“No, I hate this neighborhood. I figure my car will be safer outside the police station than in a dark street off the Strip,” he said.
She took a step closer, head cocked to one side.
“Liar. You can’t stand someone else having the last word. Like last night when you kissed me and walked away.”
He snorted his exasperation.
“You really think that’s why I kissed you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Why else? I kicked you in the shin, I won the award. You had to score somewhere. You figured walking away made you a winner.”
“Did I? Wouldn’t hanging around have made me an even bigger winner?” he said.
Her dark eyes glittered dangerously and she stepped closer again. She had her pointing finger extended and ready to jab at his chest again—but this time he was ready for her.
“You weren’t about to score, if that’s what you’re thinking. You were minutes away from a knee in your privates, buddy,” she said.
He caught her finger as it moved toward his chest, his hand enveloping her much smaller one.
“Hey,” she protested.
“Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to point?” he asked mockingly.
She tugged on her hand, trying to pull it from his grip.
“Give me my hand back,” she growled.
“If that’s what you want,” Leandro said, but not before he’d pulled her closer. Only a foot separated them as he placed her palm flat on his chest.
He held her eye, very aware of how hot her hand felt, even through the shirt he was wearing.
A beat of taut silence, then the side of her mouth quirked up into a quick smile.
“You think you’re so smart,” she said, then she fisted her hand into the fabric of his shirt and jerked his body toward hers.
Her other hand snaked up and around his neck, guiding his head down, and then his lips were on hers again. She tasted like coffee and chocolate and desire, and he invaded her mouth the way he wanted to invade her body. His hands found her back, sliding down to cup her great little butt and hauling her close. She gyrated her hips against his hard-on and made a needy sound in the back of her throat.
She was liquid fire, and he wanted to be inside her. Angling her head back, he deepened their kiss, wanting to own all of her. His right hand slid around her torso and up her rib cage until he found the swell of her breasts. They were soft yet firm, and he could feel how hard her nipples were through the fabric of her top.
She gasped and pressed herself closer as he gently pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger. He gave a groan of satisfaction as her hand slid between their bodies to find the aching length of his erection. She smoothed her palm flat along the length of him, again and again, and the one remaining functional brain cell in his head remembered that he’d seen a motel just a few minutes up the road. Sure, it wasn’t ideal, but neither was dropping to the sidewalk on the very public Strip and taking her the way he wanted to right now.
“There’s a place up the road,” he said, breaking their kiss and staring down into her dark brown eyes. Her cheekbones were flushed and her mouth wet and swollen from his kisses. His boner throbbed. He wanted this woman like nothing on the planet right now.
She nodded her head. “Yes. It’s called the police station,” she said. Then her lips curled into a triumphant little smile as she stepped away from him.
Her gaze dropped to his crotch, and she raised an eyebrow.
“You might want to wait a few minutes before you walk into the station,” she said.
Then she opened her car door and slid behind the wheel of her expensive SUV.
He spread his hands wide as she lowered the driver’s window.
“Come on, Claudia—tit for tat? Aren’t we a little too old for these kind of games?” he said.
“Don’t be too long,” she said, giving him a cheeky finger wave goodbye.
He was still standing there looking—and feeling—like a dick when she pulled away from the curb and out into the traffic.
Running a hand through his hair, he let out a pent-up sigh of frustration and glanced down at the significant bulge in his jeans.
She was a minx, a conniving seductress, a master tactician.
And now he wanted her more than ever. Competitor be damned. Wife hunt be damned.
Grinning, he turned toward the street where his car was parked. He’d always enjoyed the thrill of the chase.
3
CLAUDIA HAD BEEN waiting at the police station for a full ten minutes before Leandro strolled in. In a perfect world, she would have been well and truly ensconced with detectives from the Major Crimes Unit by the time he’d arrived, but a woman couldn’t have everything. Leaving him with a giant boner on the Strip had just about made up for any embarrassment she’d felt after he’d left her floundering like a landed fish at the awards ceremony last night. Just about.
If only her own pulse wasn’t still pounding in her ears. Closing her eyes, she smoothed her palm down her thigh as she remembered how big and hard he’d felt beneath her hand. It definitely hadn’t been easy to walk away from all that throbbing masculinity. But it had been worth it, even if her own frustration levels were at an all-time high. He needed to be taught a lesson, cut down to size. And since no one else was volunteering for the job, it looked like the task had fallen to her.
When she opened her eyes again, Leandro was walking through the automatic doors into the foyer of the West Hollywood police station. She was powerless to control the kick in her belly as she caught sight of his tall, strong body. She wasn’t the kind of woman who lied to herself about what she wanted, and it was becoming pretty damned obvious that, sensible or not, she wanted Leandro Mandalor.
She liked the way he challenged her. And she’d have to be dead from the waist down not to want to go to bed with him. He had an amazing body, and she’d just had a sneak preview of the highlight, albeit through the fabric of his jeans. She couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to his crotch as he walked toward her now. What if she’d taken him up on his offer and gone to that motel up the road…?
“What’s happening?” he asked as he dropped into the seat beside her.
As usual, he was too broad for the space allocated for ordinary mortals, and she felt the warm press of his body against hers.
It should have been annoying, but it wasn’t.
“They’re calling in two detectives from the Major Crimes Unit. They were on a dinner break,” she said.
Leandro raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch. “Nice life. Maybe being a producer isn’t so bad after all,” he said.
She stared at him. “Being a producer is the best job in the world,” she said.
He looked amused. “Maybe you ought to meet my boss. And my cast. And my writing team, for that matter. Bet they’d change your mind in a pinch.”
She frowned. Was he serious? Sometimes she couldn’t tell with him. Okay—most of the time she couldn’t tell with him. It was one of his most intriguing and annoying aspects.
“You hate your job. Are you serious?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for five years now, so obviously I don’t hate it. Let’s just say the challenge has faded. Until recently.”
He gave her a significant look. She sat up a little straighter.
“I get it,” she