Primal Heat(Wild Lake Wolves Book 3)(9)

By: Kimber White

Lanier’s simple desk and flat screen monitors were tucked against the only non-glass wall in the office. The rest of the space flowed toward that gorgeous view with two white leather couches facing out with a small table in between.

“Have a seat,” Curtis said, pointing to the couches. “Mr. Lanier’s already on his way up. Make yourself comfortable. He won’t keep you waiting long.”

Curtis smiled and left me alone. I rubbed my palms against the soft leather of the couch as I sat down and crossed my legs. Then, I uncrossed them and moved to the other end of the couch so my back wouldn’t be turned when Lanier walked in. Or, perhaps I should stand? Would sitting on the couch seem too familiar, even though Curtis had told me to make myself comfortable? I shook off my nerves and blew out a breath. What I wanted to do was get a better view of the rolling, wooded hills outside. So, I rose from the couch and walked over to the glass, careful not to touch it. I couldn’t see a single smudge on it.

As I watched, another pair of mallards landed next to the swans and joined their brethren fighting for some unseen delicacy beneath the placid water’s surface. One of the swans arched his neck and then swung it low, snapping at the smaller ducks, who scurried away. But, then they grew brave again and paddled back. The second swan gained speed across the water then unfurled its massive white wings and took flight. What he lacked in altitude, he made up for with each flap of his powerful wings. They came down with the force of a baseball swing as he glided above the water then settled on the opposite shore. His mate clacked at the mallards again then swam over to join him.

“They’re beautiful, but they make a damn mess.”

I jumped and laid my palm flat against the glass as his rich tenor vibrated across my skin and his breath tickled near my ear. I put a hand to my breast and turned to face Mr. Lanier.

“Sorry,” he said, his smile genuine as he leaned with his shoulder against the glass, one hand resting casually in his pocket. He wore a crisp white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves revealing tanned, ruddy skin with fine reddish hair that dusted across his forearms. My eyes traveled to his blue tie and where the clinging fabric of his shirt outlined his powerful chest. When I looked him straight on, his blue eyes twinkled with mischief as his smile widened. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It was Miss Winslow?”

He extended his hand to shake mine. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, my heart fluttering like hummingbird’s wings just before our skin made contact. When it did, a zing of electricity seemed to spark through my veins, warming my blood. Just a tiny flickering movement in the corner of his eyes told me he felt something too.

This was bad. Terrible. I didn’t want to give off anything less than a professional vibe. But, I couldn’t ignore the fact that Sebastian Lanier was simply the most virile, attractive man I’d ever stood this close to.

“Abby,” I said, wishing I’d taken Curtis up on that glass of water. Actually, I wanted something even stronger. This man unsettled me in a way I didn’t understand. He seemed able to see straight through to my heated core with just the tilt of his head. That same gesture seemed to ignite me even more.

“Nice to meet you again, Abby. Call me Bas.”

God. Bas. The name was perfect for him. Strong. Solid. A vision flashed through my head of me calling it out in the heat of passion. I pulled my hand away perhaps a little quicker than I should have. But, my body sensed danger and desire all at once, like a moth to light. Bas trained those keen blue eyes on me and worked the muscles of his knife blade-sharp jaw.

I took a breath and turned away from him, heading for my messenger bag near the couch. “Mr. Thorp sent me with some paperwork on the new bill the congressman’s drafting. He wanted your notes on it.”

Bas didn’t move from his spot by the window. He just stood there, leaning against it as he watched every move I made. But, at the mention of Dale Thorp, tension came into his shoulders and his eyes flashed dark. I sat on the edge of the couch as I opened my bag and hauled Dale’s fat file out of it. As I moved to hold it out to him, the frayed rubber band snapped and half the papers spilled out of the envelope and onto the floor.

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