Page 42 of The Silver Fox Vampire

She grabbed the case file, snatched her purse off the back of her chair and headed for the door.

As she grasped the handle and was about to yank it open, it swung outward, and she found herself catapulting forward.

Straight into her boss’s silver waistcoated torso.

Her nostrils flared, drinking in the smell of expensive cologne, his tantalizing male scent. It was impossible to describe exactly how Oliver Hale smelled, but it made her think of rain on pine-forest-clad mountains.

Mentally, she shook herself.

She felt his touch, so familiar and dangerous, and realized his hand was on her elbow, steadying her. Clare jerked so violently she dropped the file, and papers spewed onto the floor.

She heard him tut softly. Heat spread up her neck as another, more telltale heat spread between her legs.

And then they both bent to pick them up.

His breath was warm against her ear. “Clumsy,” he murmured.

“You bumped into me,” she retorted, then made the mistake of looking into his face. Long thick lashes framed his almond-shaped eyes, the fan of lines around them making him even more devastatingly attractive. The silver streaks in his dark beard accentuated the sensuality of his bad-boy mouth with its defined upper lip and the full sulkiness of the lower one.

He was devastatingly beautiful, and she hated every inch of him for that.

She started to gather papers in a frenzied hurry, her breath sharp and painful in her chest.

“Not so fast, they’ll get all out of order. Give them here.” He already had the file in his long fingers, and as she handed the wad of papers over, their fingers touched.

It was the same electric current that had zapped her that night when she’d touched his ring. Oh gods…

The same longing.

The same need.

Unabated, unquenched.

She jumped up like she’d been stung by a thousand bees, leaving him down on one knee at her feet, which was kind of ironic in a cruel way. He swiftly rose, neatly aligning the papers, then placed them into the file and handed it back to her.

“You’re off then,” he said, his face impassive.

“Yep. Off to Tween.” She hugged the file to her chest, aware she was scowling.

His lip hitched sideways into that devastatingly lopsided smirk of his. “Obviously not thrilled with the idea.”

“I didn’t improve on my interviews. Still only two families have agreed to talk to me.”

“Two’s a start. Well done.” Shit, was that a compliment, or was he being patronizing?

Glancing into his face, his eyes seemed serious, his smile genuine. She took a step back, changed the subject. “How did it go with Vlad?”

He gave a shrug. “As expected. But I think I’ve rattled the Kominsky cage.”

She nodded. “Hopefully I’ll have something to report when I get back.”

“Indeed.” He stood blocking her exit and her senses flared at his nearness, the warmth of his body, so close she could see the neat line of his beard where he’d trimmed it, a tiny cut on his neck, just above his shirt. The thought of him shaving, nicking his own skin made him seem so much more accessible.

Like her, he bled.

“Can you let me pass, sir? I’ve got a lot to get on with.”

He blinked, then stepped aside.