed the words.
“Anna.” His fingers moved an inch, and she followed them.
“Yes?”
This was the part where he made a light joke about her voice or teased her about his shower. This was the part where he backed away and gave her privacy to change alone. This was the part where he reminded her that she had work to do and he was the boss and she was the—
“I want you to open the door.”
Heat and desire rolled through her like the steam clouds in the shower. Her arm trembled, her chest tightened and everything in her that was female curled into a fist of longing low in her belly.
She pressed the door just hard enough to release the latch, but not reveal herself. The barrier was still there, but falling fast.
Through the opaque glass, she saw a dark jacket slide to the ground. The tie, the buttons, the shirt. Gone. She heard the metal click of a belt buckle, the teeth of a zipper, the scuff of a shoe, the soft whoosh of falling clothes.
Blood throbbing through her veins, her breathing already labored, she took a step back, and another, until she hit the warm, water-slick marble wall. Behind her, she reached for the faucet, flipped it on with one hand and both showerheads exploded into a pulsing rush of water that streamed over her body.
She closed her eyes, heard the shower door click closed, and felt the heat of Parker as he stood in front of her.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
She did. His eyes were pure black with arousal, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared with each ragged breath. Water matted his hair to his head and flattened the thatch of dark curls over the valleys and dips of his broad chest. With her eyes, she followed the water stream as it poured over the taut outline of his stomach and finally flowed over a daunting and mighty erection.
Without a word, he put one hand on either side of her head, caging her in without touching her.
“Anna.” He mouthed her name, so softly she felt his breath on her face. “You have no idea how happy I am to know I can trust you.”
She blinked into the water that streamed on her face. Why would he say that?
“Of course you can trust me,” she said, her fingers curling against the wall as she fought the urge to scrape her hands over every inch of him.
“I just… wasn’t sure.”
The idea of Parker Garrison, man of certainty and decision, being unsure nearly buckled her knees. All her doubt disappeared with his admission; all her warnings vaporized in the steamy humidity of the shower.
“You can trust me,” she repeated, closing her eyes and lifting her face. “And you can touch me.”
At the command, he grazed a finger over her wet, parted lips, sliding the tip against her teeth, then following the watery path down her throat. She could hear him inhale with effort and strain as he glided over her breastbone and reached her nipple, making maddeningly slow circles around the peak.
“What else can I do, Anna?”
Her eyes remained closed as she let the silky, delicious touch of his finger send lightning through her. “You can kiss me.”
He feathered her lips, so soft she wasn’t sure it happened. She opened her mouth and his tongue flicked hers. Slow and steady and with remarkable control, he kissed her, while his other hand cupped her hip, caressing her wet skin, taking teasing strokes of the dips and curves of her backside.
“What else, Anna?” He inched closer so that every wet, hard, sculpted muscle of his body finally pressed against her. His thumb circled her nipple, torturing it to a hard nub as he rocked against her once, fully erect and wickedly hard.
