The Intern

21

DECLAN

F

uck me.

That was the thought that had run through my head every time I looked at Hannah over the past three days.

It had been seventy-two hours since she’d walked into my office. Every morning was a different outfit of the same variety. But each one showed her beautiful, bouncing t**s, her lean, toned legs that looked endless in a pair of sky-high heels. Her long, hanging hair that framed the hottest face I’d ever seen.

And her goddamn scent.

The vanilla that I could taste even though it was no longer in my mouth.

Is this some sick punishment?

The world’s way of getting back at me for hooking up with a student I mentored?

For finally kissing a woman after all these years?

To find out she was a Dalton … now, that was a f*****g blow. If I had known that before, I wouldn’t have laid a hand on her. I certainly wouldn’t have kissed her. The truth was, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near her.

After she had given me her last name, she’d told me she didn’t want me to treat her any differently.

That was laughable.

Her name was on the sign outside the building.

Her name would be on my paycheck—a firm that I would one day become an equity partner of.

Even though The Dalton Group didn’t have a nonfraternization policy in their contract, it was a relief that we hadn’t hooked up while either of us was an employee. Even if we had, Hannah would have had nothing to worry about. If things somehow went south, those brothers would throw out their best litigator long before they reprimanded their own blood.

Still, I found it interesting that during the conversations I’d had with her—the ones when she was sober, especially the ones when she was drunk—she hadn’t mentioned her last name. Even during the talks that had been centered around her future, that would have been a perfect opportunity for her to slip in that she was a Dalton.

Yet she hadn’t.

When, as a Dalton, her future was already written.

A position would automatically be made for her at this firm.

But those weren’t things she had said at the bar. In fact, it’d sounded like she wasn’t sure where she’d land; she’d just hoped it would be in California.

Of course, she didn’t remember any of those chats.

She remembered nothing at all.

How had I missed all the signs that she was that drunk? I didn’t recall her slurring her words or stumbling. If I had sensed any of that, I wouldn’t have touched her. Consent was my middle name. I wanted my women coherent, so the next morning, they’d remember who had put that ache in their p***y.

But Hannah didn’t.

Now, that was some s**t.

Especially since every goddamn moment of that night replayed in my head each time I looked at her.

Like it was doing now as she walked into my office.

“Good morning,” she sang.

Would she still be singing if she knew what had happened between us?

Fuck, I didn’t know.

And I didn’t plan on telling her; that wouldn’t lead to anything good.

But I was still going to admire the hell out of her, especially in today’s outfit, which was a black dress that hugged every curve, red heels that accentuated those sexy calves, and a pair of diamond earrings that made me want to suck on her earlobes.

Her presence was a fire that burned straight to my c**k.

A d**k that had been hard for three days, and this morning was no different.

I hadn’t gotten any work done since she had started here.

I probably wouldn’t today either—and that was some bullshit.

I was Declan Shaw, top litigator in the state. I needed to pull my head out of my ass. Women didn’t throw off my game, and neither would Hannah.

But the f****d-up thing was that this was only the very beginning.

We were going to be together for an entire semester.

She took a seat, her legs crossing, a notebook on top of them, hiding the part of her thighs that her dress didn’t cover. “Looks like my desk still isn’t ready, so I’m going to have to spend another day in here.” She smiled awkwardly. “Sorry.”

The maintenance department had promised it would be delivered this morning.

I was getting punished.

Again.

“That’s unacceptable.” My hand went into my hair, pulling at the roots. “I need you to call maintenance and have them find you a desk today.”

“I tried—”

“Try harder.”

As she nodded, I took a long, deep breath. “See those boxes?” I pointed at the row of cardboard that took up a whole corner of my office. “They’re filled with folders that you can file into those cabinets”—I shifted my finger to the cabinets that had been built into the wall behind me—“over there.”

I needed her out of my hair.

I needed her attention focused on something other than me.

She got up from the chair, sauntering over to the first box, bending to open the lid. The position caused her dress to ride up well past her knees, the top loosening enough that it showed the swell of her t**s.

Jesus Christ.

“Are these your previous cases from your old firm?”

I ground my teeth together, the anger building.

Why hadn’t she told me her last name?

Why had she drunk so much?

Why the f**k couldn’t I get her out of my head?

“Yes,” I replied. “And don’t stop until they all have a home.”

“I’m on it.”

“Can you do it silently?” The growl erupted in my throat. “I don’t need you talking while you’re in here. Understood?”

Images of her already owned my mind; the last thing I needed was her voice too.

Once she nodded, I turned toward my computer and tried to ignore that she was directly behind me, that I could almost feel the heat from her body. That every time she returned to the box, she bent over in my direction. That every time she came back to the cabinet, she was close enough that I could touch her.

“Wow, I remember studying some of these cases.”

She was only inches away, practically on top of me, her words vibrating through me.

I f*****g loved how that made me feel.

And I hated it.

I f*****g loved that Hannah had this kind of effect on me, more than any woman ever had.

And, goddamn it, I hated it.

“Hannah, what did I say?”

“No talking … sorry.”