“And you and your brothers don’t intend to try doing that same thing? I assume you were going to hire a PI to check things out.”
“Yes, but before you get some kind of crazy inkling that the PI should be you, there’s something you might want to think about.”
“What?”
“Dad is convinced the last person my grandfather hired to prove his innocence ended up dead.”
The smooth arch of Jules’s brow rose. “Are you saying the man was murdered?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
*
Jules was pacing.
Dalton thought about saying something about wearing out his carpet. But who gave a damn about carpet when he was getting a front-row seat for the most incredible pair of legs any woman had a right to own?
She was wearing a skirt and blouse, and to say she looked good in both would be an understatement. What he’d told her about Imerson had her thinking. She was in deep thought, and so was he. The woman had such an indescribably sexy force that he was totally captivated. Definitely an amazing sampling of femininity—he’d been hard fifty times over and was still expanding. He’d switched positions on the sofa to relieve the strain on his crotch, and she hadn’t even noticed.
But he’d noticed a number of things. Like how that denim skirt was hugging her delectable ass and the way that crimson blouse was shielding what he figured had to be two magnificent breasts. He couldn’t help wondering what she was wearing beneath her skirt and blouse. Satin, lace or both. She would be the type of woman whose bra would have to match whatever panties she wore.
She finally stopped pacing and glanced over at him. They exchanged a long look that let him know she was aware of his sexual state. Her gaze left his eyes to drift downward to his zipper. She rolled her eyes before glaring at him. “How can you think of sex at a time like this?”
He gave her a long, slow perusal from head to toe. “Easily. Do you know what I see whenever I look at you?”
She didn’t answer. He figured she was afraid of his response. However, he would tell her, anyway. “What I see whenever I look at you is an orgasm just waiting to happen.”
He couldn’t help but smile at the darkening of her cheeks. Wow. He’d made her blush. And was that heat stirring in her eyes? “Do I need to prove my point, Jules?”
She lifted her chin. “Do you mind?”
“Mind what? Having sex with you? It would be my pleasure.”
She closed her eyes and looked up toward his ceiling as if silently counting to ten. Hell, she could count to thirty, and his desire for her wouldn’t diminish one iota.
She glanced back at him. “Look, Dalton.”
He stood, feeling frustrated and angry all at once. “No, you look. I didn’t invite you here. I don’t invite women to my home.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “My being here is not personal.”
“Maybe not on your end, but it is on mine. Do you know how it feels having an itch you can’t scratch?”
“That’s not my problem.”
He crossed the room in a flash, covered the distance separating them, meeting her face-to-face. “It is your problem, because you owe me.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“You told me to find you, and I did.”
“Yes, but you found me for one thing and one thing only. How do you think that made me feel?”
“It should have made you feel special, knowing any man would go to such lengths.” No need to tell her of the many nights she had haunted his dreams and that before her, he hadn’t bothered running after any woman.