After Claire left, Anthony took a bottle of Scotch and a glass, and climbed the stairs to his office. He sat in the leather chair behind a desk that held his secrets, poured a tumbler of Scotch, and gulped it down, grimacing at the burn in his throat. He refilled the glass, and this time slowly worked his way through it.
The reporter unsettled Anthony. It wasn"t just because Claire O"Connor kept flitting like a moth closer to the candle of truth about why Caruso was offed. It was also because he longed to unbutton that damned ruffled blouse and lay bare her breasts. It was because his hand wanted to slide up her leg, past the silky stockings to the hot treasure between her thighs. It was because his c**k ached to explore that special place.
It wasn"t that he lacked female companionship.
