I beam at him. “I nailed it, didn’t I?”
He laughs. God, I love his laughter. So deep and warm, like melted butter flowing over my senses. “You’re good.”
I’d curtsy, but I’m too caught up in his near-unbearable proximity. The heat coming off his body, a light scent of aftershave, the way the white shirt hugs his muscular torso, the way his smile is slightly lopsided.
My breasts tingle. My nipples have tightened up, aching. That annoying throbbing starts between my legs.
Lust, Simone said. A physical reaction to a handsome man.
Nothing more.
“I can’t come over today,” I say quietly.
Because Phase Three is on hold. I have no cookies.
“Oh.” A shadow of doubt steals over his green eyes. “Are you sure? I have chocolate.” At my continuing hesitation, he adds, “And photos of kittens.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this a trap of some sort? Are you making fun of me?”
He lifts his hands. “I swear I’m not.”
“Swear it on your mother’s life.”
His eyes darken, and a flash of pain goes over his face, gone so fast I’m not sure I really saw it. “I swear.”
Oh, what the heck. The bribes are pretty good. “When should I come over?”
***
Turns out he only has one chocolate bar and one pic of a kitty—but the kitty’s cute, and the chocolate hits the spot.
Also, he basically bribed me to go ignore him. I love my job.
Only I can’t even pretend to ignore him, not when he’s searching for more kitten pics on the internet to show me while I munch on his chocolate bar, his brows knitted over his eyes, those long fingers gripping a black, manly, lethal-looking mouse on the mousepad.
Good mouse. Nice mouse.
It looks like a little fat vibrator, like the one Simone showed me.
Or was that a buttplug? Can’t remember.
And why does the image of his hand wrapped around a vibrator or a buttplug send a surge of heat through my body so sudden I gasp?
“What is it?” he asks, glancing at me. “Is something wrong?”
I shake my head.
“Didgoo af a nice likend?” I ask around a mouthful of chocolatey goodness. When he sends me a questioning look, I swallow and try again. “Did you have a nice weekend?”
“Ah, yeah. It was okay.”
I’m still trying to figure out what happened and how I found myself in his office, leaning over his shoulder to see what the search engine brings up. “Anything exciting?”
He stills, his fingers tensing on the mouse.
What did I say?
He takes a deep breath and clicks to close the internet page. “How did you spend your weekend?”