I feel like a schoolgirl, because all I want to do is sing out loud, Emmett Swan's holding my hand, bitches!

And oh, what a nice hand it is. All strong and rugged and masculine, warm and much bigger than mine. I expected it to be smooth, with all the office work I figure he does, but apparently chefs really get their hands all callused, from like holding knives and shit, and dude, I like it.

As we walk down the street, I launch into investigator mode, trying to quell my rising excitement that I get to see the inside of his office. It's like a part of him or something, and it feels private and special that he's taking me there, like this is next level relationship or something. No one goes into Emmett Swan's office.

Careful, my baleful inner voice warns. I inwardly sigh, telling her to shut up. I don't want to listen to reason right now.

So, he had a fit and broke a guy's camera into smithereens. Not a big fan of that display of temper. Are you just going to pretend that's normal behavior? Or are you going to face the fact that he's a rich guy who gets what he wants? Have you seen him compromise on anything? At all?

Shut up shut up shut up!

I start talking to pay homage to the logical side of my brain. I don't get action, and this is definitely leaning toward action. The kind that I need. Crave. Have been fantasizing about ever since he sauntered into the shop smelling like bottled sex.

"So," I say, getting all professional and business-like, "I found information on your brother and Dany's mom. Looks like they had a wedding in Vegas after knowing each other one week."

"Are you serious?"

"Oh yeah. Elvis and the whole nine yards."

He cringes.

"Oh, it gets so much better."

"Can't wait." He takes another sip of smoothie as if trying to gain sustenance.

"So, predictably, he knocked her up. It's all over her social media. Then he just disappeared. Sent child support for a short time, but even shorter than I initially thought after some investigating, because apparently he claimed she slept around in Vegas and the baby wasn't his."

"Charming."

"Gets even better. She was only eighteen years old."

He cringes again and groans. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. I haven't quite gotten the dates down yet, but either she lied about her age, or he's in danger of facing charges for statutory rape, among other things, because I'm not even sure she was eighteen when she got pregnant."

"Asshole."

He blows out a breath and slurps the rest of his smoothie as we get to his restaurant. The smell of garlic and olive oil, roasting vegetables, and freshly baked bread wafts through the air. My stomach rumbles.

"My God, how do you not gain a million pounds being here all day?"

"I run it all off."

"Seriously?"

He smirks. "Gotta deal with the carbs somehow, don't I? How else do you think I keep this youthful physique?"

"Good job." I reach for his bicep and give it a squeeze. He hisses in a breath when my fingers touch him.

Am I crazy?

We're right outside the door to his office. In one smooth move, he pins me against the wall, one knee on one side of me as he leans on his forearm on the other side. He smells so damn good I want to bottle it.

"You just squeezed my bicep."

"I did," I say in a breathy whisper. "It's a very nice bicep."

Seriously, Regina?

"I think that's sexual harassment or unwanted sexual advancement," he says, shaking his head with mock chagrin. He gives a sad sigh. "I'm afraid you'll be in trouble for that."

Oh. Oh dear. If he keeps saying things like that, I may have to misbehave a little more often.

The last time this happened, I got out of it by the skin of my teeth. This time, I'm not sure I even want to.

"You keep saying that," I continue in a whisper. "But I'm curious what it really means. What's a girl have to fear, anyway? And is it really unwanted?" I cock my head to the side, then reach out and squeeze his other bicep.

One second, I'm standing against the wall with my back pressed up against it, the next, he's sweeping me up into his arms, the empty smoothie cup bouncing off the floor. He kicks the door to his office open like a badass, then kicks it closed with a mixture of sheer strength and grace that makes me wet.

His hands are in my hair the second he sets me down. Mine latch onto his broad shoulders, and when his mouth meets mine, I'm so ready.

I should tell him no.

I don't want to.

I should resist him.

I don't want to.

I should have enough self-respect and integrity to tell him to stop, to keep this professional, to make sure I don't let my hormones make shitty decisions for me.

Fuck that.

Instead, I'm letting him kiss me like I'm a cheap little floozy, and I don't regret a damn thing.

He backs me over to his desk. The room's all dark and the shades are drawn so I don't get to see much, but I can tell without even looking that this place is niiiiiice. He's got this wrap-around couch thing in his office, and I swear it's bigger than most apartments I've rented.

And that's right around when I stop paying even minor attention to the details in his room.

Because all that matters in the entire universe is his hands, where they are, and what they're doing.

Oh my God.

One's in my hair, doing this grippy thing that makes my pulse spike deliciously, while the other's pushing the V-neck of my dress aside so he can palm my breast and finger my nipples, which have become hardened little peaks of pain and pleasure.

Oh my God.

I can't do this, I tell myself, somewhere in the deepest recesses of my mind. He's only playing you. He's a jerk. He'll use you and then make you feel like a schmuck.

But there comes a time in a girl's life when needs trump logic, and I tell the logical part of my brain to shut the fuck up already.

But he—you'll—you shouldn't—

S.T.F.U.

Tits up, buttercup, not today.

My eyes flutter closed, and my head falls back as his mouth travels down my chin to graze my collarbone, then my chest. Somehow he manages to push my dress down and drag his tongue along my breast until he finds my nipple, then suckles it into his mouth like it's bringing him salvation.

And maybe it is, I mean heavens, the way he's making me feel right now is nothing short of miraculous.

Miraculous.

The heavens open and angels sing as he continues to orchestrate perfect, utter perfection on my body. There's a gentle side to Emmett, and I think it's concentrated right there on his mouth.

He nips my shoulder and alleluia, my skin zings.

"Oh, fuck," I whisper, all sense of self-preservation gone as my legs seem to open of their own accord, my own fingers raking through his hair, so soft to my touch, so perfectly exquisite.

I've never been with a man like him before, a man who knows what he wants and knows how to get it. A man who knows how to make you know what you want before you do.

I'm not sure if that even makes sense, but I also don't care as my heartbeat thunders and my pulse races, my mind a jumble of confused thoughts that all seem to center on the pulsing nerves between my legs.

Right there, I silently beg. Right there.

Something tells me he'd be far more adept at bringing me pleasure than I am, and I'm the owner of this body. He knows things, though. I know he does.

He palms my ass, lifting me up on the edge of the desk as his mouth continues its thorough exploration of damn near every nerve in my body. My pulse quickens so much I think my whole body is one big throbbing need. I didn't even know there were nerves in my toes, but there they are.

And then he nips my nipple.

Whaaaat.

I gasp and squirm, but his hands are on my wrists, pinning them to my thighs as he licks the nipple he just assaulted. My stomach plummets, and my ovaries sing.

He kneads my thighs in his big, strong hands, then moves his mouth to the other poor, neglected nipple that springs to life under his ministrations.

"I love how you did that," I whisper, not even sure what I'm saying.

"Oh yeah, baby?" he asks in that husky voice of his. "Did what?"

"Just skipped straight over pleasantries and formalities," I pant, "forget about bunting, forget about first base. Just," pant, pant, moan, "straight for the home run."

His mouth is at my ear while his fingers play with my breasts, and I squirm deliciously.

"Can't fucking help myself," he whispers. "You're a fucking bombshell."

I giggle at that, and I wonder if the amaretto's still doing its dance through my body. "You're high."

He gives me a none-too-playful slap to the part of my leg where my ass meets my thigh. A near-spank, one might say.

"Ooh, ow."

"I'm not high, and don't you dare. I know a gorgeous woman when I see one. I've been imagining doing this since the first moment I laid eyes on you."

"Oh, so, like, yesterday?"

A deep, dark chuckle and another quick slap.

"Behave yourself."

"Or what?"

He slides his finger up my thigh and ghosts over my panties. "Or you won't get what you need."

I mewl in protest. I don't even know what I need, but I know if I don't get it, I'll die or something.

"Okay, alright, let's not get carried away, now."

"I have every intention of getting carried away."

Alleluia.

Then his fingers are between my thighs and our lips meet, and his tongue tangles with mine just as he touches exactly where I need him to touch. He strokes and fondles, and I'm vividly aware of his heavy erection pressed up against my thigh. I move my hand to stroke him over his pants, and he hisses out a breath.

"Jesus, baby," he grates.

"Mmm?"

"Not now. Hands off."

"Why?" I whine. I don't know why I need to touch him, but I think it has something to do with taking back control, of seeing his softer side. Mastering him the way he masters me.

"Because I'll blow in my pants like a teenager."

"Ooh, I make you that horny?"

He lays me back on the desk as he moans, "You have no fucking idea."

Then my dress is hiked up and he's kissing my thighs, parting my legs, and when he plants a hot kiss right between my legs, my back arches up.

Surprised eyes meet mine. "You're that turned on, aren't you?"

"Ohpleasedontstop," I whisper. "Uhyeah."

Holding my gaze, he presses his tongue to the damp fabric between my legs. I pulse again, then I shatter. I explode into a million prism pieces of perfection, whimpering and begging, until I collapse with his name on my lips.

"Emmett."

He presses a kiss to my thigh.

"Yeah, baby?"

Baby. That's right. He just made baby come right on top of this million-dollar desk.

I think this is the perfect time to tousle that gorgeous hair. "Thank you." I close my eyes. "Imma go to sleep now, m'kay?" My limbs are lead, my heart still hammering so fast you'd think I'd run a marathon.

He chuckles, sliding me around on his desk. He must keep it super clean, because nothing squeaks or bounces or moves, it's just me and my butt twirling around the top of it like a merry-go-round. Then he sits heavily in his chair and drags me onto his lap, where I curl up like a little kitten.

"Okay so, wow, we just did that."

"We did."

"Do I detect a trace of smugness in that tone?" I try to quirk an eyebrow at him but I'm afraid I just look like I'm squinting.

"Oh, there's no trace, baby. It was nothing but sheer smugness."

"Mmm. Why so smug?"

"I just made you come right over your panties," he says, leaning in to plant a delicious little kiss on my forehead. I think I smell a trace of my own arousal, which makes my cheeks blush pink. Not sure why, of all the things we've done today, that one little thing makes me blush, but there ya go.

"You did," I say, nodding soberly.

"Imagine what I could do if we lost them."

Oh. Oh, yes, there are very many things we could do.

I slide my hands back to his delightful erection. "You still…"

He pins my wrists in place with enough force to sober me right up.

"I said no."

"Not now?"

"Not now, baby," he says. "I decide when and where that happens. Got it?"

I nod. "Got it."

"What was that business we still have to tend to?" he asks.

I sigh. I have notes in my phone and notebook.

"There's a little girl who needs to find her mother."

He pulls out a chair beside him.

"Have a seat, and let's get this done."

Like he always makes women come and then just gets right back down to business.

See? My logical brain rears her ugly head. For him, this is totally an average day at the office.

Now that's an office job I might like.

God, it's hard to focus though, especially with my pulse still racing.

Still, I try. I take down all the notes I can. He knows very little, but thanks to his own internal resources, he has access to far more than I do.

"This is good," I say, trying to be all professional and not act like I just came on his desk and moaned his name. "I need to debrief with the girls and pull a few things together." Debrief. God. That never sounded so dirty before.

I stand, trying to gather up a modicum of dignity that's about to flitter away like little bits of fairy dust. "So is this where we… shake hands? Give each other a little peck on the cheek?"

He leans over, wraps his perfect fingers around the back of my neck, and pulls me to his mouth for a kiss that makes my toes curl.

"That'll do," he says. He pulls away, and I don't miss the momentary lack of tension in his features. I tell myself perhaps this is a mask he wears, not to trust him. "Until Tonight?"

I nod, because I don't want this to end. Maybe he's got redeeming qualities after all, and the jerk face persona is only for the cameras.

Maybe?

"So I may have asked Kathlyn to keep an eye on Dany and Prince Tonight. Not just because I want to spend time alone with you," (which I so totally want to do), "but because I have some questions to ask you that would probably be best to not ask in front of her. Okay?"

"Dinner alone with you?" he asks, with that crooked smile that makes me melt, every time. "I can handle that."

I wiggle my finger at him. "Ta ta."

Ta ta? Wtf?

He chuckles. "Ta ta, baby."

Worth it.

When I get back to the shop, Dany's walking around the perimeter with a little feather duster. We have professional cleaners, and there's hardly a speck of dust in the place, but it looks like Kathlyn's put her to work.

"Good job," Kathlyn says, nodding in Dany's direction. "But make sure you get the light fixtures, and don't—" She pauses when the door jingles as I walk in, giving me a quick once-over. Damn it. I totally forgot Kathlyn is capable of using x-ray vision to determine who got frisky and when and how without even asking a question. It's one of her P.I. skills.

"You sly little dog," she says, shaking her head.

Dany waves and continues to dust, as Ruby takes customers at the smoothie bar in between yoga sessions.

"Oh hush."

"You're blushing. Whatever he did is making you blush," she hisses. She looks around the shop like she's about to plan a heist, then grabs me by the arm and drags me to the back room. Ruby watches us curiously, narrowing her gaze as if she knows something's up.

The door clangs shut, and Kathlyn pins me up against the wall.

Sadly, it isn't anywhere near as hot as when Emmett did it.

"Bitch, let me go," I mutter, shoving her off me and flouncing past her to perch on a stool by the little card table where I did the initial intake with Emmett and Dany. "What's up?"

She swivels around to look at me. "You know exactly what's up," she says. "He did something dirty to you."

"Seriously, how do you know that?" I give her a look that tells her I may or may not have come on top of his million-dollar desk. I like to leave her guessing a little.

"Oh, that's right, I forgot you're Miss 'I Don't Kiss and Tell.'"

"Kathlyn," I say calmly, with practiced patience. "Sweetie. I'm not Miss 'I Don't Kiss and Tell.' I'm Miss 'I Have No One to Kiss so I Have Nothing to Tell.'"

She leans forward, hands on hips. "Until today," she says triumphantly. "Girl. Spill."

I hear Dany chatting with Ruby, and the door to the shop jingling. We're momentarily safe, but Ruby will have a fit if I tell Kathlyn everything without her knowing.

"Okay, fine, but we'll have to fill Ruby in later."

"Of course," Kathlyn says, waving her hot pink fingernails at me like little magic wands.

"So he, uh… hmm. Where to begin. He's been hitting on me since yesterday."

She nods. "Yup. The man is as into you as a throbbing dick in heat."

I make a face. "Really? Really, that's the best analogy you could come up with?"

Her eyes turn to slits.

"Okay so he's into me. Him and his… throbbing dick, I suppose."

She snorts.

I tell her about heading to his apartment, his sexual-innuendo-laden flirtation. "And," I finish with a flourish, "he, um, seems kinda kinky."

"Oh, girl," she says with a dreamy sigh. "He so is."

"How do you know?"

She grows sober. "It's in the eyes."

"Kink? Is… in the eyes?"

"Oh yeah." She nods with the wisdom of someone who's been tied up and spanked to orgasm on more than one occasion. "There's like a… feral sort of hunger there you don't see with vanilla guys."

"You just made that up."

"Nope. Give me ten guys in a lineup and I'll tell you who knows his way around a pair of nipple clamps."

I immediately imagine myself stark naked with little tasseled pasties covering my nips, and it isn't hot, it's sort of terrifying.

"Okay so he flirted with you, he's got feral eyes that indicate he ain't vanilla, move this along," she says, clapping her hands at me.

I roll my eyes. "So he kissed me last night."

She gasps. "Tongue?"

"Eventually, yep."

"Eventually?" she squeaks. "Like there was more than one kiss."

"Oh, honey," I say, leaning back on my stool which is a lot harder than one might think. I wish I had a cigarette so I could smugly blow out a smoke ring. "Oh yeah."

She grins. "I bet he smells fucking divine, like that Geir Ness guy from Norway."

"How do you know how Geir Ness smells?"

"I once did a shoot in Epcot and he was there, like in person, selling his manly cologne." She sighs. "But he's too skinny, not my type." She waves her hand. "Go on."

"So yeah, he smells amazing." I proceed to tell her everything, including how he took off his shirt when he had to open Dany's door, how he cooked me dinner, and eventually, the pinnacle of the retelling (one might say… climax?), how I ended up sprawled over his desk while he made me come.

"Over your panties?" she snickers.

"Yep."

"Do you have, like, day-of-the-week panties, honey?"

I growl at her.

"I'm not as virginal as you think," I protest, thinking that climaxing while sprawled over his desk counts for a certain level of redemptive sluttiness.

She nods. "Yep. Alright, babe, whatever you say."

Time to change the subject. Next time, I am so not kissing and telling.

"So Tonight, since you girls will be babysitting, we're heading to dinner at Café Noir—"

She smacks both her hands on the wall behind her as if flabbergasted.

"What?"

"Mhm. We have some important information to debrief."

"Oh, he'll be debriefing all right," she says, waggling her eyebrows.

"Kathlyn, I swear sometimes you channel a seventh-grade boy."

She grins, all perfectly straight white teeth behind glossy pink lips, as her phone buzzes. "Gotta go! Another DoorDash order."

"Haven't you straightened that out yet? And why do you look sort of… smug, instead of annoyed?"

"Smug," she says over her shoulder while she heads to the front of the store. "No idea what you're talking about, baby. I'm just doing business."

The hell she is. The plot thickens.

"Who's that delivery going to?"

"Oh, a local," she says, waving her hands as if to dismiss me.

Something tells me I'm not the only one with some secrets around here.

I pull up my phone, and send him a text.

Me: Hey.

I get a response right away.

Emmett: Hey.

Me: So how would you describe the dress code for dinner Tonight?

Emmett: What you're wearing is perfect.

I look down at my neckline and remember how easily it gave way to his strong hands, how he orchestrated absolute magic by working his way around this little dress.

I think I tend to agree with him.