I have never met a more impressive woman than Quinn Campbell.

At our Wednesday meeting, she sits across her desk from me, cool and collected, as if I didn’t fuck her senseless last night.

The fact that she can be so professional—friendly, even—in the face of overwhelming sexual tension makes me want to bend her over the desk and take her here and now, even more than I already did.

“This strategy will begin to unfold this week, if you don’t have any issues with the events or the timing,” she says, sliding the printed calendar of scheduled public appearances across the glass surface of her desk toward me. “The first opportunity I’ve arranged is on Friday at the Bowery Mission, helping to serve meals during the dinner shift. I have some press tentatively booked to be there so you can announce the donation you’re making in your mother’s memory.”

I look up into her fiery green eyes and grin. “I’m making a donation in my mother’s memory?”

“Don’t get cute with me, Mr. Pierce,” she shoots back, the corner of her mouth quirked in a smile. It’s the first time during the meeting that the real Quinn—at least, what I assume to be the real Quinn, based on how raw and passionate she was last night—breaks through in her professional persona. “You’ll make this donation, and you’ll like doing it.”

That’s what I’m talking about. Although, on second glance, she probably has a reputation in the industry for her no-bullshit client-handling skills.

She’s a woman of many talents.

“I don’t disagree,” I answer, laughing. My heart aches a little at the thought of my mother. “Mom would be proud.”

“Yes,” she says, a softer tone in her voice. “Listen, Christian…”

This isn’t the businesslike self that she’s been presenting most of the meeting. I’m sure of it now. I lean toward her even though the door to the office is closed tightly. “What is it?”

“I read through your file this morning to get a more thorough picture of your background,” she says slowly, and at first I have no idea where this is going. So what if she read through the file? What does that have to do with—?

“I read about your brother.”

I never talk about my brother.

I try my best not to think of my brother.

I can’t think of a single thing to say.

“I’m sorry for bringing him up,” she says, straightening her posture, worry filling her eyes. “I wanted to let you know that…that I had read about him, and if there was anything you wanted to—”

A hot surge of anger spikes through my chest, and one of my hands involuntarily clenches into a fist. “No.”

“I’m—”

I cut her off. “I’m not using him to boost my image.”

Underneath the anger, fear rankles in my gut.

Quinn holds up both hands like I’m a bull about to tear into a matador. “That’s not what I was suggesting,” she says smoothly. I’m soothed by the sound of her voice in spite of myself. “I wanted to share with you that I’m aware of him, okay? I’m—” She leans in again, dropping her hands to the surface of the desk. “I can’t do this. I need to be honest.”

“Honest about what?” My anger is already dissipating.

She bites her lip, then looks me straight in the eye. “I told Carolyn that we…that we went on a date.”

I burst out laughing. “I bet she loved that.”

“She did,” Quinn says in a tentative tone, a little smile forming on her face. “And I—I mentioned that I thought I hit a nerve by asking about your tattoo. She told me about Elijah, and then I saw his name again in your file.”

I sigh and straighten my spine, though I want to sink back into the chair and cover my eyes with my hand. I can’t let her see how much talking about this scares the shit out of me, and I’m not going to start breaking down now, after ten years. Christian Pierce isn’t some shrinking sissy who falls apart at the mention of his deceased brother. “It’s all right, Quinn.” I force all the thoughts about Eli out of my mind and concentrate hard on the memory of Quinn’s creamy skin pressed up against the length of my body, let the memory put a smile on my face. “Can I be honest about something?”

“Anything.”

I stand up out of the chair and lean across to whisper into her ear. “I want to bend you over this desk and fuck you until you can’t possibly orgasm even one more time.”

Then I sit back in my seat and watch her.

Heat rises to Quinn’s cheeks, turning her face a deep shade of red, and her lips part slightly. I can only imagine how slick her folds must be right now underneath the sharp black dress she’s wearing today, the sleeveless cut showing off her toned arms. Her fingers curl into her palms as she stares into my eyes, the gold flecks in her green irises glinting in the afternoon sun pouring through her office windows. I only see the rise of her breasts because I’m looking for it. My cock twitches. It doesn’t matter that my heart is still pounding from how close, how close she was to seeing something that could have screwed everything up permanently…

She looks down at the papers in front of her, blinks, then takes one of them into her hands.

“The second opportunity will be two weeks from next Tuesday, and this is one that I’ve set up to be on behalf of Pierce Industries to show your commitment there. I haven’t arranged photography, but as soon as you approve this, we can move forward with—”

She’s trying so hard, so determined to do this job well despite what’s between us, and I love that about her.

Emotion surges in my pounding heart.

I try to stop it, but I can’t—I’m falling in love with her.