The spreadsheets and reports in front of me look like a bunch of gibberish. Everything blurs together, and I rub my tired eyes. I need a break from work. I’ve been at this for hours. But you wouldn’t know it based on how much I’ve gotten done.

Which is basically nothing.

I can’t get Cara out of my mind. Haven’t been able to since she spilled her drink all over me yesterday. Her surprised face, her lack of pretension, a combination of sweet and sexy that was so far from what I’m used to in a woman. I’m totally intrigued.

And she wasn’t throwing herself at me, either. That one is totally new. I can’t go anywhere without girls draping themselves all over me like they’re a fucking accessory, running their hands all over my body, trying to get a piece of me.

I mean, I’m not typically one to complain about that. Like, at all. I’ll be the first to admit that I thrive on that attention. Love having my pick of any woman I see. They’re always ready and willing. Begging, really.

But Cara…

She’s different. I can tell. She didn’t act like some cotton-brained bimbo just wanting to have a chance with my legendary cock. Though she did seem impressed with my abs. I smile as I remember the way her hands lingered as she wiped her girly drink from my skin, her fingers brushing against me and heating me up all over. I wonder if she saw the way her touch affected me, causing my dick to stand at attention.

Fuck, just thinking about it right now has me so damn hard. I drop my head back against my leather office chair and close my eyes. Now I’m really not going to get any work done.

But shit, there’s something about her that’s wormed its way into my head. She even had me responding differently to her at the club. Not wanting to play up my typical public persona. Wanting to be real with her. What’s that about? I can just tell she doesn’t have the same agenda as most of the girls I know.

I need to see her again. My cock twitches as I think about how she looked in that bikini. Yeah, I totally need to see her again. Me and my dick. Like, now.

Grabbing my phone, I quickly scroll through my contacts, looking for her name. I frown when I don’t see it. I scroll more slowly, but nope. Still not there. Maybe she spells her name with a K. I thumb through the contacts under K, but still nothing.

Blowing out a breath, I drag a hand through my hair. What the fuck? Did she not even put her number in my phone? Was I duped? Or worse, is she not interested in me at all? It seems impossible. I mean, I’m not used to girls playing hard to get for sure, but I’m definitely not accustomed to being more or less blown off.

Did I read her wrong? No, she wasn’t throwing herself at me, but there was no mistaking the response she had when her fingers grazed over my stomach. No mistaking it for either one of us.

Knitting my eyebrows together, I fold my arms, still scrolling through my contacts. My scowl deepens as I start to suspect I’ve just met the only girl in the city that seems immune to my charms.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make me want her all the more. Then I see it.

Poor Girl.

I smirk, shaking my head. This girl. She’s totally fucking with me. She’s a mess. In a completely perfect way. The need to see her is even stronger now.

My finger hovers over the number, and I feel a sudden flush go through my body, a tightness in my stomach. What the fuck is that? My throat goes dry and my palms are damp.

Setting the phone gingerly on my desk, I rub my hands on my pants. Is this what it feels like to be nervous about a girl? What the fuck is that about? I shouldn’t be nervous about calling a girl from the club. I can honestly say I’ve never experienced something like this before. Maybe that makes me an anomaly, but I’m Liam fucking Donovan. I’ve got a hundred girls waiting in the wings, and none of them would tell me no.

But right now, I don’t give a fuck about any of them. The only one I can think about is Cara. And I’m fucking worried that she’s going to tell me no.

Jesus.

Rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness happening in my head, I snatch my phone back up and tap the number before I can think about it any further. Because fuck that. I want to see this girl.

Okay, it’s ringing. I take a breath, trying to wrap my head around this new nervous feeling.

Just when I think it’s about to go to voicemail, that sweet voice comes through my phone.

“Hello?”

“Cara.”

“That’s me.”

I smile. Cute. “It’s Liam.”

A pause. Then: “Well, hello, Liam.”

Did I say cute? I take it back. Fucking sexy as hell is what she is. That voice drips with flirtation and tease, and my dick grows even harder. I want her so badly.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Donovan?”

Get your sexy little ass in my bed. Stat.

“I wondered if I might interest you in an evening with me,” I say, my nerves ratcheting up again. I grit my teeth, hoping I sound cool and confident right now, not like a fucking adolescent pussy who’s never asked a girl out before.

“Hmm,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. Thank fuck. “When are you thinking this evening together might be?” She mimics my formal question, and I can’t help laughing.

“Tomorrow,” I say, more at ease now. I really want to say tonight, but that seems a bit overeager. And she might already have plans. Though the idea of her possibly having a date with another man makes me want to beat my chest like a fucking caveman and demand she see no one but me. But I keep that insanity in check. “Eight o’clock.”

She waits for a moment before responding, and I feel a rush of nerves all over again.

And again: What. The. Fuck.

“I think I can manage that. Where should I meet you?”

I smile. Yeah right. Like I’ll have her meet me somewhere like a fucking plebeian. Liam Donovan does things in style. “Tell me your address. I’ll send my limo driver for you.”