The Definition of Insanity

It gave the day a little buzz, the game they were playing. A wink, a smile, a double entendre – Claire knew it was never going to go anywhere. Even without the age gap, Jack McCoy was her boss. She had already made that mistake once.

Claire didn't deny, couldn't deny, that she found him attractive. She told herself that it was an intellectual response to his quick mind, his combinative nature, his humour, even his temper. No matter how often she told herself that, she couldn't keep her heart from beating a little faster at the sound of his husky voice. She could ignore but not prevent the flush of heat she felt seeing him stride easily across the courtroom, at the way he toyed with his pen watching defence counsel cross-examine a witness, at the sight of his rangy body stretched out on the couch in his office or sprawled in a chair.

She had dreams, not day-dreams, but honest to god night-time sleeping dreams in which they were working on a case or driving in a car or stuck in an elevator and he turned to her and kissed her and unbuttoned her blouse …

So no, Claire couldn't deny she found Jack McCoy attractive. But they were adults, and they worked together, so the spark between them lent a sparkle to the working day but nothing more. She had already made that mistake once. She wasn't going to make it again.

Sometimes she thought maybe the game was going a little too far. They were both competitive – it was why they worked so well together. But it meant they goaded each other to see who would go further, be more flirtatious, be more outrageous – to see who would be shocked first.

So far neither. At lunch on Monday when she'd dared him to try her sashimi eel and held a piece out on her chopsticks McCoy had hesitated for barely a second and then leaned forward and eaten it, deliberately, holding her eyes, until she was the one to blush and look away. Today she'd told him she had a date tonight and a new dress. I hope it's a short one, McCoy had said. You'll hook him if you show off those legs. It is, Claire had said, refusing to back down, twitching her skirt up a little, then a little more. This short, no, wait, this short. Short enough? She'd felt a kick of triumph when McCoy had to clear his throat to answer, eyes fixed on her hemline.

And then, walking down the corridor to her own office she felt a wave of heat at the recollection. McCoy played desire, joked with it, teased her, and she pretended to be innocent and ingenuous to tease him right back. But he'd looked at her this afternoon without artifice, and while it might have meant she won on points suddenly Claire wanted to know how he'd look at her in the short dress she'd bought, or in her swim suit, or in her underwear.

Because if he looked at me like that, like that for real …

Her knees weakened at the thought, she stopped and leaned against the wall, pretending to study her papers.

But we work together. He's my boss. So it's harmless. It can't go anywhere. I've already made that mistake once.