Instinct said Anamaria wasn’t being entirely truthful.But he didn’t know whether it was real instinct or if, as she’d said, he’d come expecting the worst of her. He was a lawyer. He’d seen the worst of a lot of people. He’d come by his distrust honestly.Truthfully, though, it didn’t matter whether he believed her. Distrust alone wasn’t going to keep him away from her. It wasn’t going to keep him out of her bed.She was leaning against the kitchen counter, hands resting on the chipped laminated top. She could go to church or appear in court in that outfit, but it still struck him as damn sexy. The skirt was neither tight nor short, but it made him focus all too much on the curves underneath it—the flat belly, the rounded hips, the long muscled thighs. The T-shirt was substantial enough to reveal only a hint of the bra underneath, and it fitted no more snugly than the skirt, but it was enticing all the same. Soft, but not as soft as the skin it covered. Concealing, on a body that should be revealed.He turned his chair to face her, then hooked his arms over the ladderback.
