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  At least before, when he’d been impossible, I’d known how to act around him. Now it was like we’d declared a truce. A truce on the tenuous ground of two shared secrets.

  One, that the department might be going down in flames.

  Two, that Avery and I put together were hot enough to start our own four-alarm blaze.

  The revelation that he’d been thinking about it even longer than I had did strange things to my brain.

  I’m a relatively evolved human being. But there was nothing evolved about the question that’d been relentlessly pounding in my head all afternoon…

  How does he fuck?

  Lights on or off.

  Fast or slow.

  Hard or soft.

  Top or bottom.

  The possibility had never occurred to me but now that it had? My brain took it. Ran with it.

  Drove it over ten state lines.

  He’d been attracted to me for awhile.

  Had I been attracted to him too?

  Was it all just because we wanted what we couldn’t have?

  No matter when the feelings had started, yesterday’s kiss had changed things. I just didn’t know how.

  Just after six, I’d taken the subway to my destination, which was tucked away in a sleepy residential part of Boston.

  I’d changed after work into soft, faux-leather leggings. My sleeveless V-neck was a pale pink, a color I didn’t wear to work. But it was stylish and comfortable.

  The music stopped. “All right, that’s good for today. I should let you go before Dr. Thatcher tries to have me killed.”

  “I feel wonderful,” one of the women offered.

  “That’s the blood thinners, Gladys,” Grams piped up.

  My “class” consisted of five women and three men at the local retirement home. I’d come in and teach them dance once a week, when I could. Every other week when I couldn’t.

  Not that “teaching” was the right word. They all knew how. They’d been raised in a time when the high point of the week had been going to a dance. Flirting with the opposite sex. Practicing moves that, today, we’d think of as sweet but boring.

  It wasn’t boring. It was the opposite. There was something beautiful about turning around the floor with another person, knowing that you synced up perfectly in a way you never could in the real world.

  All of them were funny. Genuine. Had stories that would make you laugh until you cried, or peed. And I liked spending time with them.

  “Thanks for the break, Grams,” I said as I walked her slowly down the hall to her room. She waved to a woman passing the other way. I lowered my mouth to her ear. “You guys still at war since she ‘forgot’ to tell you about brownie day last week?”

  “Oh no, dear. It’s not worth holding grudges like that. Or about anything, really. They age you prematurely.”

  I got Grams back to her room. “You have plans the rest of the week?” she asked.

  “Yeah, just got a tax rebate for a hundred bucks. Let’s roll on over to Atlantic City and drop it on strippers and blow.”

  “I’ll get my pacemaker checked first. I’m not sure Dr. Thatcher would approve.”

  “My ears are burning. I wouldn’t approve of what?”

  I turned to see a shape hovering in the doorway. “Strippers and blow,” I answered.

  “As a general practice, no.”

  “Charlie, get Dr. Thatcher to help you put away your props.” I arched a brow. Grams just did that sweet smile thing only old people can pull off.

  “All right, I’ll see you later.”

  I brushed past the man in the door. “You don’t need to help me. This is below your paygrade, Dr. T.”

  The man with dark hair and amused eyes stared down at me. “It’s fine. Call me Danny.”

  I led the way to the recreation room and collected the Bluetooth speaker, plus the props—a box of hats and other fun things—and tucked them away in the closet at the end of the hall.

  “She thinks I need something in my life,” I explained. “Other than strippers and blow.”

  “Right. So you’re not seeing anyone?”

  “Not seeing anyone.” I didn’t add the part where I’d had two different vibrators that’d lasted longer than any guy I’d dated since moving to Boston.

  “You want to get a drink sometime?”

  “I drink alone.”

  That should’ve been enough to send any normal guy for the door. But Dr. Thatcher persisted.

  “Usually I can at least get a ‘maybe.’ I mean, I’m a doctor. I’m not divorced. I have impeccable hygiene.”

  “I’d lead with hygiene. Build to the doctor thing.”

  He grinned as he picked up my phone and put his number into it, then texted himself so he’d have mine. “There. In case you ever want to get a drink alone with me.”

  When I slid into my Uber, I glanced at my phone, at the number Dr. Thatcher had put in.

  Maybe Grams was right. It wouldn’t kill me to go one a date.

  I flipped to my online calendar, my fingers scrolling over the surface of my smartphone. Avery’s was in line with mine, and my gaze drifted there.

  Why should I care what my boss was doing when I’d been hit on by an attractive, perfectly nice doctor?

  Because I have the world’s worst taste in men.

  My gaze landed on an entry in the calendar.

  Oh shit.

  I’d booked the client meeting for Avery weeks ago. Before our agreement.

  Back when you were still fucking with him.

  This was not going to go over well if he didn’t understand.

  * * *

  Charlie: We need to talk. Call me ASAP

  * * *

  I waited, tapping my phone on my knee. Buildings streaked past, bright lights behind dark facades.

  I chewed on my lip. Finally made a decision.

  I leaned forward, holding out my phone to the driver. “Change of plans. I need to go here.”

  12

  This Isn’t a Spectator Sport

  Some cities are known for their country music scene. Nashville. Austin.

  Boston doesn’t make the top ten.

  I blew in the front door of the country bar I’d found online weeks ago, drawing looks for my denim-free wardrobe. I surveyed the dense crowd of cowboy hats and raucous laughter. No sign of Avery or his companions.

  I bent over the railing toward the dance floor. “Dammit, Banks, where are you?” I muttered to myself.

  “The Dirty Denim, same as you.”

  I jumped, turning to find my boss leaning against the railing next to me.

  It was like being kicked in the gut with steel-toed boots.

  Avery stuck out in the best way in a sea of cowboys, his suit tailored and pressed. His jaw was turned into a soft slash by the low, warm lights. The tie from earlier was gone and the collar of his shirt was open, revealing inches of skin that was suddenly the only thing I could stare at.

  “I came to explain. In case you wondered why I booked you to meet prospective clients here.” My voice was remarkably level considering ninety percent of my brainpower was processing how fucking hot he looked.

  Avery braced his forearms on the wood, thankfully not noticing my stare. His gaze ran over the couples two-stepping, the mechanical bull by the stage.

  “I thought it would be fun to send you to this country bar because—”

  “The clients are as country as Kanye.” He grimaced, turning. Cool, intelligent eyes landed on my face. “Well, it worked. The evening’s tanking.”

  I lifted my chin. “That’s not possible.”

  “You sent us to the last place any of us would want to be.”

  “Don’t give up. Landing these clients would go a long way to showing Redpath you’re ready to be a director. They’re exactly the kind of clients you should get. And I want to help.”

  He shook his head, incredulous, then shifted off the railing and started toward the stairs.

  I caught up to
him in my heeled sandals. Avery paused to let a string of girls on a bachelorette pass. His gaze lingered a little too long on my outfit. “What’s with the clothes. You on a date or something?”

  “I don’t date. It’s a waste of time.”

  “One thing we can agree on.”

  We found the prospective clients no problem. They were the only others in business suits in a crowd of jeans and cowboy hats.

  The guys Avery was meeting were three founders of a growing industrials firm. Bioenergy. Went from ten to five hundred staff in two years. They’d be a Fortune 500 company soon.

  They didn’t look nearly as miserable as Avery had suggested, especially when I pulled up with a grin.

  “Evening, gentlemen. I’m Charlie, a colleague of Avery’s. What are we doing? Whiskey? Dancing?”

  “Before you arrived, we were just talking about investment options. Cash flow strategies. Exchange rate exposure,” Avery said tightly.

  I’d never seen Avery in a client meeting off-site. At the office he was efficient. Straightforward. Confident.

  That presence carried over to the bar, but something wasn’t clicking. I scanned the faces around the circle. Tried to read between the lines.

  “I bet you’ve had a long day,” I ventured. “You must be ready to unwind.”

  Expressions relaxed as they turned toward me.

  “Now that you mention it, I’m trying to get Ivan up on that thing,” offered a tall man with a lean build. He motioned to his friend, who was short and stocky but all muscle.

  Ivan Litchfield, I remembered. Chief Financial Officer.

  I turned to see the giant, hulking shape in the middle of the floor.

  “Mechanical bull. That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  Avery pulled me to the side as the men discussed their odds. Their voices lifted like they’d found a second wind. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  I leaned toward his ear, ignoring the hit of his cologne that did strange things to my insides. “They were tired of talking interest rates.”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  “We’re here to get them to like you. You’re auditioning for a relationship, not a one-night stand.”

  Avery glanced over my shoulder, considering my words. “I want to land them, not kill them.”

  I played my trump card. “You won’t kill them. Ivan Litchfield did two years of high school rodeo.”

  His expression shifted. “That’s why you picked this place. To help land the business. Not to throw me off.”

  “Maybe both.”

  The music pounded in my ears, but we could’ve been in a silent room for all I noticed. His moody gaze, though…that was loud. That was heavy.

  I glanced toward the bull.

  “Whatever you’re thinking right now, the answer is no.” His voice was just audible over the hum of the room.

  “I don’t remember asking a question,” I tossed back.

  Avery stepped toward me, brushed back my hair to speak into my ear. I shivered at the feel of his breath on my skin.

  “These are my clients. I let you stay, but I forbid you to go up on that bull.”

  I pulled back an inch to look him in the eyes. “You forbid me? This isn’t the office, boss. It’s the Wild West.” I grinned. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t.”

  “Because if you do what you’re thinking, dressed like that? Every man in here’s going to drop his beer and his date to watch. And I’m not using your body as a client acquisition strategy.”

  I raised a brow, curious and slightly breathless. “I don’t think one little bull ride would shut down the bar.”

  Avery’s gaze dragged down my body, over my clingy top and skin-tight leggings. “Want to bet?”

  He walked away, leaving me staring.

  “What do you think?” Ivan asked, leaning over. “Would you do business with him?”

  “Yes,” I said when I could speak. “He’s going to run the company someday, and you’ll say ‘I knew him when.’”

  Ivan raised a brow and his beer. “The man has moves.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Avery talking with a girl at the bar. She flirted up at him, flashing him a wide grin that said can I help you get out of those pants? It was a country bar, for fuck’s sake. He looked like a tornado had picked him up off Wall Street and dropped him in Nashville.

  Besides, I couldn’t have a little fun but he could? Double standard bullshit.

  An idea sparked.

  “Ivan? Twenty bucks says I can outlast you on that thing.” I jerked my head toward the center of the room.

  He grinned. “You’re on.”

  We shook on it. Then I ducked into the ring and got up on the bull. The thing was bigger than it looked.

  I barely had time to settle and grab onto the strap before the monster dove.

  If I’d thought this was for show, I was wrong. In five seconds, all of my attention went to staying on.

  The cheers from the crowd echoed dully in the back of my brain, mixing in with the fuzzy lights and other stimuli. After a few spins that wreaked havoc with my center of gravity, I nearly had it down. Kept my hips pressed close to the bull’s shoulders. The faux-leather pants helped me grip.

  I caught the prospective clients grinning when the bull paused on a dive. Ivan raised his glass to me and I managed an exhilarated smile. After the next lurch, I caught another set of eyes.

  This man wasn’t smiling. But it was the look on top of the anger that distracted me.

  The awareness in my boss’s eyes. The way his hand tightened on his drink. His clenched jaw that said I want to get you alone and strangle you.

  Or maybe something else.

  I was caught in the physicality of it. The rawness. My body being pulled and jerked and tested.

  Is that what my boss would be like in bed?

  Demanding. Wild. Forcing a girl to respond, touching her again and again until she did? Until her body bent to his?

  Maybe he could see everything going through my head.

  Maybe I wanted him to.

  On that thought, the bull dove under me, and I tightened my grip half a second late. I winced as the bones in my hand compacted. Before I could think, I was spinning. Shapes whizzed by my vision until all the air was knocked from my lungs as I landed.

  A chorus of “Awww!” echoed dully in my brain, but before anyone could help me, I stood up and shook myself off.

  “You OK?” one of the men asked.

  “Stellar,” I tossed. “Excuse me gentlemen, I’m going to freshen up. When I get back, I expect to see you on that, Ivan.” I brushed past the cheering potential clients for the bathroom.

  “Charlotte.”

  I knew the angry voice calling my name over the crowd. And I ignored it.

  I brushed into the first available unisex washroom. I washed my hands. Dried them on paper towel before staring at myself in the mirror.

  My pulse still hammered in my throat. If I was being honest, it was only half from the bull ride.

  I squared my shoulders and strode out, my heels clicking loudly on the floor. A hand grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the bathroom. Before I could breathe, I was pinned to the door.

  “That was unprofessional.” Avery’s furious voice dragged down my spine.

  My heart hammered against my ribs. The thrill of the ride still reverberated in every part of me. “They loved it. No one got hurt. Hell, those men probably haven’t gotten out to a place like this in months. They’ll be eating out of your hand by the end of the night.”

  “That’s what you’re after. Men eating out of your hand.”

  The yellow light cast long shadows in the small room. In the corner of my eye Avery’s reflection bounced back at me from the mirror over the sink.

  My mouth curved at the corner, trembling. “Depends on the man.”

  Country music drifted through the door. I felt it in my back. But most of my attention was taken up by the man looming
over me. His shoulders blocked out the light, his face half cast in shadows.

  “If I told you to get up in the morning and go to bed at night, I bet you’d do the opposite. Just to defy me.”

  “It does bring me some satisfaction.”

  “Really? Because I’m not getting any satisfaction, Charlotte.” The struggle was evident in the lines of his face. The tension in his body. “I’m wound so fucking tight I could snap.”

  “Well,” I said softly. “Something else we have in common.”

  I angled my chin up, asking him.

  Daring him.

  Sensations shooting from my waist down had me sucking in a breath. I realized his fingers had found my waist, over my thin top. Pressing just hard enough to hold me in place.

  I didn’t even know if he was aware of it, but I sure as hell was.

  “I realized something today,” he muttered. “The way we fight turns you on, doesn’t it.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t need the word. He could see the answer written on my face. My parted lips. My wide eyes.

  His thumb caught the edge of my shirt, and the next upward stroke had his skin rubbing mine. I gasped.

  “You’re the one who said we’re out of the office. The Wild West was it? So tell me. Under these—” his hand spanned my hips, pressing along the top of my leggings just below my stomach, and had me sucking in a breath “—are you soaked?”

  Shit.

  It took a minute for me to get past his hypnotic voice, the sight of his lips inches from mine.

  His hand curled around mine. The intimacy of it stole my breath.

  Until he lifted two of my fingers to his mouth. Wrapped his tongue around them.

  Fire streaked down my spine. Holy hell. The pull of his mouth drew a cord that tugged on my whole spine, ending in the pulsing heat between my legs.

  What are you—?

  I realized I hadn’t said the words out loud. I couldn’t find my voice.

  He moved my hand to my waist, dragged both our fingers along the waistband of my pants in a way that had me biting my lip.

  “Let’s find out.”

  I didn’t know what his game was. Until he worked his hand down the front of my leggings.