Malia’s throat closed around a scream she couldn’t release.
The papers she had dropped were scattered across Kieth Williams’ desk like spilled secrets, and she was frozen in the middle of them, guilt clinging to her skin like ice. The worst part wasn’t being caught with her hands in his locked drawer. The worst part was his voice.
Calm. Deadly calm.
“Looking for something, Malia Martins?”
She forced herself to turn, though every instinct screamed to stay still.
Kieth stood in the doorway, suit jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked almost casual—except nothing about him was ever casual. The sharp lines of his body were tense, coiled with a predator’s patience. His gray eyes glinted like steel under the soft light, and though his lips curved slightly, there was no
