“Yes, well.” Kincaid cleared his throat. “I can assure you I will do my best to find your ring, Miss Thorncroft. As well as the identity of your…”
“Birth father,” she supplied.
“Indeed.” He stood up behind his desk and brought his pen and journal to her. “Would you be able to draw a picture of the ring? You’ve described it in detail, but a visual is always best.”
Yes, Joanna thought as she suddenly found herself eye-level with Kincaid’s nether regions. A visualwasalways best.
Goodness.
Who knew a man could be so well…endowed…in that area?
Maybe it was because she’d never paid much attention, having never had loins thrust in front of her. But it seemed Kincaid’s height wasn’t the only thing about him that was larger than average.
Slowly, her gaze traveled up the length of his torso, lingering on the V of flesh that was exposed by his partially unbuttoned shirt until she finally reached his face.
Their eyes met.
With a delicate cough, Joanna’s gaze flicked down, then up again.
“Miss Thorncroft, what is the—oh.” As he suddenly realized the close proximity of his groin to her countenance, Kincaid’s body went as stiff as a board.
Hisentirebody, she noted with some interest.
“Here,” he said, all but throwing the journal and pen into her lap. “Draw the ring to the best of your ability and I’ll return shortly.”
Before she could ask him where he was going, he had quit the room.
“Hmmm,” Joanna murmured to James, who had watched the entire exchange from his lofty perch atop the bookcase. “How do you like that?”
Chapter Seven
In the foyer,Kincaid closed his eyes and let his skull fall back against the plaster wall with an audiblethud.
Bloody hell.
He’d hoped his flare of attraction towards Joanna had been a one-time anomaly. A result of him being caught unawares by a damp, delectable beauty forcing her way into his office. Surely, he’d told himself, when he saw her again there would no sexual friction between them. She was his client,andhis employee, and he could—hewould—conduct himself in a manner that conveyed his utmost professionalism.
“Kincaid? I’m all done.”
As Joanna’s melodious voice floated through the door, his bollocks tightened.
Done?
No, they hadn’t even gotten started.
And he already needed an ice bath.
“I’m coming,” he called back, then winced.
Bad choice of words, that.
Not to mention they did piss all to help with his growing arousal.
Shoving his hands through his hair, he forced himself to count to ten. Twice. When he’d finished and his trousersstillfit a bit more snugly than he was comfortable with, he cursed under his breath and went upstairs to fetch a long overcoat. Holding it closed, he re-entered his office, marched straight to his desk, and sat down.
“Cold?” Joanna asked with a glance at his coat.
“Let’s just see the drawing.” Normally, Kincaid wasn’t so abrasive. Under the right circumstances, he could almost be as charming as Sterling (no easy feat). But these were far from the right circumstances, and given how tenuous his grip was on his self-control, he wanted to conclude this meeting with all haste and get Joanna the hell out of his house.
