Page 37 of South of Justice

“I know,” she said, before she could stop herself. Then flushed.

Javier leaned back slightly in his chair. “You’re aware the entire Lima division botched the offshore filings. Not just the transfers, but the timestamping. That error could’ve cost us twelve million in retroactive penalties.”

“I was just—” Lucía started.

“Looking,” he interrupted, but not unkindly. “You look deeper than most.” His eyes met hers. “And you understand what you’re looking at.”

Lucía felt the skin along her forearms ripple. She swallowed. “I try to.”

“No. You do.” He tapped the pen once on the desk. “It’s rare. Rarer than beauty. And your beauty, Ms. Duarte, is already rare enough.”

There it was again. That slow, disarming cadence. The way he said her name like he enjoyed the feel of it in his mouth.

Lucía’s pulse picked up speed. She tried to hide it by shifting in her chair. “Is there something wrong with the portfolio?”

“No. You did well.”

Lucía’s throat felt suddenly dry.

He didn’t look at the documents. He looked at her. “You know what I admire most about you?” he asked.

She said nothing.

“You’re not impressed by power. Not in the way most people are. You’re intrigued by it. You want to understand how it works. You want to reverse-engineer it.” He tilted his head. “You want to build your own.”

Lucía’s mouth parted, but no answer came.

He rose to his feet and walked slowly around the desk toward her. Had he always been this tall? This imposing? Her head dropped back to take him all in.

“You thought I didn’t notice?” he asked, softly. “The way you study everything. Everyone. Even me.”

Lucía’s gaze dropped for half a second.

He noticed. Of course he did. “Good,” he said.

Then he looked down at her and said, quietly: “But you’re still a little afraid of me.”

He wasn’t touching her—he wasn’t even that close to her—and yet she felt glued to her seat. She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Maybe.”

“Good,” he said again, and then he leaned down over her, placing both hands over her wrists on the armrests. His touch was light, but he was still pinning her in place.

The silence stretched. Heavy. Charged. Lucía’s breath came shallow now.

He leaned closer. “You like this,” he whispered. His mouth hovered over her throat. His knee pressed against hers, separating them.

Lucía froze, unsure. Torn between fear and thrill.

He laughed softly. “Such a serious expression,” he murmured. “Relax,mi cielo. You know I would never hurt you.”

His mouth found hers and the kiss was immediately all-consuming. There was no slow build-up, no tentativeexploration, just his tongue sliding against hers, his lips crushing hers, his teeth nipped her bottom lip. Desire pumped into her veins, but it was mixed with something else, something that burned almost as much.

He broke off the kiss, breathing heavily, then stepped back releasing her. But only for a second, it seemed. Because, with a flick of his hand, he said, “Get up.”

She did, her legs shaking so much she had to grip the edge of the desk.

“Take those fucking clothes off.”

It was the way he said it, the demand laced with absolute certainty that it would be obeyed, that made her fingers go to the buttons on her blouse. She was so turned on, she could feel the dampness between her legs. Her body was operating on desire and adrenaline alone and it was happy to take the lead. She had nearly reached the last ones, when suddenly the burning turned to ice in her stomach.