The board meeting adjourns with handshakes all around. Though it’s one of my smaller companies, this board often acts like a prima donna roundtable. I see the last one out, and then stride toward my office. Emma is on my mind, as usual. I’ve normally heard from her by this time in the day, a note or sexy voice mail if nothing else.

Marge nods as I pass, her headphones in as she types furiously. She could be transcribing or listening to aggressively cheerful show tunes.

The last month with Emma has passed in a blur of work and sex. We’ve finalized the SocialTech merger, and Emma has already started raising capital for her next project, a business incubator for young women who don’t have access to an Ivy League MBA.

“I can fund this project,” I told her one night over a rare dinner. “At least in part. My philanthropic budget has some wiggle room each year.”

“Screw you, Stone. This isn’t charity. This business will pay for itself inside two years.”

“How sure are you? Sure enough to put money on it?”

“Hell yeah, I will.” She laughed. “You can take the man out of poker, but you can’t take poker out of the man.”

“What did you say? Poke her?”

She laughed at my lame pun. I smile and touch the ace of spades onyx cufflinks at my wrists. She gave me these that night.

Sometimes all the time we have together is a hurried quickie between meetings or sleepy phone sex after grueling days of work. Occasionally, we have a night together, her place or mine. It’s in these nights that something bright has begun to grow in secret spaces of my heart. My plan to screw her out of my system is working the opposite way. Every time we’re together, she leaves me wanting more of her.

Will there ever be enough with her?

I hope not.

Emma is a woman to test you every step of the way and make you fight to be better. Then she’ll light up your nights. I could do the same for her. I’m starting to think seriously about the possibility I want to be more to her than this. In the hours of conversation that passed, we’ve never discussed what we are to each other. Neither of us wanted to be the one to ask, probably. Don’t ask, don’t tell; the best way to avoid getting hurt.

I drop into my chair, but don’t look at the computer monitor.

Women have loved me since I grew six inches and broke out in muscles as a teenager. And I love women, but I’ve never loved a woman. Building this business has taken up that space in my life, and it’s always felt like enough. No woman could bring the challenges and mental thrills of global business. How could she?

But Emma is a lifetime of adventure in one package. She’s stubborn and brilliant and restless. Sexy as hell. I have this driving urge, not to protect her or give her things, but to appreciate her. Because not every guy is man enough to walk beside a woman like her. But I am.

Sex isn’t enough anymore. Nope, I want the full Emma experience. And I sure as hell don’t want to see her with someone else. Sometimes the hottest flames burn out the fastest, and we freaking exploded. But the way we connect, argue over politics and business, expand each other’s ideas, that’s more than heat. One of my advantages has always been to see what I want and go after it.

I stand and pace in front of the window. I’m tired of waiting, but unfamiliar doubt nags at me. She might not feel the same way. Persistence gets me most of what I want in life, but feelings are immune. You can’t force the heart.

I need to know if this is just a casual thing for her.

What if it is?

If I can change her mind, I will. And if not, then we drop the pleasure and go back to business like I promised her. If this goes further and she’s not in it like I am, I’ll be risking not just my heart, but her company. Because I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back if I wait another day.

Fuck this. I have to know.

My phone pings with a message. I swipe and open a photo of Emma in kickboxing gear flashing a thumbs-up from a small, padded room. No message, but she’s wearing the necklace I gave her. The need to touch her prickles under my skin.

If I leave now, I can see her in two hours. I need to see her eyes when I ask her what she wants from me. From us. A hasty plan takes shape.

Marge is taking her purse from a drawer to leave for lunch, but she always knows my schedule at least a couple days out.

“Before you go, what do I have tomorrow?”

“Clive is coming in to review budgets for next year at three.”

“Cancel it. Tell George to fuel the plane for a flight to Seattle and load the BMW bike. Two helmets.”

On the plane, I double check the weather—overcast but no rain—and use my phone to map a scenic ride north of Seattle. We’ll stop somewhere overlooking Puget Sound. I call some bed and breakfast places on the route and ask about rooms. As soon as we touch down at Sea-Tac, I spring out of my seat and shrug into my leather jacket.

George holds the other side as we walk down the loading ramp with the heavy roadster. Bulbous white clouds dot the horizon, but nothing looks like rain.

“Thanks, George. As soon as we decide, I’ll let you know if we’re headed back tonight.”

I swing a leg over the powerful machine, letting its dull rumble soothe me. My helmet is wired to my phone, so I activate the voice assistant for directions to the SocialTech headquarters. The smooth female voice guides me through an easy drive up Interstate 5 and deposits me at Emma’s building. I remove my helmet and strap it to the bike beside the spare one.

I push open SocialTech’s glass doors.

“Good afternoon. May I help you?” The young, bland-faced receptionist blushes when I walk in.

“Yes. Nate Stone here to see Emma Vance. Is she in?” I rest against an elbow on the desk.

“Ms. Vance isn’t in right now,” the receptionist says. “I can give you her email address, or I can take down a message.”

“Will she be back today?”

“I—I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

I want to tell her I’m Emma’s boyfriend, and that it’s okay to tell me how long she’ll be gone. But that’s probably premature.

Emma’s assistant steps out of her office. Her eyes get bigger when she spots me.

“Stephanie, right?” I call to her.

Stephanie crosses the hall to me. “Yeah. So, uh, what can I help you with, Mr. Stone?”

“I’m looking for Emma. She mentioned she was in the office today, and I thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

Oh you know, just in the neighborhood with my plane and some good intentions.

Stephanie cringes. “I’m so sorry, but she’s out right now.”

“So I heard. Can you tell me where, or how long she’ll be gone?” I smile reassuringly.

She hesitates, so I swallow my frustration. The occasion definitely calls for charm.

“Mr. Stone, I wouldn’t normally give that information out, but I know you’ve been …”

“Yes, we’ve been in touch a great deal lately.” I don’t know how private Emma is with her personal life, so I give the poor assistant an out.”

“Right,” she says, relief easing the discomfort in her expression. “Anyway, Emma left for the airport about ten minutes ago. She’s flying out to Spain this afternoon.”

My stomach drops to my knees.

Spain, home of the douchebag ex-boyfriend. Giver of gifts. The lover who wants her back.

“Stephanie, this is important. Can you please give me her flight information? I absolutely have to see her.”

“Uh, is this about the buyout? Should we be alarmed? Should I call her?”

“No, no. I just need to speak with her in person.” I force dimples, though the smile feels like it will break my face in half. “To be honest, it’s personal, not business related.”

Poor Stephanie’s eyes bulge out of her face, and then a toothy grin breaks loose.

“Oh. Ok, ah … follow me, please?”

I’m losing seconds here. If Emma gets behind airport security, she’s as good as gone. Stephanie leads me to her office. She glances at me as she types. Uncertainty crosses her features again.

“Stephanie, this is really important. I’m not planning to bomb the plane, I promise.”

She laughs and relaxes. “Okay, I’ve got it. You ready?”

“Fire away.”

“It’s Delta flight 668, leaving at four p.m. from Sea-Tac.”

“Thank you, Stephanie.”