Shivering from the cold, damp air of a typical San Francisco spring night, Eric Ward pulled the collar of his jacket around his neck. The chilly walk back to his office's parking garage was a fitting punishment for underestimating the anger of a woman scorned.

He'd never hit a woman in anger--ever--but had been close to it tonight. Adrienne had turned from a beautiful, sexy woman into a screaming, foul-mouthed bitch within the space of a nanosecond. She'd slapped him and tried to knee him in the balls. Easily handling her attack, he had tossed her and his parting gift, a check for five thousand dollars, on the bed.

In the lobby, he'd waved off the taxi the doorman offered to hail and decided to take the long walk along Market Street back to his car. He needed to cool down.

But, he hadn't wanted to freeze his ass off.

Typical for a Friday night, this particular section of Market Street was crowded. On the south side of the street was the Tenderloin, the current darling of downtown gentrification. The gay community of San Francisco had adopted the seedy neighborhood and gradually made it a nighttime destination. On the other side, squeezed in between the San Francisco Opera, the city office buildings and Market was a small triangular-shaped area called Hayes Valley--a bustling district of restaurants, clubs and shops.

Just the right atmosphere for Adrienne Fouchet. At a $1,000 a session, she could well afford the exclusive neighborhood. And Eric had never quibbled at the price. His profession as a corporate raider left him little time for cultivating a long-term, personal relationship. He was, therefore, quite willing to pay to have his more basic needs met.

Rapidly losing the feeling in his feet and hands, Eric decided to stop at a Hayes Valley bar, grab a blood-warming, toe-thawing Scotch, and have the bartender call him a cab.

Morelli's Bar and Grill looked to be a warm and inviting place. It also had the advantage of being on the corner and close. Pushing the ornate, Deco-inspired door open, he entered a thirties-style bar.

The clean, sleek lines appealed to him. Now, if they carried a good selection of Scotches, he just might have found a new watering hole for those times he had to take clients to the Opera.

He wended his way through the busy restaurant, his goal the mahogany and chrome bar.

Seating himself on the only empty stool, he glanced about the room while he waited for the busy bartender. The crowd was a mix of trendy gay males, city white-collar workers and couples whiling away the time before the Opera's evening performance.

"What'll you have, sir?"

Eric turned his full attention toward the bartender. "What brands of Scotch do you carry?"

The man rattled off a long and respectable list.

God knew he needed a drink after the scene with Adrienne. His gut had been warning him for some time that something was ... off with the woman. But he sure as hell hadn't expected his hired investigator to come back with the story that Adrienne Fouchet neé Ann Jones had once been a Seattle-based professional dominatrix with a penchant for female love slaves.

The concrete facts decided the matter for Eric. Bottom-line--deception in a mere name was one thing, but deception as to a person's true nature was something he would not tolerate.

"I'll have the Dalwhinnie on the rocks with a twist." As the man turned to get his order, Eric called him back, "Later, would it be possible to call a cab?"

"No problem. The hostess will be happy to do it for you. Just let me know and I'll call her over when you're ready to leave."

"Thanks."

All was now right in Eric's world. The nasty scene with Adrienne was a thing of the past. He hadn't taken her threats to make him pay for dumping her seriously. Of course, he hadn't. And even if she tried something, well, she would regret it. He'd risen from the mean streets south of Market, fought for his country in some of the most dangerous places in the world, and managed to stay alive. It was those survival skills that had made him wealthy and powerful. The same skills had told him to end his relationship with Adrienne and move on.

No, Adrienne couldn't harm him.

But he would miss the no-strings-attached, sensual pleasures she provided--the sumptuous gourmet meals, the fine wines, and the post-dinner sexual fun and games.

He took a sip of the pale-gold single-malt scotch. Liquid warmth spread throughout his body. He could feel his toes once more. This stop had been an excellent idea.

Turning his back to the bar, he swiveled on the stool to survey the crowd once more. One group in the corner, at what an LA-restaurateur would call a power table, attracted and held his attention. Opera-goers, he surmised. The men wore tuxes and the women wore basic black, showing lots of skin accented with glittering jewelry. He could almost smell the expensive perfumes and colognes from his vantage point across the room.

Wait a minute, who was this? Every cell in his body stood at attention, his senses became more acute. His eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on the newcomer. He sniffed the warm, smoky air and separated out a new musky scent. All sounds in the room receded into a background of white noise.

Danger? No, not danger. If there had been, he'd have moved by now. Old, life-saving habits were hard to break.

His senses were on high alert for another reason. They'd found prey.

Dressed in the de rigueur basic black, she approached the power table. But unlike the other women in the bar, her dress exposed no skin other than her face and hands.

She was by far the sexiest woman in the room.

Eric's gaze drank in long Titian-red hair, a mass of curls reaching to the middle of her back. The form-fitting black dress lovingly hugged a figure reminiscent of a young Racquel Welch--large, full, bra-less breasts, narrow waist flowing into lush, curvy, but firm hips. She wore supple leather stiletto-heeled boots which displayed her calves and dainty ankles to perfection.

At that second, she turned more fully toward him. Her face fit perfectly with the rest of the package God had provided. Exotic, almond-shaped eyes, their shade indeterminate in the subdued lighting of the room. Straight, slightly Roman nose. High cheekbones. And, full lips painted blood red.

He visualized those scarlet lips around his cock as the enchantress in black kneeled before him, her breasts thrust forward, hands fondling his balls. Of course, she'd be naked except for a piece of jewelry chosen by him especially for her. Maybe, a jeweled waist chain or diamond rings for her pierced nipples. The pierced nipples and their rings which he, or anyone choosing to observe, could see outlined against the thin black covering of her dress.

That she was a sensuous woman was obvious from the way she wore her clothes, carried herself. God knew, she rang all his buzzers and bells--he was fully aroused, hard and wanting. If she could bring him to this point of need fully clothed, from clear across a crowded room, he could only imagine what would happen if he had her naked--and in the complete privacy of his bedroom.

His bedroom? He never took women to his home. It was a rule he'd made after he'd opted out of Special Forces--never create a situation where he would be open and vulnerable to attack. Which was another reason why he bought his sex partners, like Adrienne, and never, ever, slept the full night with them.

But somehow he knew if he could claim this woman as his, she'd be the exception to the rule. Something about her called to everything that was primitive in him. He wanted to kill the men she spoke to, whisk her away to his lair, and keep her from other men's eyes.

The territorial imperative. Fight. Claim. Hold.

He had to find out who she was.

Turning, he signaled the bartender.

"Yes, sir. Another drink?"

Eric pulled out a hundred dollar bill, slid it across to the bartender, but pinned it to the bar with a finger. "Yes--and the change is yours if you can provide some information."

The bartender's gaze fixed on the money. "What kind of information?"

"The name of the tall redhead by the corner booth, plus anything else you know about her."

The bartender didn't even look up. He smiled and replied, "That's Gina Morelli. She's the owner's baby sister."

She might be a babe, but she definitely was no infant.

"Does she work here?"

The bartender shook his head. "Nah. She's some high-flying attorney in the Business District. Does something with mergers and acquisitions, I think Dean called it."

"Dean?"

"Her brother. My boss."

There could be issues in pursuing a younger, and most likely treasured, sister of an Italian. But he'd faced worse dangers and knew he could handle anything a restaurateur could dish out.

"Can you get me the law firm's name?"

Suspicion finally crossed the man's face. "Why?"

"I'm in the market for a new attorney. I think Ms. Morelli and I would deal well together."

"Uh huh, yeah sure, buddy." Glancing at the hundred dollars still held in place by Eric's finger, the bartender shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, sure. What could it hurt? Would a business card do you?"

Eric's lips twisted into a grin. "It would do me just fine."

He shoved the barkeep the money and took the card the man pulled from under the bar. He read: Gina Morelli, Esq., Scopelitis, Morelli and Brown, P.C., Bank of America Tower, Suite 1800.

He tucked the card into his inside jacket pocket, right near his heart, then readjusted his trousers to accommodate his fully engorged cock.

Primordial instincts clamored for him to take action now. To stalk across the room and mark Gina Morelli as his personal property. His experiences as a skilled hunter both on the killing fields of war and in the boardroom told him to observe his prey and learn all he could about her before he made his move. His higher brain also told him to bide his time. A high-powered corporate attorney would not appreciate the caveman approach.

So first, he would find out more about her, and then he would place himself in a position to observe her. Ultimately, he would claim her as his mate.

And, just as wolves did, he mated for life.

Nine months later

Gina sighed as she picked up the briefcase from her desk. Another interminable meeting. Acquisitions and mergers. Alternately boring and terrifying. Some days all she did was draft documents, long, tedious and incomprehensible to anyone other than another lawyer. Other days she handled meetings which could go from business-like to trench warfare in a split second.

Why on earth had she ever thought she wanted to be involved in the world of corporate law?

Today's meeting was a typical case in point. The two-month-long merger negotiations between Ozymandias Corp. and Thor, Inc. had run the gamut. The merger was, in fact, a nice name for a hostile takeover by her client, Thor, Inc., of the pygmy-sized software firm of Ozymandias. Oz, as it was commonly called in Silicon Valley, made an arcane product which took complex marketing statistics and put them in a WYSIWYG-form that merchandisers could use in their daily lives--and did it at a price affordable for even the mom-and-pop businesses.

Thor saw Oz, decided it wanted the tiny company and had stretched take-over laws, SEC regulations, and State and Federal statutes to the limits of legality. No, correct that, she as the lead attorney for Thor had done all that at the express behest of Eric Thorsson Ward, the heretofore unseen, mysterious CEO.

She didn't know what ticked her off more. The fact that she worked for a winner-take-all client or the fact that the CEO of said client had all his orders relayed to her through his aides. Eric Ward made Howard Hughes look downright sociable in comparison.

She swept through the small reception area outside of her suite of offices on the partnership level. "Betsy, I'm going to the Thor-Oz meeting. Hopefully, I'll be back before you leave for the day. If not, just leave everything open. I'll lock up."

"Okay, Gina. Your brother called. Said to call him as soon as you could."

"Did he say what it was about?" Gina frowned, wondering why Dean would call her at work. He usually hated to bother her here.

"He didn't say. Just said to call him as soon as you could," Betsy said, as she re-read her notes. "Oh, and that I wasn't to bother you if you were busy."

"If he calls back, tell him I'll call him as soon as I get out of this meeting."

"Do you think you've got this merger finally sewn up?" Betsy asked, as she handed her the final copies of the merger agreement.

Of course, this was the sixth, and hopefully, final draft of the merger agreement. The whole situation hadn't been pretty. Oz had fought Thor every damn step of the way. And, she wasn't holding her breath that a negotiated peace had finally been found.

"One can only hope. One can only hope."

After this case she was due for some time off.

Entering the offices of Thor, Inc., she nodded to the sleek receptionist.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Morelli." The cool blonde stood up to take Gina's coat. "They're all waiting for you in the Executive Board Room. I believe you know where that is?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Gina took a left turn and walked down a long hallway, its gleaming wood floors covered in thick-piled Persian rugs, its walls displaying original prints and paintings. The whole place oozed money. Eric Ward was reputed to be one of the wealthiest men in the United States and fairly high up on the world food chain.

As for wealthy men, the other character in the merger, Osbourne Carruthers, CEO of Oz, would also be very wealthy if all went as planned. What a pretentious name for a slimy little turd. Ozzie, as he liked to be called, was brilliant. She could have handled his idiosyncrasies except that Ozzie had decided he wanted to acquire her.

Every meeting, and there had been a lot of them, the disgusting creep flirted with her, rubbed up against her and undressed her with his eyes. During the negotiations, he'd called her office several times a week with nonsensical questions, hacked into her e-mail, and sent her expensive gifts that she'd automatically returned. Once, he'd ordered a banquet delivered to her offices, in what, she figured, was an attempt to win over her staff and associates to help promote his cause.

If there was a God, this would be the last meeting, and she would never have to deal with the grabby little lech again.

The problem with Ozzie was that he thought money could buy everything. Well, she had a clue for him--she couldn't be bought. She had all the money she wanted or needed. Hell, she had power, too. She had yet to meet a man who could stand toe-to-toe with her as an equal. She was tired of weaklings in wolves' clothing. Which was why she spent most evenings alone and had a very intimate relationship with her vibrator.

She was holding out for a real man. She would settle for nothing less.

Walking into the Board Room, her gaze swept over the occupants. All the usual suspects were present. Ozzie in all his geekiness leered at her, as usual. His sycophant of an assistant, Ray, who was so flamingly gay it was embarrassing. Thor's top aide, Wayne, in Ralph Lauren navy blue and old school tie. And assorted clerical types.

No, wait. There was someone new.

She casually swept the room once more, lingering over the newcomer. Another Thor aide? He looked like muscle, as her Sopranos-addicted brother would say. Maybe, Thor Security?

She mentally shrugged. She'd find out who he was soon enough. He headed her way.

As he approached, she became aware of his sharp-eyed scrutiny. The man was practically undressing her, although he wasn't quite as obvious about it as Ozzie. And his look didn't make her feel cold and slimy like Ozzie's beady-eyed gaze did. Instead, she felt, well, ... hot and achy.

He had to be Security. His inspection of her body was more than thorough. Did he really think her suit would hide a weapon of some sort? She instinctively looked down at her St. John knit to see if there were any suspicious lumps or bulges that could be misconstrued as weapons.

Seeing nothing, she looked up. The rest of the room had disappeared, her line of vision totally obscured by a very broad masculine chest covered in what she recognized as a Hugo Boss suit. A whiff of expensive male cologne, something lemony with a hint of musk, reached her nostrils.

Glancing up even higher, her gaze was caught by one of steely gray. A nerve twitched on one sharply etched male cheekbone.

Inhaling sharply, she silently commanded her pulse to slow down. She forced herself to take deep, calming breaths when what she really wanted to do was pant.

Her head couldn't control the instinctive responses to the utterly male specimen. Instead of fight or flight, her body prepared itself to mate. The rapid pounding of her heart pumped blood to her aching groin. Her skin felt hot. Her vagina was wet. Her nipples poked at the thin silk and lace of her bra.

Damn, who was he?

In an attempt to take control, she held out her hand and said, "May I help you? I don't believe we've been introduced."

Ignoring her hand, the dark-haired giant's gaze captured hers and held it. "Yes, ma'am. No one is allowed in the room without being searched."

So, he was Security. And damn pricey at that if he could afford Hugo Boss.

She lowered her hand and offered the man her briefcase. "Here. Look for yourself. Just papers. Do you need to look in my purse, also?"

The wall of a man took her briefcase and handed it to Wayne. "I meant a body search. There've been threats against the CEO."

"Body search?" Gina backed away from the man. This was unusual, but not unheard of. Especially if Mr. Ward was to be present. "Okay. Where's the female security guard who's going to search me?"

The wall smiled. She could have sworn his grin was full of devilment. He had the most gorgeous dimples lining his full lips.

He shook his head. "No female. I'm it. We'll go to a private room, of course."

"No way."

Yeah, that's what her lips said. But her body said differently. She was wet and getting wetter at the thought of this man putting his oh-so-very large hands on her body. She should be disgusted, not getting more excited. But, instincts older than time were winning out over rational thought.

She sought help from the others in the room.

"Ozzie?"

"Sorry, Gina-babe. No can help." Ozzie's smile turned even smarmier, although his cold blue eyes betrayed some darker emotion. Anger? Envy? "I'd love to watch, though."

The creep. He wanted to get back at her for rebuffing all his overtures these last few weeks.

"No one gets to watch," the wall growled as he frowned in Ozzie's general direction. "Especially you, Osbourne." He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. "Let's go, Ms. Morelli."

Refusing to look like a total fool, she didn't struggle against the man's hold. He had to be six foot six and well over two hundred fifty pounds. It would be a lesson in futility to fight. She'd have to reason with him, instead.

Struggling to keep up with his longer strides, she asked, "Ah, what's your name?" It was always easier to negotiate if you knew something about your opponent.

Still ignoring her, he pulled her into an empty conference room, then shut and locked the door.

"Is that really necessary?"

"What?" he asked as he approached in slow, measured steps.

"Locking the door."

"Do you want just anyone walking in on us? Someone like Ozzie. He'd do it, you know."

Well, he was right about that. She could just imagine Ozzie slithering down the hallway, checking all the rooms to sneak a peek.

"Arms out to your side, parallel to the floor, feet shoulder width apart, please."

"Like at the airport?"

"Just like at the airport."

But it wasn't just like at the airport. His large hands lingered overlong on her breasts and practically caressed her inner thighs. His touch left trails of fire as they swept over her. Her body, already aroused by his blatant maleness, went into overdrive. If he didn't stop soon, she might just have a damn orgasm on the spot.

When he started to pat her down a third time, she erupted. "God damn it, that's enough. What's your name? I'm going to report you to Mr. Ward for sexual harassment."

He stepped back, a knowing grin on his face. The asshole was enjoying this!

"Eric Thorsson Ward."

"Ward?" She backed away from him until she bumped into a conference table and could go no further. "You've got to be kidding me? Is this some kind of sick joke? I know. This is Ozzie's way of paying me back for refusing him." Twisting around, she searched the room for a camera. "Someone is filming this, right?"

Eric's lips twisted at Gina's conclusions.

Damn, she was wonderful.

Her eyes were green with smoky grey-green rims. Cat eyes.

And they shot daggers at him.

The private investigator had alluded to her steely temper. The report he'd ordered also detailed her scrupulous ethics. Her brains. Her infrequent male companionship. Her loyalty to friends, clients, and family.

So far, her background, and that of her family, had passed muster. She was exactly what his gut had said she was--the perfect woman for him.

Nine months ago, on his instincts alone, even before he'd received a full report, he'd hired her and her firm. It had been a wise move; she'd made him lots and lots of money. While he had chosen the targets and sent her his needs and desires concerning the potential acquisitions, she had countered with suggestions of her own that amazed and astounded him and clued him into the inner workings of her agile brain. Plus, she wasn't afraid to challenge someone more powerful. When she'd advised him in numerous memos and e-mails that he was wrong, he usually was.

Only in the acquisition of Oz had he ignored her advice.

He mentally grinned. She disliked Ozzie. Hell, everyone, including him, disliked Ozzie. But the acquisition of Oz had been his final test for her.

She'd passed with flying colors. She'd turned down Ozzie, a known womanizer. His spies told him she'd told Ozzie off in no uncertain terms--several times. She'd repudiated his money and the power that came with it.

She couldn't be bought. A priceless treasure for the man who could claim her.

Today, when she'd walked into the meeting room, he sensed the vulnerability she hid beneath her corporate game face, something his investigator had missed or hadn't even discerned. In a split second he realized that he didn't want their first meeting overseen by a room full of business associates.

Thus the Security charade.

Amazingly, no one in the conference room had called him on his pretense. He'd sensed Ozzie's anger and was amazed that his long-time business rival hadn't uncovered his deception. The others probably thought it was just one of his eccentricities. Hell, he didn't care what other people thought. He was the boss and if he wanted to play a game--he could.

"Earth to Ward, if that's really your name." Gina snapped the fingers of her free hand in his face.

She looked and sounded pissed.

"Have dinner with me. Tonight," he demanded.

Probably not the most politic thing to do, but he was tired of pussyfooting around. He'd waited nine months. Right now, his gut overruled his brain--all his hunting instincts had come to the fore and told him that he needed to mark his territory soon, before some other hunter poached his prize.

"No." She shrugged, then moved away from his hands. "I'm leaving. The documents are in the briefcase. Keep it. I have other cases."

She stalked toward the exit.

"It's locked, remember?" He moved behind her, crowding her, causing her to hug the closed door. The top of her head reached his chin. Her curvy backside pressed against his groin. She had to feel his need for her. "Hear me out. After I've finished, if you wish to leave, I'll unlock the door."

"Guess I don't have much choice. Move away, please. You're too close."

He backed off a few inches, but still trapped her between him and the door. She shimmied around in the space he'd left her and faced him, her arms hugging her middle. She probably didn't realize how her defensive posture emphasized her breasts through her thin blouse. Her mind might be saying no, but her nipples told another story.

"Okay, what's your game, Ward?"

"It's Eric." He stroked a stray lock of hair from her forehead. It was like silken fire. "No game. I want you. I've wanted you ever since I first saw you nine months ago. It's time..."

"Wait a minute. Just who do you think you are? God or something?" Her eyes fired green sparks at him. "Nine months ago? I don't remember meeting you, and quite frankly, I don't want to know you. And, you can want all you want--just as long as you leave me the hell alone."

He ignored her tirade. "I first saw you at Morelli's in Hayes Valley. I asked around about you and realized I wanted to get to know you better. I hired you as my lawyer, which is one of the smartest things I've ever done."

Unable to be this close and not touch her, he reached inside the gap in her jacket and stroked a silk-covered nipple and the ring he felt there. "And you can deny it all you like, but you need me just as much as I need you. It happens that way sometimes."

Her face reddened, and she gasped at the sexual touch, but she didn't shove his hand away as he fondled the hardened nipple and its piercing through her clothing. "What do you mean?"

"Desire."