Backfire. Metsy Hingle

twitching at his lips. Nor had he seen any uniform that had been cut to dip at the waist and skim several inches above the knees to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of thigh.

      She walked across the almond-colored carpet, and Chase couldn’t help but notice the gentle sway of her hips as she moved.

      “I had a message on my desk that you wanted to see me,” she said stiffly.

      “That’s right,” Chase replied, reluctantly shifting his attention from her legs to her face. Judging from the rigid line of her stance and the coolness in her expression, she had noted his scrutiny and hadn’t appreciated it. He definitely intended to work on changing her mind on that score. But for now, it was back to business. “I wanted to go over the budget and projections you submitted for your department. Just give me a minute to finish this report and then we’ll get started. Have a seat.” He motioned to the chair across from his desk, then went back to punching numbers into the terminal.

      Chase stared at the computer screen, but he was keenly aware of Madeline seated across from him. Forcing himself to concentrate, he plugged in more figures and watched them pop up on the screen. She shifted in her seat. Unable to resist, Chase slanted another glance her way. She had crossed her legs, and the toe of one navy pump tapped at the empty air impatiently. Chase slid his gaze up the long hosecovered leg and smiled. The one good thing about her suits, he thought as he admired the view, the skirts always offered him a glimpse of her legs.