I pulled the pillow away from my head and stared up into a pair of amused brown eyes. Will’s hands were in his pockets, his stance casual. The desire to grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him down hit me hard in the lower abdomen. It’d been far too long since a man touched me.

Time seemed to stand still as his gaze dropped to my mouth. Intensity replaced amusement, causing his pupils to flare. Suddenly he didn’t seem so relaxed, and I didn’t feel nearly as tense. What would he do if I grabbed him? He stood less than a foot away. It wouldn’t be difficult.

Heat fluttered across my skin as my breathing shallowed. Will’s innate sexual confidence seemed to fill the room, making my hormones go to war with reason. My attraction to him was never a question, but I knew better than to follow through on it. That didn’t stop my nipples from hardening against my lacy bra. He must have noticed, because he glanced down, then continued his survey in a slow motion that felt like a caress against my skin.

This is it. After weeks of what felt like verbal foreplay, he was finally going to make his move and prove the real reason for wanting me on this case. Relief mingled with disappointment. I wanted him on a base level and would certainly enjoy a night in his bed, but a small part of me hoped he considered me more valuable than just another conquest. Oh well, at least he’ll end my bout of forced celibacy, and help—

Will cleared his throat and took a step back.

“Pizza’s here.” His tone lacked the usual teasing quality I’d come to associate with him. “I’ll be in the living area.”

I stared after him as he sauntered out of the room. Wait, what? Had I misread his body language? No. No way. I knew what desire looked like, and it practically radiated from him. But he’d walked away. Without even an inkling of hesitation. He had to have sensed my acceptance, right?

I frowned. Sarah teased me about my constant cold shoulder, a habit I developed to thwart male advances. Was it so much a part of me that I’d let it follow me into the bedroom? A glance down at my exposed legs sent heat crawling up my neck. No. Definitely not a cold-shoulder issue. If anything, my hiked-up skirt lent a desperate appearance, and my hair probably looked like a hot mess thanks to the pillows.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and grimaced. How unprofessional did I look sprawled out on a client’s bed, screaming, Fuck! on repeat? On top of that, in my mentally tired state, I misread Will’s expression. I shook my head to clear it.

The calm, collected, confident version of myself settled over my shoulders as I rolled off the bed. The bathroom mirror confirmed the bird’s nest on my head. I ran my fingers through the unruly blonde waves and used the hair tie around my wrist to pull it all back into a messy bun. Not the most professional, but better than before. Tucking my blouse back into place, I smoothed my hands over my wrinkled skirt, grabbed the phone I’d left on the bed, and headed back into the living room.

Will was seated at the dining table, reading something on his laptop, when I entered. The pizza box sat untouched, with two plates off to the side and our wine glasses. Mine appeared to be full again. I picked it up by the stem, took two fortifying sips, and busied myself with serving the pizza while he studied his screen.

After a minute, he shut the lid. “Your firm sent over the proposal,” he murmured as he accepted the plate I held out for him. No sign of awkwardness or acknowledgment of what just happened in the bedroom. Maybe it was all in my head?

“Do you agree to the terms?” I asked, voice professional.

“Most of them. I’ll need to confer with Garrett on a few items.” His forearms flexed as he sliced through the monstrosity of sauce, cheese, and crust in front of him. Who knew eating Chicago-style pizza could be sexy? He made it look like a work of art as he popped a bite into his mouth and waggled his brows.

“Not bad for a Southerner,” I teased before following suit. Mmm. There were pepperonis hiding beneath the cheese. Always a delectable surprise.

“Not my first time,” he replied. “So who was on the phone?”

I almost choked on the food in my mouth. It took a minute to remember how to chew and swallow. I followed it with a healthy sip of wine. “Uh, no one important.” Yeah, that’s convincing.

“ ‘No one important’ makes you scream profanities, huh?” Incredulity colored his tone, but his expression remained playful as he devoured another masterful bite of cheesy goodness. “The proposal lists you as the primary contact but Janet as the project lead. How do you feel about that?”

The change in topic was jarring. I expected him to press harder, but he dropped it. Because he recognized my discomfort, or because he didn’t actually care?

“The firm considers you a lucrative client,” I replied. “It makes sense to assign a partner as the lead.”

“But you’ll be doing all the work.”

I shrugged. “That’s how the business operates.”

“That’s not how I run my company.”

“Yes, but you have what, a hundred employees? Baker Brown has significantly more.”

“Mershano Suites has hundreds of thousands, and Evan always gives credit where it’s due.” He paused to inhale another bite before fixing me with a look. “And Mershano Vineyards has closer to five hundred employees.”

“Really?” My preliminary assessment of his company a few weeks ago wasn’t as thorough as I thought—a result of not taking his offer seriously, something I regretted now. I could have gotten a head start on this project. Instead, I would be playing catch-up for weeks.

“And I expect to add more with these acquisitions overseas.” He finished his pizza and pushed the plate aside. I expected him to want more, but he rebooted his laptop instead.

“Once the contract is signed by me and your firm, I’ll send you everything I have on the pending merger and the other properties I’m interested in pursuing. Plus you’ll have access to Mershano Vineyards’s records, financials, and other key components. In the interim, you can read up on the terms the vineyard in France has requested. That should keep you busy this week and allow you to properly introduce our first project to your team next week.”

Sounded about right. I polished off my pizza and glass of wine while he composed an email filled with project materials. My pocket buzzed a minute later to let me know his message had arrived. Walking back to the living area, I pulled my laptop from my bag and fired it up on the couch.

It dawned on me a few minutes into reading that he may have wanted me to leave, but a glance at him said he wasn’t in a hurry to kick me out. He was engrossed in his own work, or maybe the proposal, and didn’t seem the slightest bit irritated that I’d taken over his couch.

With a yawn, I went back to translating the website on my screen and read all about the vineyard he was acquiring in the South of France. The pictures were gorgeous, and the winery’s reputation was solid. I wondered idly why they were selling, then stumbled upon a photo of the elderly owners. It seemed they were childless and looking to retire. Interesting.

I started reading through the terms he’d forwarded, and stretched my arms over my head. Every muscle along my shoulders and neck seemed to ache. I considered packing up to leave, but Will’s comments about preparing for next week rattled around in my mind. If I wanted to prove to the partners that I had what it took to lead a project of this magnitude, then I needed to be prepared. Arriving with all the high-level background details would be a healthy start.

My eyes drooped a little as I continued reading in French. It wasn’t so much boring as exhausting. The weekend was definitely catching up with me. When the words started to blur, I pinched the bridge of my nose and let my lids fall closed. This happened all the time in college. I just needed them to reset, and I’d be right as rain. Stifling a yawn with my opposite hand, I laid my head back against the soft cushion and relaxed.

Just for a minute.

* * *

I breathed deeply, inhaling the alluring scent surrounding me. Peppermint cloves and something decidedly masculine.

Delicious. It made my mouth water.

I burrowed deeper into the heaven surrounding me, luxuriating in the satiny cotton and plush pillows. My limbs felt well rested, my chest warm and content, but my feet felt constricted. I wiggled my toes against the suffocating fabric and frowned. Why did I wear pantyhose to bed?

My eyes opened as I shot forward. “Oh no.” The curtains were drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows, masking the light pouring in from outside, but a sliver was all I needed to see. My head fell to my hands on a curse as I started shaking it back and forth. “Fuck.”

“You do seem to enjoy saying that in my bed, darlin’.”

I flinched and peeked at the well-dressed blond leaning against the door frame. He had traded his white button-down and black pants for a light blue dress shirt and charcoal slacks. Even in the dim lighting, I could see his dimples.

“What time is it?” Sleep clung to my throat, softening my voice.

“Just after ten in the morning,” he murmured, amusement coloring his tone.

“Fuck!” My phone must have been in the other room or dead, because I’d missed my six o’clock alarm. Being late was a pet peeve of mine, and I never arrived for work after nine.

I jumped out of the bed, only to have a warm body halt me in my tracks. Will’s hands went to my hips, steadying me before him when I would have fallen backward. “Whoa there, darlin’. Didn’t mean to startle ya.”

My head spun, trying to catch up with my body’s too-quick movements, and I clutched his biceps for support.

“I spoke to Janet this morning,” he continued, “and told her we were meeting over breakfast to review some of the materials. No need to rush about.”

I palmed my forehead with one hand while the other gripped his arm tighter. A variety of words fought for precedence in my mouth, leaving me mute. I had no idea where to start.

I’m sorry.

I can’t believe I fell asleep.

I can’t believe I slept.

I have way too much work to do.

Will pushed me back a step, causing the back of my knees to connect with the mattress. I sat on instinct and let go of his arm. Both hands went to my roaring head. How much wine did I drink last night? Because I could swear I felt hungover.

“Be right back.”

I barely registered his murmur over the tribunal going on in my head. Talk about unprofessional. First the odd moment in his room yesterday, then me falling asleep in the middle of reading up on his merger, and now this? I bit my lip and shook my head. This could be the biggest moment of my career, and I was well on my way to blowing it.

The curse word caught between my teeth as Will reentered the room. His expression said he knew what I’d been about to say and that he wanted to laugh but refrained. “Here.” He handed me a glass of orange juice, making my nose wrinkle. “Trust me. It’ll help.”

“What a mess,” I whispered, more to myself than to him, and took a drink. The thick pulp told me it was freshly squeezed, and yeah, it felt heavenly against my throat. I finished half of it before saying, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replied. “Feel free to use the bathroom to freshen up. We can swing by your place on the way to the office so you can change.”

I winced. “Nothing like doing the walk of shame with a client.”

“No shame here.” His chocolate gaze snagged mine and held. “I suspect we’ll be pulling a lot of long nights together over the next month or two, Miss Dawson. And I’m looking forward to every minute.” With that suggestive statement hanging between us, he turned and softly closed the door behind him.