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way or another. Of course, I’m completely confident in the outcome. The woman seems to thrive on challenging me at every turn, but she could’ve walked away long before now. Usually, her defiance amuses me, but not tonight.
    I use my own key on her front door instead of knocking. I never knock. The first time I let myself into her place was when she’d called in sick. I must admit, I’d panicked. Miss Parker rarely misses work, even when she does quite obviously feel like shit. Though she could barely speak due to a severe cold, she’d informed me that although the firm owned the apartment, I was never to use my key again unless invited to. Of course I did it again later that day when I brought her soup and medicine. Testing her. She’d said nothing. When I did it yet again, just to push her, she said she would quit if I did it again. So I went upstairs only to return thirty minutes later. She’d rolled her eyes and called me bullheaded. She hasn’t mentioned it again.
    In any other situation I would be called a stalker. But Miss Parker and I have done this delicate dance since she waltzed into my life. She fascinates me, infuriates me, but most of all, she does it for me. While my actions are certainly unorthodox, even criminal, it’s a gentling of sorts. One she acquiesces to, as I have given her every opportunity to get out. For one thing, she has a contract that states she gets full pay for six months should she quit, and half pay for six months after that. I know she read every line—I made her read it out loud then quizzed her afterward. Should I decide to fire her—as if—she receives twice her normal pay for a year. Crazy of me, I know, but I was certain about her from the first moment I saw her.
    And it looks like I’ve arrived just in time. The would-be usurper was just about to kiss my woman. That will not stand. Perhaps I waited too late to make my intentions clear. No matter—she’ll understand fully soon enough.
    “Miss Parker, how many times must I inform you that you are always to answer my calls?” My timely interruption causes Gelisa to hiss an expletive not quite under her breath. In all honesty, I do believe Miss Parker looks relieved. The little squirrel of a man on her couch is not for her; she knows that as well as I.
    “I’m on a date,” she retorts with far more ferocity than I know she feels. I’ve watched this woman, studied her. I know every nuance of her personality, know what every look means, what every sigh indicates. Now she is just being difficult, as she is wont to be. But those deep chestnut-colored eyes glitter with intense glee at my arrival. Gelisa knows me as well as I know her. She’s daring me now. So be it. “It’s a week away from Christmas, and we have no cases to be presented any time soon. I made an executive decision as to whether or not you wanted anything important.”
    The little minx has risen to her feet as she’s speaking, an intimidating five foot one-and-a-half inches, taking a few steps in my direction. Not nearly close enough. Happy to oblige her, I close the gap, slowly walking forward until I am towering over her. My adorable little pixie woman. Although the top of her head barely reaches my chest, she is lush with generous curves. The short, bobbed haircut she recently traded her braids for frames her russet, heart-shaped face. It makes her look like a fierce fairy. I like that very much, her fierceness. She isn’t a woman easily broken, which is perfect, as I have no desire to break her. Challenge her, yes; take her to the absolute edge of endurance, absolutely. But slaves don’t do it for me. At one time that wasn’t so, but I have learned so much more about myself since then. I desire—no, I require a submissive, one that will challenge me as much as I challenge her. Gelisa Parker is the woman my exacting standards demand. All I need to do is show her, then claim her.
    “The law does not pause for the holidays, Miss Parker.” I lean