She shook her head, her golden-brown ponytail brushing her bare shoulders. “No. The people who spoke to me did so on the assurance of confidentiality, and I won’t betray that. And I absolutely refuse to expose them to the wrath of the Lowell family.”
The wrath of the Lowell family? What kind of shit was that? “My wrath?” he murmured, edging closer. And closer still until one shift of his feet and their chests would press together. Their sweat-dampened skin would cling. His cock would find a home nestled against her taut stomach. “Do you still have your job? Have you found yourself and that paper you work for served with a defamation suit? If you went to any of the stores or restaurants around here, would you still be waited on or served? No, Sophie.” He leaned down, so close his lips almost grazed her ear. So close, he caught the shiver that worked through her body as his breath hit her lobe. “If I wanted to wage war against someone who came after me, after mine, the first casualty would be you. And since you haven’t been shunned or blackballed yet—because believe me, even with the stain on my last name, I have the power to do all I’ve mentioned—you haven’t felt my wrath. Besides,” he added, and this time he let his mouth brush the rim of her ear. Let himself get his first feel of her skin, her body even if it was just something as small as that. “I would never include others in the battle between us. This, sweetheart, is personal.”
Air, quick and harsh, rushed from her lips, bathing his cheek, stirring the flames already stroking him from the inside out. God, he wanted to... Grinding his molars together so hard he should’ve tasted dust, he inched back, placing between them the space he’d so foolishly eliminated. As it was, he now fought the impulse to rub his thumb over the spot where his mouth had glanced her ear. Rub that sensation into his flesh as if it wasn’t already branded there.
“Is that supposed to scare me? Should I file that under the threat category?” she shot back. And it would’ve been effective if it hadn’t been uttered in a throaty whisper that rasped over his too-sensitive skin.
Damn her.
Damn him.
“No, Sophie. The last thing I want from you is fear.” Let her translate that how she wanted. “But make no mistake, I intend to have those names from you. And that’s not a threat, but a promise.”
Not waiting for her response, he turned and strode away from her. But not for long. They had an appointment for a day together at his office. And he would see the vow he’d made come true.
Sophie would divulge the identities of her sources.
One way or another.
And as his blood hummed in his veins, still lit up like a torch from his interaction with her, it was the “another” that worried him.
Four
Back in the lion’s den.
Sophie summoned a smile as she gave the first-floor receptionist of the Black Crescent building her name and waited while she called to verify her appointment. Turning, she stared at the large picture window, not really seeing the parking lot or the ring of towering trees beyond that shielded the property like an inner wall in a medieval fiefdom.
No, images of Joshua Lowell from when he’d cornered her at the gym yesterday flickered before her eyes. Flickered, hell. Paraded. Him, his lean but large and powerful body encased in a sweaty white T-shirt that clung to tendon and muscle, and loose gray knee-length basketball shorts. God, those shorts. If the shirt had her itching to climb those wide shoulders as if they were a scratching post and she was a cat in heat, then those shorts had her palm itching to slide beneath the damp waistband, skim over his ridged abdomen and farther down to grasp the long and thick length that she’d glimpsed the imprint of under the nylon.
Joshua freaking Lowell had been hard. For her.
And he’d called her sweetheart.
She still couldn’t wrap her mind around that. He hated her. Okay, hate might be too strong a word, but he very strongly disliked her. Okay, disliked might be too soft a word.
Sighing, she shook her head, dispelling the mental picture, but could do nothing for the sensitive spot just under her navel. The spot where his cock had pressed against her as he’d whispered threats—forget promises, those had definitely been threats—in her ear. Idiot that she was, she should’ve been furious, or even a little intimidated, but no.
She’d just been turned the hell on.
And all she could think of was whether or not that sandalwood, earth and rain scent would transfer to her skin if his naked, big body covered hers. Would she wear him on her? Or would they create a new fragrance together—one made of him, her and sex?
Stop this. Now. The silent but strident admonishment rang inside her head, and she heeded it. She had to. In several very short minutes, she would once again face Joshua on his turf. Only this time she wouldn’t have the benefit of surprise. He would have home-court advantage, so to speak, prepared for her, her questions, her preconceived perceptions of him. Joshua Lowell would be ready to battle. And as he’d warned her, he wouldn’t lose.
She had to be focused and professional and, above all, could not think of how that beautiful body would feel moving over her...in her.
Dammit!
“Ms. Armstrong, they’re expecting you upstairs. If you’ll take the elevator to the second floor, Mr. Lowell’s executive assistant, Haley Shaw, will be waiting for you.” The woman gave her a polite but friendly smile as she gestured toward the bank of elevators that Sophie was all too familiar with. She’d covertly stole into them to barge into the
