Counselor Undone by Lisa Rayne Page B

with a
first kiss—except once. Spartacus. And tonight it had happened again.
When Michael backed her against the elevator wall and pressed his lips to hers,
she’d known. The kiss had been sweet and seductive, not overwhelming and passionate,
but she’d known.
    Michael Remington smelled like New Year’s Eve.
    His scent reminded her of the midnight kiss she’d shared
with a stranger under the stars. The familiar scent had wrapped around her and
kissing Michael had felt almost predestined. When his lips had touched hers,
the same vortex of attraction and passion and overwhelming lust she’d experienced on that dimly
lit balcony had coursed through every cell in her body.
    She’d felt almost as if she were reliving that night. In
fact, she’d momentarily become disoriented. When she’d grabbed Michael’s pants
to steady herself, she’d thought she heard him whisper “Juliet” right before
the elevator dinged.
    She was losing her mind. No way, he’d called her Juliet. Had
he?
    What were the chances of that? What were the odds Michael
Remington, of all the men in the greater Kansas City area, would turn out to be
her gladiator? A million to one? Two million to one?
    Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Her gladiator had
that long, sexy hair that gave him a bad-boy, devil-may-care vibe. Everything
about Michael Remington, from his short-cropped hair to his expensive tailored
suits, shouted proper, straight-laced, and . . . lawyerly.
    Surely, she could blame her behavior tonight and her
temporary mental deficiency on the olfactory déjà vu effect. One minute, she’d
been reminding herself of all the reasons she shouldn’t be attracted to Mr.
Remington. The next minute, she’d been wondering what he looked like without
any clothes.
    She sucked in a breath. The visual that came with the
thought was almost too naughty for words.
    No. She rapped her forehead against
the door thrice. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
    She’d only recently escaped the viper pit of law firm scandal.
She couldn’t handle scandalous hookups part two. Yet, ever since Michael Remington
had walked into the conference room on Monday, an inappropriate curiosity had
haunted her.
    Was he dating anyone outside the office? Rumor had it he
didn’t do serious, but did he have a current go-to girl?
    The last question in particular had warned her she was
headed into dangerous territory where Mr. Remington was concerned. She’d
weathered the personal aspersions cast her way at her prior firm when she’d
been accused of fraternizing with a senior partner in exchange for special
treatment. How ironic would it be for her to walk into the same scenario at
RHM?
    Actually, it wouldn’t be ironic. It would be mega stupid .
She’d already experienced several setbacks in her career. RHM was her last stop
on the law firm partnership track. She needed to make partner here or rethink
her career path. She’d previously considered the logistics of starting her own
practice. She had the drive, the people skills, and the knowledge to make it
work. But, starting a business from scratch when she had a perfectly good set
up at a great firm with a built-in support network didn’t sound appealing.
    With that in mind, it would be the worst form of
self-sabotage if she walked consciously into the fire this time by actually
sleeping with her boss. But how on earth was she supposed to resist this attraction
to him if every time she was near him, his cologne made her think of her encounter
with Spartacus? It was the sexiest night she’d ever spent with a man, and they
hadn’t even taken off any clothes.
    Shaking her head, she walked to the open vertical blinds
covering the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass door that led to her deck at the
back of the building. She had a great view overlooking a large swimming pool
and a meandering walking trail. Floodlights usually lit the pool area, throwing
brightness into the apartment. Tonight, only the dim glow of security lamps
poured