Sitting at that table, handcuffed in a navy suit, is probably the sexiest guy I’ve laid eyes on. His dark chestnut hair is slicked back, and a tidy beard frames his chiseled jaw. With that moody, yet mysterious, look in his eye that tells me he could fuck me seven ways to Sunday. I need to get a grip, not imagine the murdering asshole in front of me touching me in any way. Dammit.
