Pride And Pregnancy. Sarah M. Anderson

about who had sent the flowers. Or about James Carlson’s brief reply to her email saying he had contacted an associate, who would be in touch. She should be thinking about the day’s cases. Or tomorrow’s cases.

      At the very least, she should be thinking about what she was going to eat for dinner. She had been relying heavily on carryout for the last couple of months, because she hadn’t finished unpacking yet. She should be formulating her plan of attack to get the remaining boxes emptied so she could have a fully functional kitchen again by this weekend at the latest and make better food choices.

      She wasn’t thinking about any of those things. Instead, all she could think about was a certain FBI agent with incredible eyes.

      Thomas Yellow Bird. She shivered just thinking of the way his gaze had connected with hers across the courtroom. Even at that distance, she’d felt the heat behind his gaze. Oh, he was intense. The way he’d kept his cool under fire when that defense attorney had gone after him? The way he’d glared at the accused? Hell, the way he’d let the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile that had threatened to melt her faster than ice cream on a summer day when he’d said he was guilty of speeding?

      So dangerous. Because if he could have this sort of effect on her with just a look, what would he be capable of with his hands—or without an audience?

      She hadn’t had the time or inclination to investigate the dating scene in the greater Pierre area. She assumed the pool of eligible men would be considerably smaller than it was in Minneapolis—not that she’d dated a lot back home. It’d been low on her priority list, both there and here. Messy relationships were just that—messy. Dating—and sex—left too much room for mistakes, the kind she’d dodged once already.

      No, thank you. She did not need to slip up and get tied to a man she wasn’t even sure she wanted to marry. Her career was far more important than that.

      Besides, she spent most of her time with lawyers and alleged criminals. Her bailiff was married. It wasn’t like an attractive, intelligent man she could date without a conflict of professional interest just showed up in her courtroom every day.

      Except for today. Maybe.

      Because there was that small matter of whether or not he patronized prostitutes. That was a deal breaker.

      Lost in thought, she rounded the corner of the courthouse and pulled up short. Because an attractive, intelligent man—FBI Special Agent Thomas Yellow Bird—was leaning on a sleek muscle car parked two slots down from her Volvo. Her nipples tightened immediately, and only one thing could soothe them.

      Him.

      She shook that thought right out of her head. Good Lord, a man shouldn’t look this sinful—and in those sunglasses? He was every bad-boy fantasy come to life. But she’d watched him on the stand and seen flashes of humor underneath his intense looks and stoic expressions—and that? That was what made him truly sexy.

      Was secretly lusting after an FBI agent in a great suit a conflict of interest? God, she hoped not. Because that suit was amazing on him.

      “Agent Yellow Bird,” she said when he straightened. “This is a surprise.”

      One corner of his mouth kicked up as he pulled his sunglasses off. “Not a bad one, I hope.”

      It wasn’t like they’d had a personal conversation in court today. There’d been several feet of plywood between them. She’d been wearing her robes. Everything had been mediated through Lasky and Smith. Cheryl had recorded every word.

      Here? None of those barriers existed.

      “That depends,” she answered honestly. Because if he were going to ask her out, it could be a very good thing. But if this was about something else...then maybe not so much.

      His gaze drifted over her, a leisurely appraisal that did nothing for Caroline’s peace of mind right now. She’d thought she’d been imagining that appraisal in the courtroom when she’d met his gaze across the crowded courtroom and everything about her—her clothes, her skin—had suddenly felt too tight and too loose at the same time.

      No, no—not lusting after him. Lust was a weakness and weakness was a risk. The heat flooding her body had more to do with the July sun than this man.

      As his gaze made its way back up to her face, a look of appreciation plain to see, she knew she wasn’t imagining this. When he spoke, it was almost a relief. “I wanted to thank you for having my back today.”

      She waved away this statement, glad to have something to focus on other than his piercing eyes. “Just doing my job. Last time I checked, eating dinner wasn’t a conflict of interest.” Unlike this conversation. Maybe. “I have no desire in being perceived as weak on the bench. I run a tight ship.”

      “So I noticed.”

      This would be a wonderful time for him to assure her that he didn’t patronize prostitutes—in fact, it’d be great if he didn’t eat dinner with them at all. She tried to keep in mind what Smith had said in his objections—perhaps Agent Yellow Bird had been meeting with informants or some other reasonable explanation that could be tied directly to his job.

      Strangely, she wasn’t feeling reasonable about Agent Yellow Bird right now. She steeled her resolve. She couldn’t be swayed by a gorgeous man in a great suit any more than she could be influenced by cut flowers. Not even loyalty could corrupt her. Not anymore.

      Everything about him—his gaze, his manner—was intense. And, at least right now, they were on the same side. She’d hate to be a criminal in his sights.

      “Well,” she said, feeling awkward about this whole encounter.

      “Well,” he agreed. He shoved off his car—an aggressive-looking black thing with a silver stripe on the hood that screamed power—and extended his hand. His suit jacket shifted, and she caught a glimpse of his gun. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Tom Yellow Bird.”

      “Tom.” She hesitated before slipping her palm into his. This didn’t count as a conflict of interest, right? Of course not. This was merely a...professional courtesy. Yes, that was it. “Caroline Jennings.”

      That got her a real smile—one that took him from intensely handsome to devastatingly so. Her knees weakened—weakened, for God’s sake! It only got worse when he said, “Caroline,” in a voice that was closer to reverence than respectability as his fingers closed around hers.

      A rush of what felt like electricity passed from where her skin met his, so powerful that Caroline jolted. Images flashed through her mind of him pulling her in closer, his mouth covering hers, his hands covering...

      “Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back. She knew she was blushing fiercely, but she was going to blame that on the heat. “I generate a lot of static electricity.” Which was true. In the winter, when the air was dry and she was walking on carpeting.

      It was at least ninety-four out today, with humidity she could swim in. She was so hot that sweat was beginning to trickle down her back.

      He notched an eyebrow at her, and she got the feeling he was laughing. But definitely on the inside, because his mouth didn’t move from that cocky half grin.

      Her breasts ached, and she didn’t think she could blame that on the sun. She was flushed and desperately needed to get the hell out of her skirt suit to cool down. What she wouldn’t give for a swim in a cool pool right now.

      Alone. Definitely alone. Not with Agent Tom Yellow Bird. Nope.

      “About the flowers,” Tom said, looking almost regretful about bringing up the subject as he leaned back against his spotless car.

      Caroline recoiled. “What?” It wasn’t as if the fact that she’d received the bouquet wasn’t common knowledge—it was. Everyone in the courthouse knew, thanks to Andrea passing out roses to anyone who’d take some. Leland had taken a huge bunch home for his wife. Even Cheryl had taken a few, favoring Caroline with a rare smile. Caroline had left the remaining