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She straightened, tried to ignore the disturbing sensations his thumb caused. “In fact, Mr. Pearson, you really don’t know anything about me, do you?”
His gaze touched her mouth, lingered and then leisurely moved up. “Don’t I?”
“In the three years since we met, you haven’t said anything more personal than ‘Have a nice weekend.’ And that was on a Saturday afternoon, after we’d worked most of the day together.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Not by much.”
“You think it was easy, keeping my distance?”
“I honestly have no idea.” Her breath caught at the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You should’ve been a poker player, instead of a lawyer. You could’ve made a killing.”
He wrapped his fingers around her hand and tugged her closer. “My intentions must be fairly obvious now,” he said in a low, gravelly voice.
She tilted her head back, refusing to be the first to break eye contact as he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He was hard behind the fly of his khakis, the knowledge shattering a bit of her control. His hand splayed across the exposed skin of her lower back, and his palm felt hotter than it had before.
The tingling began there, traveled all the way up her spine and settled in her braless breasts, tightening her nipples, making them so sensitive that she could hardly stand to have them touch the light sateen material of her dress. Only a knot of fabric at her nape kept the halter in place. The gentlest pressure, the smallest tug…
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