HE SMELLED OF LEATHER and musk and warm skin, and his shoulder was a solid wall of muscle against her left arm. Every time he spoke, his deep voice vibrated through herthe urge to squirm in her chair.
Claudia Dostis was seriously in danger of screaming out loud. In fact, if Leandro Mandalor's big, beefy arm knocked against hers one more time, she was not going to be answerable for the consequences.
It was the organizers' fault. They'd squashed too many people at too few tables at the open forum sessions for the Daytime Television Convention, then they'd compounded their mistake by seating her next to her arch rival.
How was she supposed to concentrate on answering questions from the floor when she was pressed up against Captain Butthead?
He was easily the most obnoxious man she'd ever met. Hands down, without even trying. All he had to do was walk into a room and she was instantly annoyed. It had a lot to do with her innate competitive spirit—his s ...
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