Page 36 of Take the Bait

“Wow again,” she said lightly, praying she didn’t sound intimidated. She walked slowly around the spacious, high-ceilinged room, taking in the paintings.

He went to the white quartz fireplace and turned on a gas valve. Flames danced between what looked like real logs in a shockingly credible semblance of a real fire.

He said quietly, “This was my grandparent’s place. When they passed, I inherited it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said quickly.

He shrugged, his expression closed. “They mostly raised me. Were more like parents than my real parents. But they both lived long, full lives.”

“Did you pick out the art in the house, or did your grandparents do the collecting?”

“A little of each. Every time we came to the city, my Gram dragged me to an art museum. But to her credit, she always made it fun and interesting. I learned to love art from her.”

He headed over to a carved white oak bar that was traditional in style but fit in seamlessly with the room’s simple décor. This space was achingly tasteful, managing to be both sleek and welcoming, modern but comfortable.

“You both have great taste in art.”

He lifted the shopping bag out of her fingers and replaced it with a small crystal liqueur glass. “Speaking of taste, try this.”

Even a sniff of the amber liquid was potent and noticeably cleared her sinuses. “You know, I never drank before I came to New York City. Now, people are pouring alcohol down me all the time.”

He moved around the bar to stand rather closer than politeness dictated. He lifted his own liqueur glass and took an appreciative sip before saying casually, “It’s because they all want into your bed.”

She managed not to choke on the sip of liqueur she was taking, but just barely. “What is this stuff?” she asked.

“My college roommate called it liquid panty remover. It’s vanilla- and chocolate chip-flavored liqueur. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like it. Which reminds me. Let’s have a look at what constitutes sexy lingerie in your world.”

He picked up the shopping bag, but she snatched it out of his hands. “Let’s not!”

“Aww, c’mon. Just a peek?”

“No peeking!”

His right eyebrow sailed up. “Planning to model it for me, are you?”

“Leon Whitney would love that,” she retorted a shade bitterly. Oops. All that wine from dinner was talking too much.

“Excuse me?” Cam asked lightly.

Oh, he’d heard her perfectly well the first time. And he was no dummy. He would leap to the logical and correct conclusion about exactly what she’d meant by that comment about Leon Whitney. Particularly since Raspy Voice had spelled out her role at the firm so clearly to Cam already.

What the hell. The cat was out of the bag now. She said bluntly, “The senior partners want me to have hot monkey sex with you so you’ll jump off the bridge.”

That sent his eyebrows sailing up practically to his hair line. “Come again?” he blurted.

She huffed. “They want you to be a jumper. That’s what we call prosecutors who leave the D.A.’s office and go to work for private criminal defense firms. You know. You jump across the aisle to the defense side of the courtroom.”

“Ahh.” He paced a lap the room, gathering speed as he went. He took another lap.

She frowned as his demeanor become more agitated with each lap he completed.

Finally he stopped directly in front of her to glare at her. His voice was clipped, angry even, as he bit out, “Are you telling me you’re here tonight with the intent to seduce me? On WMP’s orders? Are they paying you for this?” Outrage vibrated in his voice.

“Why are you getting all offended and bent out of shape? I’m the one they’re trying to prostitute out to you. And it’s not as if you loudly protested when Raspy Voice floated the idea, big guy.”

“I…who…what?” He looked dumbfounded.

Which pissed her off more than a little.

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