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She wasn't sure if it was those startling dark eyes of his. Or it could’ve been those incredibly wide shoulders that would make any woman feel petite, or that broad chest and those…

“What am I doing?” She smacked her forehead with her palm, pushing those thoughts aside.

Going to him for help had nothing to do with envisioning him in boxers or showing off hard, naked abs. And the last thing she needed to be doing right now was mentally molesting the man. It was highly unlikely that he’d be happy to hear from her, but it was his job. Unable to find the number, she scooped up the letter she'd received, placed it back into the package it'd come in and shoved it into her bag. 

Fuck finding his number, she thought. She'd go straight to the station and find him there. She left her house, in search of a very different type of asshole.

—--------

Detective Alaric Harper's phone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans for the second time in the last hour. He needed to continue ignoring it. He should ignore it. What was going on in front of him should have his undivided attention. Any other time, it would.

On her knees between his widespread legs, Racheal was in a position he doubted she was normally in when it came to her day job, being a district attorney and all. She ran her hands up and down his thighs, each pass bringing the tips of her red-painted fingernails to the center of his legs. Her movements were well practiced. She knew what he liked.

The red corset she wore was laced up tight, practically shoving her caramel-colored breasts up to her chin. Some men were into breasts, others more about the ass. Alaric was into the female body in general. All of it. But when he was with Racheal, he turned into a breast man. Those things were the stuff that wet dreams were made of.

But tonight? The last couple of months? The head on his shoulders was doing more thinking than any other place on his body, which was kind of a damn shame.

Racheal slipped a hand up the inside of his thigh. “I’ve missed you.” She said, 

He laughed, sliding farther down in the oversize cushioned chair, spreading his legs farther. “No you didn’t.” he replied, 

Her pretty lips pouted. “You haven’t come to see me since February. Or anyone, from what I’ve heard.”

A brow rose. He didn’t like the idea of anyone keeping tabs on him.

“You haven’t even been to the club,” she said.

“So?”

“That’s not like you.” She placed her hands on the chair between his legs, drawing his eyes down to her impressive chest. For some reason, he imagined much smaller breasts plumped up over the lacy trim and little bows. Irritated, he scrubbed the palm of his hand along his jaw. The faint stubble pricked his skin. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been at Leather and Lace for almost an hour now and by this time he would’ve already been behind a woman, his hands on her hips, sliding in and out.

“Want to talk?” she asked, pushing back from the chair and clasping her hands demurely. 

He laughed dryly. “No, honey, but thanks.”

One delicate, satiny shoulder rose. “You sure? You’re moody and quiet by nature, babe, but disappearing for months? I was worried.”

Alaric bit back another laugh. That wasn’t likely. Racheal was good, great even. And their sexual…tastes matched, but when he wasn’t around, there was always someone else. Like him, she enjoyed sex. Lots, really, except lately, he’d been only getting it on with his hand.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said again.

Thick lashes lowered as she toyed with the knot between her breasts. “No talking? I can do that.”

He watched her rise fluidly. Racheal was a tall woman, and in her “come fuck me” heels, she nearly reached his six feet and four inches. She pivoted gracefully, and he got an eyeful of her ass. The scrap of lace between her cheeks revealed more than it hid as she swayed her way over to the chaise longue across from him.

It was a nice view—a beautiful view. Racheal's skin was like smooth coffee, and he knew from personal experience that an hour with that woman could make you forget a year of life, but…

Any other time he’d be as hard as a brick wall and ready to go…and to go again, but the lust stirring in his veins wasn’t anything to write home about. He definitely wasn’t feeling what little Miss Racheal was.

She cast a look over her shoulder as she bit down on her lip. Still nothing at all. She placed a shapely knee on the lounge and bent over, planting her hands near the top of the chair, and then brought her other leg up. Nice—very nice. And yet there was really nothing happening in his jeans.

Bending down, she stuck her ass in the air. “I think I’ve been naughty, Alaric.”

He cocked a brow. “You have?”

She blinked innocently. “I think I need to be punished.”

Fine, barely there tendrils of lust stirred in his gut. Okay. It was official. His cock had taken a vacay into celibacy land. Fuck. Him.

Tipping his head back, he stifled a groan. What in the fuck was he even doing here? It was either this or hang out with his partner, and who in the hell in their right mind wanted to do that shit? All Paul Forbes talked about nowadays was his woman. Not that he begrudged him his happiness, but shit, it was like hanging out with an old woman. Especially since Paul was knee-deep in wedding plans. And if he had to hear about the difference between ivory and white one more time, he was going to shoot someone.

Hell, ask him a year ago if he thought the playboy of the century would be the one to marry first, and he would’ve laughed straight in your face. But Paul was in love. 

The thing was, and contrary to everyone’s assumption of him—including his partner— Alaric didn’t have any problems with the idea of settling down.