He thrust his fingers into his hair and paced to work off the frustration. She’d drive him to drink. Morgan Price hardly understood her effect on men. Lush curves in all the right places, breasts to make a man’s mouth water, and that smile. Always a twinkle in her dark eyes. He imagined running his fingers over her ebony skin until she begged him to spread her open on his desk. Speaking of his desk, what a mess. Trip spread his arm out over the clutter on his desk and shoved. Papers flew in the air, the telephone thunked on the carpet, and the lamp tipped, shining yellow light up at him. Her eyes widened and she jumped back. “Trip. What the hell are you thinking?” Her nipples pebbled under the flimsy fabric of her halter top, and her breaths accentuated her problem. She licked her lips again, giving them a slick sheen. God, he wanted to taste her. “I said we need to talk.” He rested his hands on the now-empty desk top. “I need a partner.” “This is sexual harassment or something.”
