I TYPE THE FINAL WORDS of the email with a flourish and hit “send.” It’s taken all morning to focus, but I’ve finally started to get into the flow. That is, until I remember the feel of his hands or the draw of his gaze.

Picking up a pen, I click it against my desktop. The sound ricochets through my office, just like the thoughts of Lincoln ping around in my skull.

I’m a twisted mess. My body is on fire for this man. My brain is on high alert. My heart is desperate to feel the warmth and giddiness of having a man in my life.

“It can’t be him,” I whisper, rolling the pen against my stapler. “I can’t do this with him.”

“You can’t do what with whom?”

My head snaps to the doorway where my boss, Gretchen, stands.

She’s looking at me curiously.

“Good afternoon,” I say, folding my hands in front of me like I have nothing to hide. “How are you today?”

“Today, I’m curious. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

“Uh-huh.” She enters my office and places a set of files in front of me. “Take a look at these when you can. It’s the proposed budget. It’s a mess, Danielle. If this passes, I fear for our program.”

“I really don’t see how they can cut us back that sharply. This hospital is known, in part, because of this program. Don’t they realize we can’t provide the services we do without money?”

“It seems not.”

“I’ll go over this in a bit,” I promise. “I have a few emails to get through and a scheduling issue for next week, then I’ll give it a quick look.”

With a nod and a half-hearted smile, she bustles out. I’m logging back in to my computer when a knock at the door pulls my attention away.

Lincoln looks almost edible in a pair of loose fitting black shorts and a long sleeved, grey t-shirt. A silver watch sits around his thick wrist, adding a touch of sophistication to his otherwise casual appearance.

Kill. Me. Now.

“Hey,” he drawls, his rich, Southern accent pummeling me.

“Hey,” I say.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

He waltzes in like he owns the place. Every movement is so fluid, so graceful, that I can only imagine what he’s like when he’s moving over me. Beneath me. Behind me.

When I look at him with flushed cheeks, he smirks. “What were you thinking?”

“That you weren’t supposed to be here today,” I deflect.

He sits across from me after swinging the door shut. His feet are shoulder width apart, his arms resting on the sides of the chair. “I forgot.”

“You did not,” I laugh. “You just do whatever you want.”

He leans forward, his elbows now on his knees. He peers at me from across my desk, his eyes a potent mix of greens and blues. “Trust me when I say I don’t just do whatever I want.”

“You do,” I shrug. “You figure out a way to get your way.”

“If I had my way, you’d be lying on your desk with your ankles wrapped around my back right now, making all those sexy little sounds that I can’t get out of my head.”

I want to look away from him. I should. But he holds me in place with his gaze, steadying me even when I feel like I’m on the cusp of falling apart.

“Have dinner with me this weekend.”

“That doesn’t sound like a question.”

“Will it help if I demand it?” I flash him a look that makes him smile. “Didn’t think so,” he laughs.

“I have work to do, you know.”

“I have dinner reservations to make. Where do you want to go?”

Sighing, I lean back in my chair.

If I’m honest, I love his determination. I just don’t understand why. He wants nothing more than a distraction from whatever is going on in his life. It’s the off season. He has time to kill. That’s how this works, and I’m all for a little sexual recreation, but I know better than to think that’s all it will be for me with him. I can’t risk that.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“Doing what?”

“Not letting it go.”

An easy chuckle drifts across the desk and tickles my ears. “Because I don’t want to.”

“You’re impossible,” I say, wanting to be annoyed but just not able to find it.

“What do you want, Danielle?”

“To finish my work.”

He tsks me. “I’m not leaving until you answer me for real.”

“I want . . .” I take a deep breath. I know exactly what I want, but it’s not something I can explain in five minutes. Nor is it something I think matters anyway. “It’s more about what I don’t want, really.”

He watches me, his chin cupped in his right hand. “Well? I’m waiting.”

“You know what I don’t want? I don’t want to get all tied up in something that isn’t real.”

“Sounds fair. So go to dinner with me. Somewhere public, somewhere that I can’t just maul you.”

“I might like you mauling me,” I point out, pressing my lips together.

His eyes darken. “You have no idea how much I’d love to maul you right fucking now.” He leans back, his chin pointing towards the ceiling. “But here’s the thing, Dani: as much as I want to maul you, I also want to talk to you. Hear your laugh. Watch your smile. You’re making a mess of me over here.”

My cheeks hurt from smiling as I fight so hard succumbing to him. “You are too good for your own good,” I tell him.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Get out of here,” I laugh, feeling the last bit of restraint wither away.

“Fine, fine.” He unfolds himself from the chair in one simple movement. “I’m going to warn you though: be at Spora’s at eight o’clock on Saturday. My buddy, Fenton Abbott, owns it and I’ll get us a table. And, Dani—I will show up here every day if you don’t. I can be a thorny fucker.”

He’s out the door before I can get a word out.