Gage and I decided not to leave the office together, for appearance’s sake. Not that it really mattered—my ears were burning all afternoon, even though we’d barely spoken since I left his office. The grapevine had been very effective, but what else would you expect from an app development company? The whole point of the business was making people feel like something they’d never needed before was crucial to their everyday life.

By the time I trudged up to his doorstep, it was dark and my legs felt like sausages after being encased in tall leather boots all day. Sexy? Yes. Comfortable? Not exactly. The two rooms on either side of his front door were lit up like happy eyes to welcome me, and my mood lifted a little as I saw he’d lit a fire in one of the fireplaces.

My hand rose to the bell when he swung the door open. I almost stumbled into his arms from the surprise before stumbling into his arms on purpose anyhow.

“Hi.” He kissed my ear, his hands steadying me.

“Hi,” I sighed. It had been a long, annoying day, but I’d finally gotten to the best part.

All too soon he pushed me back and helped me off with my coat. My bag got shoved under the console table while I sat on the bottom stair to peel off my boots. I let out an audible sigh of relief at the same time that Gage disappeared to the back of the house where the kitchen was.

It seemed like a week since he’d sat right there and ranted about Bobbie’s pregnancy, but it had only been twenty-four hours. I made a mental note to call her the next day.

I flexed my stocking-covered toes against the hardwood, trying to stretch out my cramped feet. Ah, to hell with it. My tights also came off and got wadded into one boot. I wandered over to the fireplace, bunching up my skirt to feel the warmth on the backs of my bare legs.

Gage reappeared with a glass of red wine in each hand. “Better?” he asked.

“If I sigh in relief any more, I might start hyperventilating,” I joked, letting go of my skirt to take the offered glass. “God, I love fires. I mean, fireplace ones, not like arson.”

“And here I thought you were a closet pyromaniac.” He sipped his wine.

“Ha ha. I never went camping as a kid, never lived anywhere with a fireplace. I always wanted one. I thought they were so romantic. I love that nothing is ever the same with a fire—it’s always changing, unpredictable.”

“You do know you can watch it on TV at Christmas-time, right?”

“Yeah, but I always get jerked out of my little fantasy when the guy in the flannel shirt comes to poke at it.”

With my long wool skirt now down and absorbing the heat, I was getting a little too warm. I padded over to a very plain, very beige couch and sat down, careful not to spill any wine.

“What happened with Susan?” he asked, walking over to lean on the armrest beside me.

I was a little surprised to see that he’d changed into his worn jeans when he got home. But his light blue shirt was still on, the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone. It matched his eyes.

“I’m sure she emailed you a report.” I rolled my eyes, tasting the wine. “Mmm. Anyhow, she basically advised me to keep my personal life and work life separate.”

Actually, she had said something nasty about keeping my legs together in the office, but I didn’t want to tell him that. And she was right, regardless. That’s what irked me so much—the fact that she was justified in her sanctimonious attitude. Gage hummed in response, examining his wine glass.

“I, uh, texted Bobbie today,” I told him. “I went to ask Aaron how she was doing but he wasn’t in the office today.”

Gage’s gaze moved from his wine to the fire. “Yeah, he stayed home with her,” he said absently. “He’d better come in tomorrow, though. He’s getting behind.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking, and suspected that he wasn’t. “She asked me to come by tomorrow after work.” His frown made my heart hurt. “Um, do you want to come with me?”

“No, that’s okay.”

Clearly whatever was happening in Gage’s head was still happening, and he needed more time to deal with it. Extracting it from his ass would be a good start, though. I decided to change the subject as he swigged the rest of his wine.

“What’s for dinner?” The scent of rosemary and garlic drifted from the kitchen.

“Lamb chops.”

“Yummy. Will it be ready soon?”

“We’ve got time.”

“For what?”

Rising from his perch, he plucked my wine glass out of my hand, still half-full. He looked thoughtful as he placed it and his empty glass on a side table. “You know, Madeline, it occurs to me that we’ve gone about this a little backwards.”

This? I cocked my head. “How so?”

“I had you blindfolded and you tied me up even before we kissed.”

I shifted on the couch, feeling a little too close to the fire. “Hmmm.” That was true, but I hadn’t minded at the time.

“Then I made you come before our first date.”

Also true. The memory of it made me a little breathless, in fact. He sat beside me on the couch, carefully turning me to put my legs over his lap and my back against the armrest. He slipped one hand under my long skirt, smoothing his palm along my shin. I cringed, mentally smacking myself for not shaving my legs that morning.

Gage didn’t seem to care, though. His hand wandered higher up my leg, over my knee and squeezing my thigh gently. Part of me wanted to withdraw my legs and run away, embarrassed that my thigh could so easily be squeezed like putty. Argh! Why didn’t I have shapely, rock hard legs with a thigh gap a small child could pass through?

Then his fingers slipped over my inner thigh, tickling me just below where my legs met.

“Gage…” Biting back a gasp, I tried to look at him sternly. Yeah, it didn’t work.

“Maddie…” He didn’t even bother trying to hide his glee as the tips of his fingers brushed across the crotch of my panties. “You naughty girl, have you been this wet all day?”

“Not all day.” He didn’t need to know about the extra underwear stashed in my desk drawer on a regular basis now.

His smile was smug and delighted, like an adolescent boy who’d snapped a bra strap that then came undone. “Do you think about me when you’re at the office?”

I gave him a “well, duh!” look. At the office, at home, on the bus. I didn’t want to inflate his ego anymore—if that was even possible—but it would be fair to say that I thought about him way more than was smart. But Brian Gage had a way of bringing out my inner stupid.

“I think about you,” he said. “I think about you all fucking day. I get hard and have to stay at my desk until I make it go away so I can get up. You’re the reason I’ve been having meetings in my office instead in other people’s.”

Oh. “Sorry?”

He made a growling sound deep in his throat that went straight to my clit. “No, you’re not.”

I grinned. “No, I’m not.” The image of a strained Gage trying to hide his hard-on under his desk made me want to giggle. “Uh, you do know that your desk is clear glass, right? Everyone can probably see you anyways.”

His eyes widened in shock; clearly he hadn’t thought of that.

With the dexterity of a Cirque de Soleil artist, he lifted my legs off his lap, pulled me so that I was lying on the couch, my hair flowing over the armrest, and twisted around until he was prone on top of me. His knees held him up, one on either side of my leg over my skirt, effectively pinning me down. I was at his mercy—and so far he’d shown me little.