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roar.
    â€œStop. Whoa.” Grabbing the edge of her sunny yellow comforter, she wrapped it around herself. She wasn’t modest, a dancer couldn’t afford the luxury, but she felt too exposed under his ravenous regard. “I’m sorry, but this is not going to happen.”
    His fingers froze on the last connected button. “Excuse me?” Dark brows lowered in a fierce scowl.
    Intimidating, much? Oh, yeah.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said again. And she meant it. He’d just lit her up like a torch in every way imaginable, body, mind, soul. And he couldn’t be more off-limits if he were the Pope. “This isn’t what I intended when I sought you out.”
    If anything the scowl deepened. “Explain.”
    The demand was nearly a growl. It occurred to her she should be afraid, but she wasn’t. She’d been in his arms, felt his body resonate with hers. He’d never hurt a woman. Not physically anyway. He had too much control. But there were worse ways he could make her pay. Her mind raced. This needed to be handled carefully.
    Feeling at a disadvantage, she inched to the side and stood up. He stepped back giving her some room. She breathed in relief. “I’d prefer to get dressed for this conversation if you don’t mind.”
    It wasn’t a question and still he looked ready to protest, a signal to her that he was in charge of what happened here. Never mind it was her apartment. Clearly the man was used to being in command wherever he went. Finally, he gave a brief nod and left the room.
    Okay, in no way did his silence reassure her. Anger defined the rigid line of his shoulders as he strode away.
    â€œThere’s wine in the refrigerator and glasses in the cupboard to the right,” she called out, then bit her lip. This wasn’t a date, but she knew if he left, she’d lose all chance of ever talking to him.
    Ready or not the time had come to plead her case.
    She grabbed clothes from the dresser and hurried into them, soft gray sweats and a baby-blue sweater cropped at the waist. In the bathroom she tamed her hair into a ponytail and noticed the pants clung to the curves of her butt and the sweater played peekaboo with her belly button. Dang. Time didn’t allow for another change.
    Tugging at the hem of the sweater she went to wrangle the shark in her living room.
    He leaned against the counter of her kitchen island, sipping a glass of wine. His dark gaze ran over her making her senses tingle.
    â€œYou have five minutes,” he stated in that near growl that just added to his effect on her body.
    Ignoring the urges she could never act on, she helped herself to some wine. She perched on one of the bar stools at the island and took a sip.
    â€œFour minutes. Don’t try my patience, Ms. Malone.”
    â€œI really wanted to do this differently. I was going to come by your office—” She slanted him a wry glance and reached for a picture frame at the end of the counter. Handing it to him, she said softly, “Alliyah had a daughter. Her name is Jasmine. She’s twenty-three-months-old.”
    He refused to accept the picture, didn’t even glance at it. “What does that have to do with me?”
    â€œYou said I targeted you. This is why. In the article I read about Pinnacle, there was a picture included. You and the other executives were holding up the award. I saw your birthmark.”
    One dark brow lifted. “You targeted me because of my birthmark?”
    So cool, so unaffected when her whole life weighed in the balance.
    â€œYes.” She hesitated, prayed this was the right decision, that she wasn’t risking losing Jazi to the one person Lexi could never get her back from. “Because Jasmine has the same birthmark.”
    Okay, she had Jethro’s attention. Truthfully, she’d had his attention from the moment she walked into The Beacon in that snug little black dress and he hoped