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perched while Candice tortured me, and walked into our room. My partner was hurrying around trying to get our things together as quickly as possible. “We’ll take our luggage with us,” she said when she saw me.
    We exited the hotel fifteen minutes later—which left us about ten minutes to reach the bureau field office, and we made that with one minute to spare. As we hurried up the steps to the front door, Candice leaned in and said, “Remember, you are a strong, confident woman. You look amazing. You are amazing. There’s no reason in the world why this guy should intimidate you and throw you off your game. Just go in there and do what you do best.”
    “I can do this,” I said, trying to put a little emphasis on that word “can.”
    “You will.”
    Candice held open the door and we marched in like we were all that and a bag of chips. And it almost worked. That is, until we got our first look at Assistant Special Agent in Charge Brice Harrison, who was tall, blond, and—dare I say it?— exquisite .

Chapter Two
    “Aw, crap,” I heard Candice mutter as we caught our first sight of him.
    I gulped. We were too close now for me to reply without his noticing. He stood like some sort of Michelangelo-inspired statue, leaning with his back against the front desk. There was no mistaking it was Harrison. Candice and I both knew it was him the moment we set eyes on him. He commanded the room, with his arms folded across his chest, his shirt perfectly creased, his tie impeccably straight, and a face that was hard, masculine, and sexy as hell. His nose was straight but slightly hawkish, his forehead high, broad, and unlined, his chin chiseled, and his brown eyes stared straight ahead—focused and intent as they zeroed in on us.
    Candice slowed her pace a fraction and I did the same. I knew she was trying not to appear as if she was in a rush, and were I brave enough to sneak a look over at her, I had a feeling her chin would be slightly tilted and her own eyes would be cool and nonchalant. I’d seen that look on her face a hundred times, and worked to mimic it now, even while my stomach bunched.
    Candice stopped right in front of him and spoke in a breezy voice as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “We’re here to see Brice Harrison. Would you please call him and let him know that Candice Fusco and Abigail Cooper are here for our meeting? And please tell him not to be late this time. We’re on a schedule.”
    I resisted the urge to laugh . . . but just barely. Especially when I saw Harrison’s cheeks flush and his eyes darken moodily. “I am Agent Harrison, Ms. Fusco.”
    Candice’s eyebrows lifted and she made a show of looking him up and down as if she were inspecting livestock. “I see,” she said with the smallest hint of disappointment. “Somehow I expected you to be . . .” She paused, as if searching for a word. “Older.”
    Harrison cocked an eyebrow. “Trust me,” he said in a voice not quite as low as my boyfriend’s, but still incredibly smooth and masculine. “I’m old enough.”
    Candice looked at her watch. “Yes, well, as I said, Abigail and I have a plane to catch, so if you will lead the way, Mr. Harrison.”
    Harrison leaned in toward Candice and looked her dead in the eye. “That’s Agent Harrison, Ms. Fusco.”
    The corner of Candice’s mouth lifted a fraction, but I could tell the way Harrison was leaning into her threw her off a bit. “As you wish, Agent Harrison.”
    Harrison then swiveled his eyes to me and I gave him a toothy grin—which was my first mistake. He had my number immediately. I could tell it in the way he looked at me—very much like the way a leopard regards the little mongoose before you have to avert your eyes from the TV. “If you two will sign the register, take your visitor badges, and follow me,” he instructed.
    We did as we were told without comment, then followed him out of the lobby and to a row of elevators. I avoided looking at anything