The moment my tongue touched her finger, her mouth fell open in shock.

She made a spectacular picture—the black silk tie around her eyes, dark against her bright hair, her cheeks stained by a telltale flush that didn’t quite spread down to her chest. She’d been biting her lips nervously, pulling enough blood to the surface to make them rosy and full.

Okay, maybe Aaron was on to something. I just might have a small crush.

“Gage!” she gasped as I gently bit her thumb.

A frustrated growl built in my throat, and my shoulders clicked and ached as I tried to shift and stretch my arms. Madeline had definitely got the better end of this deal.

Her thumb slipped out of my mouth when she whipped her head around, as though she could see the room through the blindfold. We were alone, all my other staff having disappeared to either their suites or—more likely—the lodge bar.

“Is this, uh, effective personal communication?” she asked quietly.

“It depends. What exactly do you think I’m communicating?”

Her neck shifted as she swallowed hard. “Um… it’s definitely personal.”

“Mmm hmmm. Effective?”

She nodded and pressed her lips together. Her nostrils flared as she took in a deep breath, her spine stiffening.

“You’re that hungry?” She let out a light laugh. “Really, Mister Gage. I’m sure the lodge restaurant can offer better than my finger.” With a small, evil grin, she held out a handful of spaghetti. “Would you like some more pasta instead?”

My lips parted; she yanked back her hand and wedged it under her thigh.

“Are you suggesting that I am eating right out of your hand?” I asked, testing my silk handcuffs with little success at freeing myself.

“On the contrary, sir. Though I am very, very hungry,” she admitted. “But I think it’s safe to say that we’ve failed this exercise.”

With that conclusion, I watched with envy her free, unencumbered hands reach up and tug at the blindfold. Then pick. And tug again.

“Jesus, what kind of knot did you tie here?” she huffed.

Eventually she gave up, and just pried her fingers underneath the silk at her temple to get it off her head. She blinked at me, her pupils constricting in the light. Her brow furrowed as she thoughtfully sucked her lower lip between her teeth. And let out a sigh.

“Mister Gage, I’m not sure about how trustworthy you are, after all.”

Something twisted in my chest at her words, even though I believed she was probably teasing me. “Oh, Madeline. You’re wrong.”

She looked down to where she was rubbing her hands nervously up and down her thighs. When I slid forward in my chair and bent toward her, her gaze went from her own lap to mine. I pressed my knees against hers. It had been a while, but I was pretty sure this was considered flirting.

A grimace twisted her pretty face. “You like to be right all the time, don’t you?”

“Don’t you?”

“I know I’m not. Nobody’s right all the time.”

“Madeline, there’s a difference between being right and being sure.”

This time there was nothing to prevent her eyes from rolling in disbelief.

“Sometimes it’s better to have confidence instead of certainty. You, of all people, should know how persuasive a little confidence can be.”

And with more confidence, but less certainty than I truly felt for maybe the first time in years, I bent forward again to brush my lips against hers. She froze for a second, then her lips parted slightly to kiss me back. It was so brief I might have closed my eyes and only imagined it.

“You’re sure?” she breathed, edging back and licking her lips. My body tightened again, frustrated and trembling in restraint and weariness.

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Then I guess you’re right. Thank you for dinner, Mister Gage.” She flashed an outrageously demure smile at me before rising from her chair. It was somewhat satisfying to see her grab the edge of the table for support on her shaky legs.

“You’re welcome, Miss Jones. Are we done here?” I leaned forward and twisted my torso a little so she could reach my wrists.

“Yes, Mister Gage.”

She picked up her purse and sauntered out the door.

What the hell was that?

* * *

As I blearily stared at the coffeemaker in the living room the next morning, I heard Madeline’s shower start. I wondered what temperature she liked it at. Mine had been on the frigid side, both to wake me up and cool me down.

It had only taken twenty minutes to be freed from bondage the night before. It probably would have been sooner had I yelled for help. But I didn’t. Yes, I was covered in red sauce with my hands tied behind my back, but that did not mean I wasn’t smart, successful, and completely in control of my own world.

All right, I could admit it—perhaps not completely in control.

There was no point in explaining my predicament to the poor busboy, nor was it any of his business. But I slipped him a hundred dollar bill regardless and he refused to look me in the eye. That would have to suffice.

A few staff members waylaid me in the hotel lounge, and they took the opportunity to hoot at my stained shirt. With an impassive shrug, I let them have their fun. This weekend was supposed to be a little casual, after all.

I drew the line at their invitation to the pool before it closed, however. There was “mocking the boss” casual, and then there was “naked hot tub party” casual.

When I finally got up to the suite, I found a single lamp glowing in the living area, the door to one bedroom open, and the other one closed. After a quick cost-benefit ratio analysis, I decided that was a good thing.

After I raided the vending machine, I distracted myself with work before going to bed. No movement or noise came from Madeline’s bedroom. It was like nobody was there. For all I knew, nobody was. At some point during my restless night, it occurred to me that she might have tried to share a room with a colleague at the last minute—like Aaron. The thought made me a little nauseous.

So while I lay in bed, my phone lighting up in the dark more times than I’d care to admit as I thought about texting her, I was in the novel position of not knowing what to say. It didn’t seem like the right time for “please.”

I still didn’t know what to say when I woke up a few hours later. After two cups of coffee, my nerves had increased to downright jitters, but she hadn’t yet emerged from her room. So I went down to the hotel restaurant to find some breakfast. Our first activity was due to begin at nine, and this one I was looking forward to.

The sight of Aaron and Bobbie laughing together at a table for four stopped me short. Bobbie’s head was close to his, her inky hair stick straight in contrast to Aaron’s ridiculous Fro. I’d forgotten that of course they’d met each other before. Bobbie had even tried charming her way into a keg party back in the day. Aaron would have let her in, despite her being underage. I didn’t. But I couldn’t remember when they had run into each other since then.

I filled my plate at the buffet and joined them, effectively throwing a wet towel on the conversation. Literally—I knocked over a water glass when I put my plate down, soaking the tablecloth.

“Way to go, bro.” Aaron shoved his chair back.

Bobbie gave me a perplexed look as she stood. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “You okay, Brain?” We might not be the best of friends, but my sister still knew that this kind of clumsiness was not normal for me.

“I’m fine,” I ground out while unwrapping my roll-up. I placed the fork by my plate and the napkin over the puddle. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Me neither,” Aaron said.

I heard Bobbie let out an amused snort before she headed to the back of the dining room, where the kitchen was likely located.

My grunt was smothered by the scrambled eggs I was shoveling into my mouth. Next I started on the pancakes. Slowly I began to wake up, at least enough to jab my fork into Aaron’s hand as he reached for a piece of my bacon.

“Dude!” He snatched his hand back, dramatically cradling it like an animal with a wounded paw. He might have begun to whimper if I hadn’t shot him a dark look.

“You should know better, bro.”

“Bacon is always fair game.”

“Not today.” I shoved a strip into my mouth.

“I know we’re out in the woods, but you didn’t need to find a bigger tree to stick up your ass, man.”

“Fuck off.”

“You sure you’re okay?” My groove in my friend’s forehead deepened.

I scowled and stabbed a sausage. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Relatively certain that the small flood I’d created wouldn’t drip onto his lap, Aaron scooted his chair back in and waved at my plate. “Usually you’re a fruit and egg whites kind of guy.”

“Plus,” Bobbie added as she dropped a small stack of bar towels on the table, “You’re wearing a sweatshirt.” Aaron scanned me, nodding in wide-eyed agreement.

“So?” I’d dressed casually before; I didn’t know why they were making such a big deal of it.

“And you tucked it in.”

I looked down to see that I’d shoved the hem of my faded college hoodie into the waistband of my jeans. I must have been on autopilot while I was dressing, or still asleep. The latter was more likely.

“I’m hungry, since I didn’t eat much last night,” I said peevishly.

Aaron chuckled. Bobbie blushed, which made me wonder just how much she’d had to do with the Devil’s Dinner. When I passed over the last sausage to narrow my eyes at her, she merely blinked and smiled beatifically. That shit worked on our mother all the time, but it didn’t work on me. I was smarter than that, and had a longer attention span than a fruit fly.

“Bobbie’s doing a great job here, huh Gage?”

Aaron’s sidelong glance at my sister seemed to unnerve her. Interesting.

Now I felt unnerved, with a hard lump in my stomach—but that could have been the unhealthy amount of cholesterol I’d just inhaled.

“Good morning.”

I jolted at the sound of Madeline’s voice behind me.

“Good morning! Miss Jones, right?” Bobbie smiled.

Madeline rounded the table to approach the last empty seat with a silent “may I?” gesture. Aaron jumped up to pull out the chair for her, giving me a weird look. My legs didn’t seem to work very well at that moment.

“Please call me Madeline,” she said. She was polite and friendly, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Nor did her eyes reach me.

Despite being dressed in black yoga pants, a fitted blue Henley and soft hiking boots, she looked about as relaxed as a Red Sox fan at Yankee Stadium.

Bobbie stuck her hand out over the table. “I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself last night. I’m Brian’s sister, Roberta—Bobbie.”

“Sister?”

Maybe only I heard the breath whoosh out of Madeline’s mouth. But it made my mouth curve up nonetheless, and I raised my coffee cup to hide my amusement.

“What’s the ‘Pinky’ for?” she asked.

Bobbie threw me a grin. “We watched too much TV as kids. Our favorite was Pinky and the—”

“Brain.” Madeline smirked. “Obviously. Or, obvious now,” she said, her gaze volleying between us.

“Yeah, sorry for any confusion. I realized later that you might have gotten the wrong impression.” Bobbie looked meaningfully between Madeline and myself. “I, uh, didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

I choked on my coffee. Aaron reached over to hit my back, which didn’t help anything.

“What?” Madeline gave a nervous laugh. “No, no toes! No problem! It’s all good. It’s a lovely suite.”

“Okay, I just wasn’t sure if you’d need both bedro—ow!” Bobbie yelped as Aaron and I both kicked her hard under the table. He shrugged at me when our feet met, as if to say “Sorry, dude. But she’s your sister.”

Madeline looked down at the wet tablecloth, clearly embarrassed.

“You want some breakfast?” Aaron asked her.

“No, I’m good. I had a granola bar from my suitcase. Thanks, though.”

I cleared my throat. “Uh, did you sleep okay?”

Finally she looked at me. Well, looked through me, really. “More or less. I think I was a little nervous about what we’re doing today. What are we doing today?”

“The ropes course,” said Bobbie. “I’ll be on site to supervise.” There was pride in her voice, and I had to grudgingly admit that she seemed to be genuinely into this job. Maybe she’d keep it for more than a few months.

“Ropes?”

The expression on Madeline’s face was unreadable as she stared out the ceiling-to-floor window framing the mountains. Maybe she was remembering tying me up the night before.

I was beginning to regret my unusually heavy breakfast. Not only was I worried that the weekend was already ruined, but that she would be filing a harassment claim the second we got back to the city.

There was no point in trying to convince myself that I wasn’t attracted to her. I wasn’t an idiot. Madeline Jones fascinated me, from her wild hair to her inability to be on time. She was everything that irritated me about women, and most people in general, but yet… the way she blushed when she was with me, the way she teased me in private, the way she reacted when I touched her—all indicated that she wasn’t totally oblivious or disinterested.

Yeah, it would be a pretty fucking dumb idea to get into bed with my employee. But it didn’t have to be a bed. The couch would do. My car, my desk… I groaned inwardly, and when I rolled my eyes I realized that I was starting to pick up Madeline’s habits. Acting on any mutual attraction would be a very bad idea indeed, and not one a rational, intelligent person such as myself should pursue.

It’s not that I was impulsive, exactly, but I had a tendency to commit first and ask questions later. One of these days it was going to get me into trouble.

Or wedlock.

No. It would be better to keep her as an assistant and Happit guinea pig, then jump into a relationship that would be—at the least—unpredictable. My brain knew this. My blue balls were still processing.

While I was obsessing and squirming in my chair, Aaron and Bobbie had gotten up and said something about heading out to the course. Given the state of my jeans, I was thinking about “accidentally” dropping a glass of ice water in my lap.

It wasn’t until Madeline shifted in her seat beside me that I realized she’d stayed behind, and we were alone. Even the rest of the dining room had almost emptied out. I checked the time on my phone. Hell. We were going to be late to the retreat activity—again. I took a deep, steadying breath.

“Madeline?”

At first I thought she hadn’t heard me, so I opened my mouth again. Then she lifted her head to look at me—really look at me, and my unspoken words shuddered out with a sigh.

There were bags under her eyes and her smile was weak, but genuine.

I wasn’t normally a man who waited, unless it was strategically necessary in negotiating a deal. But Madeline Jones seemed to have the ability to stop me in my tracks yet also make my brain and heart race at the same time. So I waited, and gave her the room to say what she wanted to say.

“Mister Gage?”

“Madeline,” I repeated.

She cocked her head. “Why don’t you ever call me Maddie?” she asked. I didn’t think it was what she had planned to say.

What? I looked at her helplessly. “Because everyone else does.” She was special. She knew that, right? She must have known that.

Her smile widened and warmed. My chest felt like a big pine log had caught in the lobby’s giant fireplace, cracking and sparking from all the sap. It could have been the pancakes, though.

She reached out her hand. I waited.

“Can I eat your sausage?” With her gaze still locked on mine, she pinched the end of the fat breakfast link and drew it into her mouth.

The little tease sucked it into her mouth the same way I had caressed her finger the night before. Her lips shimmered with grease, as I imagined her tongue was sucking its juices and rolling over the crisp fried casing.

She bit down gently, making me flinch. Then carefully she chewed.

Her hair, woven tightly at the back of her head in a French braid, left her neck totally exposed. The movement of her throat as she ate my sausage made me swallow at the same time she did.

Fuck, I was a dead man. Her communication was confusing and her message unclear. Either she was going to quit and sue me, or she wanted to suck me off under the table. But she was still beaming at me, which was a really good sign. My head was spinning.

“You owed me a meal,” she said.

I cleared my throat. “I owe you more than that.”

“The sausage will do. For now.”

My mouth opened and closed. Then she rose from her chair, turned and bent over to grab a small daypack. My eyes closed and opened as I said a silent prayer for yoga pants.

“Your turn to get me on the ropes, sir.”

Then she walked away—again. I untucked my sweatshirt and pulled it down over my hips as far as it would go, then went after her.