I react without thinking when I see her name on the email.

I’ve been in the office for hours, reviewing the final touches on a number of contracts—contracts I shouldn’t even be spending my time on, but after the meeting with Chris, I’ve instituted a tighter review policy—and the emails stopped coming in a long time ago.

Until hers.

Vivienne Davis is sending me a summary of a meeting between three Wilder Enterprises executives and some potential partners for a massive deal in India, and damn, the woman is dedicated—because it comes in after 10 p.m., when nobody in their right mind is still in the office.

Except for me.

It’s a terse and formal note, with no hint of the spitfire attitude of the woman I found out on the sidewalk that day, but my mind doesn’t linger on the professional office bullshit. All I see is the time stamp, and the image of her sitting downstairs at her desk, the image of her walking alone to—

To God knows where. I don’t know where she lives, although I could always look it up in her personnel file. Is she going to get a cab, or is she going to walk to the subway?

Something rears up in my chest at the thought of her out there, alone, in the semi-darkness of the New York City night, and before I can stop myself, I’m typing up a reply, thoughtless, sending it.

The moment it’s done, I know it’s not enough. A quick question, Jesus. I couldn’t care any less about the summary at this moment.

I reach for the handset of my phone and dial in the number, hesitating over the extension. What the hell is wrong with me? I scroll to the bottom of the email with my left hand, punching in the extension as soon as it registers.

She answers on the first ring. “Vivienne Davis.” There’s the slightest hint of breathlessness in her voice, and it zings up and down my spine to hear it.

“Ms. Davis. It’s very late to be in the office. I’d like to offer you a ride home.”

I’d like to offer her more than that, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind, and I have to do something to lower the chances of her walking out of here by herself.

She hesitates a beat. “Mr. Wilder?”

“It’s me, Ms. Davis.”

“You can—” I can hear her swallow over the phone. “You can call me Vivienne.”

Heat spreads out across my chest. “Vivienne, it’s much too late to be going home by yourself.”

She laughs a little, the sound clean and pure. “I’ve lived in the city for quite a while, Mr. Wilder. I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“Indulge me.”

Her breath is soft over the phone, and I picture her with her head cocked to the side, considering. “As long as you don’t think I can’t handle a subway ride home. Even if it’s past eight o’clock.”

This is the kind of flirtatious talk that would never happen during the daytime, never happen during office hours, and it’s like a spark that jumps from the morning three weeks ago straight to now, as if it’s the very next day. She’s holding her own. She’s not giving in to me, at least not at first, and that’s a rare quality in anyone who works for me these days.

“I’m sure you could, Vivienne.” There’s no mistaking it this time—when I say her name, there’s a hitch in her breath. “But I’d like to see you safely home. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’ll be down in the lobby in one minute.”

“I’ll see you there.”

I hang up the phone and whip my cell out of my pocket, dialing for my driver. He responds with a clipped “right there, boss,” and I know he’ll be idling in front of the building in thirty seconds flat.

It’s all I can do not to sprint to the elevator.

I haven’t seen Vivienne in three weeks, and I’m starting to look for her in every woman I see on the streets.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I get into the elevator.

I shouldn’t be doing this under any circumstances. She’s a grown woman. She can handle getting home by herself. But more than that, she works for me. Any hint of impropriety—

I shouldn’t, but I will.

The elevator lets me off at the same time the other one lets her out into the lobby, and for an instant I see her biting her full lip, head turning, scanning the area for me. The sight of her nearly brings me to my knees. She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her hips. It has short sleeves that display her arms and give off a prim vibe while somehow remaining unbelievably sexy, and the scooped neckline that demurely covers her cleavage nearly pushes me over the edge.

I want her.

Now.

I move toward her, and she turns her head at the last moment and sees me, color rushing to her cheeks. She hasn’t forgotten that day, either.

“Vivienne.”

She tightens her grip on her purse. “Mr. Wilder.”

I grin at her, and her answering smile takes my breath away. “You can call me Dominic.”

She looks at me with wide eyes. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You are, after all, my boss’s boss’s boss.”

“I’ve had worse ideas.” I let the sentence hang in the air and she bites her lip again, and I know, right then, that we’re tumbling over into uncharted territory.

“Like what?”

I lean in, like I’m about to whisper a secret into her ear. “Nothing we should be discussing at work.”

Vivienne flushes a deeper red. “I’m more than ready to leave.” The suggestion is there in her voice, and I want to sweep her off her feet right then.

“Me, too.” I offer her my arm, and she slips her hand in, that same heat rushing through me the instant she’s touching me. My heart pounds in my chest. This is risky. I’m the owner of the company—I can do whatever I please—but if somebody twists this the wrong way—

Then screw them.

We move toward the entrance. “What kept you here so late?”

“I was coordinating the Mumbai meeting, and I had to be on the call.”

“How did it go?”

“Fine.”

She’s trembling, though her voice never wavers. We go through the front doors, and there’s my car, waiting by the curb. I step up and open the door, and Vivienne slides into the backseat. I get in beside her and pull the door closed behind me.

“We’re not at work anymore.”

Her eyes are bright, even in the dark interior of the car. “What does that mean…Dominic?” My name in her mouth makes me want to hear her moan it with pleasure, and my cock jumps at the thought.

“We can talk about anything we want now.”

Her breasts rise and fall under her dress as she breathes. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You.” Her eyes lock on mine, and her lips part. “I’ve thought of you every day. You’ve been on my mind constantly.” She’s breathing harder now. “Can you blame me?”

Her next word is a whisper so sensual I almost lean across and crush my mouth against hers. “No.”