About That Night.... Scarlet Wilson

and hips. He did his best to look away.

      This was all going to end in disaster.

      He’d lied. He didn’t have to see Frank about anything. He’d been given all the information he could possibly need.

      The worst thing was that he’d left all the paperwork in the room. He was going to have to hang around and kill time with nothing to do.

      It had seemed easier to make something up. To let her slip away and get to the room without him pretending not to watch her every move.

      Leave the door on the latch. He cringed at his words. It was like something an old married couple would say to each other. Where had that come from?

      Everything about this situation was just too uncomfortable.

      He’d caught a waft of her floral perfume the other day and it had invaded his senses, instantly taking him back to that night in the bar.

      The night when Violet had drunk too many glasses of wine and had virtually propositioned him in the corridor leading to the back exit. The night when he’d had too many whiskies and had no resistance to her in her red dress and spiked heels, her hair all mussed up on her head.

      The feel of her hungry lips on his had made him forget where they were and the consequences of his actions.

      By the time someone had interrupted them, he’d practically had her dress up around her waist.

      Hardly the ideal position for a DPA team leader and a member of his staff.

      And the next day it had been as if nothing had ever happened. He sometimes wondered if Violet even remembered the incident.

      Surely she hadn’t been that drunk? Because that thought made him sick to his stomach. That would mean he’d taken advantage of her. Something he would never do.

      But in the meantime her floral scent lingered around him.

      How could he sleep in a room tonight with that aroma and all it conjured up in his mind?

      There was no question about it.

      Violet Connelly was going to drive him crazy.