He picked her up.
Wait, wasn’t he cuffed?
Saint sat her on the edge of the desk. Her legs were spread, and he stepped between. Dazed, she pulled back. Out of control. Slow down. Her gaze dropped to the hands—his hands—that had curled around her waist to lift her.
The cuff dangled from only one wrist.
Alice started to smile.
“I want more.” Saint’s voice. Guttural. Demanding.
So do I. Her smile died.
He took her mouth again. Harder. Deeper. He stood between her legs, and the skirt of her dress had hiked up. His arousal shoved toward her. Her nipples were tight and aching, and her hands pressed eagerly against him. This wasn’t about a game. No one-upmanship. This was just raw need.
A beautiful, stark craving.
His hand dropped to her thigh. She felt the cold touch of the handcuff sliding over her skin as he pushed up her dress even higher. She could have stopped him. She didn’t. She was enjoying this far too much to stop.
“Alice…” A murmur against her lips. “Is that a knife strapped to your thigh?”
“Of course. I always like to have it close.” She nipped his lower lip. “I’m sure you have one strapped to your ankle.” As if that would be his only weapon. Not if she’d assessed him correctly.
He slipped her knife from the sheath. She heard the faint clink as he put it on the desk, then those wicked fingers of his went back to her thigh. The calluses on his fingertips were wonderfully rough against her as—
Pounding on her door broke the lust-filled spell.
Dammit.
“Alice!” Logan’s growling voice. One that hit her like a splash of icy water. “I need you, now.”
He’d known that she planned a private meeting with Saint, so for him to interrupt, she understood it had to be bad. Swallowing, she eased back a little from Saint. She made sure her expression was schooled and hoped that no emotion showed in her eyes. “That was delightful. Perhaps we can resume again at a later date? Provided, of course,” Alice could absolutely not resist adding, “that you haven’t managed to lock me away in a jail cell.”
His eyes gleamed. A mix of dark lust and…amusement? “We will be resuming. Count on it.”
“Alice.” Logan sounded even more frantic. Unusual, for him. She knew, though, that he wouldn’t burst into her office. Even if she hadn’t locked the door, Logan would never invade her privacy that way. They had rules, after all.
Sighing, Alice pressed against Saint’s shoulders. He eased away. As he did so, his right hand slid toward the cuff that still circled his left wrist. His fingers moved quickly, and the cuff opened.
“You got the paperclip from my desk.” She’d caught a glimpse of it. “I’m impressed.”
“Not yet, you’re not. But you will be.”
She would not smile at him. She’d already given him enough of her smiles.
“Did I pass the first test?” Saint wanted to know.
She reached for her knife. Took her time sliding it back into the sheath that she strapped to her upper thigh. Alice could feel his eyes on her as she slowly—very, very slowly—lowered the skirt of her dress back into place. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Don’t you?”
“Alice. Check the security footage. Exterior. Your lot.”
Her chest tightened. Enough playing. She rushed back around the desk and tapped on her keyboard. A moment later, she was viewing the security footage. What she saw had her huffing out a breath of frustration.
“What’s going on?” Saint asked.
Her head lifted. “Your client is pissing me off.”
A faint line appeared between his dark eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
But she wasn’t in the mood to excuse him or anyone else. She’d gone from glorious passion to cold rage in an instant. Sometimes, enough was just enough. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I hate when people do that.” Alice marched toward her door. Hauled it open.
Logan filled the entranceway. “Took you long enough,” he groused. “What the hell did you do, stop for tea?”
Cute. “I’ll deal with her.” She started to push past him.
He just moved to better block her path. “Nope. Let the cops do it. You’ve handled her with kid gloves too long. She’s out of control. If you don’t watch it, she’ll become as dangerous as he was.”
“What’s going on?” Saint repeated his earlier question with a distinct edge in his voice.
Alice realized that she could still taste him. And that Saint very well might have been aware of what his client had been doing. Perhaps the confusion was an act. She glanced back over her shoulder, trying to judge for certain. “Were you aware that Tracy Eldridge had followed you to Savannah? Or did the two of you come here together?”
“What?” He bounded toward her. “No, no we didn’t come together, and no, I didn’t realize she was here.” Saint shook his head. “What in the hell is she doing in town?”
“At the moment, she’s spray painting my car.”
His jaw dropped in surprise. “Tell me that you’re shitting me.”
“She’s not shitting you,” Logan snapped back. “Your client is a psycho. Doesn’t exactly speak well for you, does it?”
Alice didn’t give Saint a chance to respond to that retort. She ducked around Logan and stormed for the back exit. With every step, her heels clicked, faster and angrier. She’d tried to be nice. Or at least, tried to appear nice. She was dealing with the grieving sister and all that drama. But enough was enough.
Alice was highly conscious of the two men following her. They could come and enjoy the show. She knew that Logan would have her back. He always did. Saint’s reaction to the scene he was about to see—that was what interested her.
Which side would he chose? Tracy’s? Or hers?
Alice shoved open the back door. Marched for her car. “Red is my favorite color,” she called out, and her sharp voice had the woman with the spray can jerking and spinning around in shock. “But I don’t particularly enjoy having red paint all across my windshield.” And that was where it was. The paint had been carefully applied across the front, and thanks to the lights out back, she could easily discern the word…
Killer.
“How incredibly original,” Alice said as she closed in on Tracy and—
Tracy sprayed the red paint at her. It was a fast burst, right to the chest and arms, and Alice staggered to a surprised stop.
“What in the fuck?” A furious snarl—not from Logan, but from Saint. He bounded in front of Alice. Shielded her with his body. “What in the hell are you doing, Tracy?”
Alice spread her arms as she looked at the paint on her. “I believe it’s obvious. She’s giving both my car—and me—a new paint job.”
Saint’s head whipped toward her. “That’s not funny.”
“No.” Flat. “It’s not.” Alice stepped to the side. She didn’t need him to shield her. She’d been fighting her own battles for a very, very long time.
Logan rushed forward. He snatched the spray can from Tracy’s fingers. She let out a sharp cry. He ignored the cry. “I’m calling the cops! Your ass is getting arrested!”