Close To Danger (Westen #4)(8)

“Hello, Chloe.” Wes Strong’s deep voice rolled over her like a layer of dark velvety chocolate.

Starting at his feet, she let her eyes feast on him. No stylish, highly polished wingtips for Wes. Nope, he had on heavy duty work boots and jeans that loosely held his long legs, but hugged his hips nicely. The black sweater lay carelessly over those tight abs she remembered from the day after her sister’s wedding, when he’d been dressed only in pajama pants slung low on his hips. It stretched tighter over his chest and shoulders, nicely showing off his muscles without being gaudy. He’d scrunched up the sleeves to his elbows. She fought the urge to sigh. She’d always loved a man’s forearms, especially ones as firm and muscled as his. He had both hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans as he leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window wall of her office, where he’d been gazing out when she entered.

Had he been watching the street? Had he been watching for her?

Slowly, she let her gaze raise to his face. He was just as she remembered, his thick dark hair cut slightly longer than military length. His face solid in a mature-man way, but no extra weight of a man over-indulging in alcohol or fatty foods. There was no smile in greeting. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin line. The slight dent in his nose spoke of it being broken once, and why hadn’t she asked him about it? But his eyes spoke volumes. She’d always heard that the blue flame was the hottest. Right now heat blazed in his blue eyes, her body going flush from her toes straight up to her face.

Get yourself together, Chloe. You’re not some high school geek suddenly being courted by the school’s hunk or bad boy. You’re a lawyer with a prestigious law firm. You chew people up and spit them out just for fun.

With a deep breath, she closed the door behind her and stalked across the room to her desk and dropped her brief case in the center. Carefully, she shrugged out of her woolen winter coat and hung it on the coat rack in the corner of the room right next to the thick navy-blue parka he’d taken the liberty of hanging there.

“What are you doing here, deputy?” she asked in her iciest voice.

“We have some unfinished business,” he said without moving from his spot by the window.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Pulling out her chair, she sat and laid her phone on her desk, trying to act calmer than she felt inside.

Please God, don’t let him bring up the night they slept together. She had no doubt it was fantastic, couldn’t imagine him being anything but mind-blowing between the sheets. That was the problem. She’d been so drunk she couldn’t remember anything from leaving the wedding reception with him until she woke in his bed the next morning.

Finally, taking his hands out of his front pockets, he pushed away from her window and strode across the room, power and grace in the way he moved. “Still have that feeling you’re being followed?”

And there it was. The problem that had plagued her for weeks before she’d driven into Westen the week before Christmas for her sister’s wedding. She’d let her guard down and half-confessed the issue to Wes over coffee in the café. She’d also managed to talk herself into believing it was just her imagination. Apparently, she hadn’t been as convincing to the deputy.

“I’m not sure what business it is of yours. Or why you think you needed to come down to Cincinnati to check on me about it.” She paused and fixed him with her best lawyer-in-charge expression. “And aren’t you supposed to be filling in at the little town sheriff’s office while my sister and brother-in-law are on their honeymoon?”

“They got back last night and were in the office today.” Placing both hands flat on her desk, he leaned in closer. “And you didn’t answer my question. Are you still being stalked?”

Before she could put him in his place with a pithy come-back, her phone buzzed on her desk. She glanced over and didn’t recognize the number.

“You going to answer that?” Wes asked with one brown quirked in a taunting fashion.

As much as she wanted to tell him to go to hell, she’d always been a sucker for a challenge. If she didn’t answer it, he’d think she was a chicken. And dammit, from the time she’d been a little girl she’d been determined not to let anyone see her frightened or weak.

She picked it up and hit the answer button. “Hello?”

Wes grasped her hand, lowered the phone and hit the speaker phone button.

Chloe cast him a narrow-eyed, I’m-going-to-yell-at-you-later look, but held her temper.

No answer came over the phone.

“Hello?” she said again, the pit of her stomach churning. “Who is this?”

Heavy breathing came through the line. She went to hit the hang up button, but Wes stilled her hand as he took his phone out of his pocket. He motioned for her to keep talking then began to push a few buttons on his own phone. Curious at what he was doing, she took a breath and decided to play along.

“Is there something you want to say to me? Or do you just get off on breathing into phones?” she said, not hiding the contempt in her voice. Better contempt than fear.

“Did you have a good meeting?” a mechanical voice came over the phone. Its deep, distorted sound sent shivers through Chloe, her eyes lifting to meet Wes’s gaze across her desk. He made a circular motion with his finger like a television director wanting her to keep the scene rolling.