7
The hand in which Agathe held the teapot went limp. Tea splashed down, all the way to the hem of her slate-gray pencil skirt, hot water landing with a plop on the floor.
“I. Err…” She kicked a splatter of tea from the rounded tip of her black high heel, ignoring the sting of her mildly scalded knee. A set of green eyes stared right back at her, the broad-set man belonging to those eyes taking up too much space in the tiny room. “Sorry about the carpet.”
Luke lunged forward. She jolted in response. More tea landed on the floor.
“Please don’t burn yourself.”
A hot ball of need exploded in her tummy, as his hand shot out and grasped the teapot’s handle, fingers encasing hers.
He eased the teapot out of her shaky grip and set it down on the meeting room table. “You’ve put in a lot of e
