"A corner office." She walked to the window behind his desk, stepping casually into what he considered his personal space. "And with one hell of a view." She turned to face him. "You really have come up in the world."
He moved closer, intentionally encroaching on her personal space. Selma, however, didn't seem to mind. "I've worked hard," he said. "It's paid off." He crossed the room until he stopped right in front of her. So close he could smell a hint of vanilla, and the visceral memories the scent inspired almost had him thrusting her back against the window and crushing his mouth to hers.
Thankfully, he had more self-control than that. Instead, he said, "I may have a corner office, but you're not doing too badly yourself. I've read about Free-Tail. That's quite a business you've built."
"It is." She started to take a step backwards, as if she was uncomfortable, but there was no place to go. She was mere inches from the wall of glass overlooking downtown Austin.
Easton wondered briefly if her discomfort was because of his proximity or the mention of her distillery, but right then he didn't need an answer. He pressed on. "I've seen you around a few times since our night. But it's only been in recent years. At The Fix. Once on Congress Avenue. One time at Herrington's Gym. But never back then. I didn't catch one glimpse of you for years after that night."
Before, they'd spent almost three consecutive nights chatting and flirting in a local bar that had gone out of business years ago. But then he'd offered to drive her to where she was housesitting, and they'd ended up naked on the couch, never even making it to the bedroom until almost dawn, when they both got a spectacular second wind.
And then she'd ghosted him.
"Somehow, you managed to disappear from my world without a trace. Handy trick."
"Not really a trick," she said lightly. "After all, I bet you didn't try too hard to find me. A hot shot law student who went on to be an assistant district attorney and then a powerful lawyer. I bet even back then you had access to a slew of investigators. If you'd wanted to, you'd have found someone to turn over the right rock. But you're a man who had other things on your mind." She met his eyes defiantly, and he had to admit she'd earned points. He'd been watching her face. Looking for regret. For guilt. He saw only a woman as tough and polished and unreadable as himself.
She was right, too. He hadn't looked hard. He'd regretted it when he realized that she'd meant what she said about no second date. No more casual get-togethers. But he'd been determined to graduate at the top of his law school class. Sex was the last thing on his mind. And, honestly, if Selma had been around, sex might have been hard to ignore.
"Probably true," he admitted. "And I have to admit, it was easier to study with no distractions."
"Was I a distraction?"
He took one more step toward her. "I think you know the answer to that. We knew each other for what? Thirty-six hours? You were the wildest, fastest, hottest time in bed I'd ever had. And then you pulled the plug and walked away."
She tilted her head, and when she spoke, her voice was breathy. "Sounds like you still want me."
Hell, yeah, he did. But all he said was, "I'm not the man I was back then."
"No?" She leaned closer, and he could feel her heat. He remembered that about her. How her skin had burned against his. Selma Herrington ran hot as a furnace, the walking definition of a hot-blooded woman. "Then why don't you tell me what kind of a man you are now?"
He took a deliberate step back. "One who knows the distinction between want and willpower. Right now, the only thing I want is to know why you walked away."
"And the only thing I want is your help." Her smile was flirty. "I wonder if we'll both get our heart's desire."
He studied her, but there were no clues to who she was now or what she was doing there. If he wanted more, he was going to have to ask. "All right. You can tell me why you're here. I'm not promising I'll help, but I'll hear you out."
"Thank--"
"But on one condition."
"I don't do conditions."
"Then we're at an impasse."
She looked at him, apparently decided he meant it, and shrugged. "What's your condition?"
"I just told you. I want to know why you walked away."
The tilt of her head was almost imperceptible. "I'm surprised, counselor. I didn't think it was wise for a lawyer to reveal too much of himself."
"Like I said, the man you slept with doesn't exist anymore. But that doesn't mean the man who remains isn't still curious."
"I tell you, you help me?"
"I said I'd hear you out," he clarified. "That was the deal."
This time when her lips pressed together, there was nothing flirty or contrived about it. She was thinking. Finally, she spoke. "Honestly? I liked you too much."