The woman was certifiable. How could a man even look at her friend when he could have her?

Silky brown hair, curves for days, lips that screamed to be kissed.

She was Jordan’s every teenage fantasy come to life . . . and somehow she thought that he wanted her friend.

Insanity.

The friend, Sarah-something, nodded at him and he took advantage, tugging Abigail closer as he led them to the dance floor.

He didn’t dance as a habit and certainly not after twelve long-ass hours in the office, which had been preceded by several weeks of the same. His workload was crazy at the moment. It had to be because he didn’t trust anyone else with the specific details of the buyout.

Oh, he might let them do the work, even knew the company couldn’t survive if he micromanaged every detail.

He just waited until they went home to double-check every single contract and calculation.

Jordan hadn’t spent the last decade building his technology development firm only to be careless with the details in the home stretch.

And this was definitely the home stretch.

The beach, the surf, and a quiet house where he could get back to invention rather than management was his dream.

He was almost there.

Which meant he could stop and smell the flowers, right?

Or at least a woman who smelled like one.

Abigail fit into his arms perfectly, the top of her head coming just beneath his chin, her face pressing against his chest. He’d have to bend a bit to take those lips, but Jordan had the feeling it would be worth it. Plus, she smelled fucking incredible. Like a tropical island—floral with just the hint of the sea. His fantasy come to life.

She stepped on his foot.

Deliberately.

He smiled, loosening his grip as he glanced down at her. “Problem?”

Her eyes flared in annoyance, and Jordan had to give himself a mental slap to not kiss her right then and there. Those eyes were something special. Streaks of caramel and dark chocolate, gray and green and blue.

He’d never seen a pair of irises so unique.

And they were partially covered by narrowed lids as Abigail glared up at him.

“Why are you doing this?” she snapped.

Jordan grinned. “Why am I holding a beautiful woman in my arms?”

She stomped his foot again. “I’m not beautiful.”

He snorted.

“I’m serious!”

“So am I,” he whispered, bending so that his lips just brushed the top of her ear.

Her cheeks went pink, her lips parted, and her body wavered, leaning against his before pulling away. She was fighting him, but not because she didn’t want him. There was something else underneath, an edge of panic that reminded him of a spooked horse.

“Shh,” he said. “Let’s just dance.”

“But—”

He planted his feet, grasped her shoulders, and pulled her a full foot away from him. Enough to clear his head, enough to give her some distance if she truly did want to get away.

Crouching a bit to meet those gorgeous hazel eyes when hers wouldn’t rise to find his, Jordan said, “Just a dance, flower girl, but only if you want it.”

He knew he could be pushy sometimes, knew he was a fucking pain in the ass in the business realm, but he wasn’t one of those guys who pressured a woman into being with him just because he wanted her. So what if she was gorgeous and her body was off the charts? Having a woman frightened of him wasn’t a turn on.

Yeah, not really his style.

Plenty of guys in his universe used their power to get laid, but that had always disgusted him. What was the point in a woman being with him if she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her?

Or because she wanted him for his ownership of a multi-billion dollar corporation or his fleet of private jets? Or, worse, because she was scared of the repercussions of not being with him?

And so he made sure Abigail knew that she could go.

But he also wanted to make certain that she knew she was the one he found irresistible—not her friend.

“You can go back over there to your drink and your book, side-kicking it with your friend, who may be model beautiful, but is also nothing compared to you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious. Your body is the one a man dreams of—curved and lush, not bony lines and hard angles. A man likes to cuddle with something soft, not a coat hanger.”

Abigail glared at him then pointed to her friend and the group around of men surrounding her. “They like it. And Seraphina isn’t bony, she’s got huge—”

His mouth curved. “I’m more of an ass man myself.”

“That I have plenty of,” she said with a rueful smile.

“Dance?” He held out a hand. “I should have asked before I went all caveman on you.”

“Not a Weasel.” She smiled genuinely for the first time. “Definitely not a Weasel.”

Jordan raised his brows, hand out, waiting. “Not sure what that means, but are you going to give a guy a break here?”

She sighed. “I guess I can.” Then she started to turn toward a man sitting by himself at a high top table near them. “Do you want—?”

He snagged her arm, pulled her close. “You’re impossible.”

“Better you know that now, rather than later.” Her lips tipped. “You asked me to give a guy a break.”

“I was the guy needing a break,” he said with a mock glare. Amusement swept through him, especially when she looked up at him with mischief in her gaze.

“Noted,” she murmured, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

“It’s hard work tolerating someone who looks like me, I know,” he quipped, wanting to see what she’d say.

“Someone who looks like Thor?” She took a step away and pretended to puke. “Yup. I don’t know how I’ll stand it.”

“Come here, trouble,” he said, reeling her in.

And then she was in his arms and it was everything.

The music faded, bar noise became a faint buzz, and it was just the two of them in the universe.

His mind felt quiet for the first time in forever.

Quiet until she gave him sass.

Jordan hated sass. Or normally he did. But coming from between Abigail’s lips and it had a completely different effect. He liked that she gave him shit. No clue why. Well, none except that fire was infinitely more attractive than soggy dishtowels.

“I keep half expecting you to make a quip about Thor’s hammer.” One of Abigail’s brows lifted, a smile curved the edges of those lush lips. “I hear it’s mighty.”

“I heard it breaks in the last movie,” he joked and when that gorgeous mouth dropped open, he had to laugh. “I didn’t say mine was broken.”

“I’m not interested in yours,” she grumbled. “I’m interested in Hemsworth’s.”

The music changed, a faster song that would make it difficult for them to talk and dance. Jordan snagged her hand before she could slip away. “Another drink?”

She shook her head.

“Food then? This place has good appetizers. The crab cakes are fresh and the artichoke dip is perfectly seasoned.” Come on, O’Keith. Jordan mentally shook his head, knowing that he sounded like an idiotic Yelp review.

When was the last time he’d stumbled over words with a woman?

Hell, when was the last time he’d actually talked to a woman who wasn’t a coworker? Or his sister?

Or both, since he actually worked with his sister.

He mentally calculated the hours he’d spent in the office—the months—and felt horror course through him. How deprived had his life become if he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten laid?

Abigail’s white teeth bit down on her bottom lip and his cock went rock hard.

That right there was the sign it had been way too long.

He was getting random, uncontrolled boners like a teenage boy.

Yes, it had been harder and harder for him to find the time and energy for sex over the last few years. Especially when every woman who was interested in him was the same.

Plastic. Botox. Extensions. Makeup at the Kardashian level.

Sometimes a man just wanted a real woman.

And Abigail in his arms was that in every sense. Her body actually moved beneath his hands, yielded in a way that made him want to strip her naked and stroke her from head to toe. She didn’t wear perfume that masked her scent, clothes that were designed to tempt him.

She was herself.

Which was a thousand times more attractive than a woman who tried too hard.

“Not too hungry?” he asked when she opened her mouth. He could see the refusal on her lips. “We could—”

“No,” she said, taking a step back. “No dinner.”

His heart clenched with something very much like disappointment. Damn. He was really starting to like this woman.

He dropped his hand from hers. “Okay.”

“I want dessert.” She closed the distance between them, breasts pressed against his chest. Her mouth was an inch from his skin, her breath hot and damp on his throat.

“At my place,” she added, tongue flicking out to graze his skin.

“Oh,” he said, gripping her waist to keep her close. Oh.

Articulate? No. But, fuck yeah. He could do dessert.

And seconds too.