She snuggles closer as if she’s trying to press every inch of her warm skin to mine.

I feel like I’m living in some alternate state. There’s nothing else in New York City but us and the twinkling lights beyond the glass. She reaches for the blanket, the same one I covered her with after the ferry trip. She tugs it up to her breasts, then under her arms, making sure I’m beneath it with her.

I spoon her, kissing her neck as she burrows into my sofa like a little animal, making a couch-nest for the night.

“I really should go,” she murmurs as she brushes her fingertips along my forearm, outlining the veins.

“You absolutely should leave,” I say as I rope my arm tighter around her.

“Staying would be bad.”

“It would be awful.”

Heat from her body radiates into mine. I pull her closer. I want to press every inch of my skin against hers.

“If I stayed we’d probably talk,” she says softly.

“About all sorts of things. Like how much you love girlie stuff.”

“I do,” she says, her laugh a soft jingle.

“You like sparkles and unicorns,” I say, tracing lazy lines along her belly.

“You’ve caught me. It’s true.”

“Why?”

“They’re the antidote to my grease-monkey days.”

“Ah. I had a feeling.”

“I spend all day long in this hyper-masculine field. I’m surrounded by guys and testosterone, and when I leave the cars behind, I want to be a woman again.”

“So that’s why you turn to dancing at night?”

“Dancing, and hot chocolate, and Belinda Carlisle blasting in my ears, and wishing upon shooting stars.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Wishing on a star?”

I shake my head, as I draw a line down her back. “Being a woman in our field.”

She nods vigorously. “Um, yeah. You know exactly how I feel about that.”

I draw a sharp breath, recalling the words she flung at me before she left five years ago. “I do.”

“You didn’t move me up because I was a woman,” she says, like this is part of the public record of our work breakup.

I sigh. “No, Henley. That’s not it.”

She swivels around in my arms, spreading her palms over my chest. “It kind of was.”

I don’t want to go down the path of ancient history. The present has been hard enough. This is the first occasion since the ferry ride that we’ve managed time together without breaking out our ninja stars and nunchucks. “I swear, tiger. I was a cruel bastard, but not a sexist one. And if it makes you feel any better, I’m amazed at what you’ve done. You’ll open your own shop in no time.”

She clears her throat like that surprises her. “You think so?”

“Hell yeah. You’re fantastic. You’re fast, creative, and focused. You’re sharp and clever. I can see you running your business. Can’t you?”

She stares at my hair. “I hope so.”

I press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. “Bet on it. Next year at this time.”

“Ha.”

“You’ll kick my ass.”

Her hand darts around my waist and squeezes my butt. “Damn straight.”

“With that attitude, you’ll be hanging up your shingle sooner. Maybe even sooner than a year.”

She smiles faintly but looks away. Her breath hitches. She’s silent, and it seems as if she’s alternating between fiery and melancholy.

“Hey,” I say, turning her shoulder so she faces me fully. “Are you sad about something?”

She drops her face into her hands and grumbles. “Ugh.”

Worry jolts through me. “What’s wrong, Henley?”

She talks into her hands. “I want to be taken seriously, but look what I did. I slept with you. Twice.”

I pry her hands from her face and raise her chin. “Newsflash. We’re not blasting this across the trade mags. I’m not putting it on Snapchat. I’m not even on Snapchat.”

She huffs. “Someone will know. I’ll look like a harlot going into work. Someone will look at me and whisper . . .” She deepens her voice. “Hey, isn’t that the chick who bangs Summers?”

“That’s not how you’ll be known in this business.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ll get pats on the back for nailing the chick builder on top of the Dodge Challenger,” she says, and I wince.

When she puts it like that, she’s right to some degree. Unfortunately. I wish she weren’t, but there’s still a boys’ club mentality when it comes to getting laid. For better or worse, banging the hottest woman under the sun on top of a muscle car is brag worthy. But I’m not that guy. My private life is just that—private. “We’re not broadcasting this. What’s between you and me is between you and me.”

“Thank you. And look, I’m not saying we should sneak around and be all cloak and dagger. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

I nod. “Nothing wrong at all, but we’ll be cautious and careful.”

“And we won’t lie,” she adds, and I’m grinning because clearly we’re not out of each other’s system. But I’m also impressed that she’s so level-headed, especially since I know how hotheaded she can be. “I can live with your terms.”

“Ha. Glad you approve. I’ve been working on my negotiation skills.” Then her tone shifts. She sighs heavily. “I’ve tried hard to not get involved with anyone in the business. Ever. The only time . . .”

My ears prick. “The only time what?”

She swallows as if she’s chewed something hard and painful. “The only time . . . is now.”

Her statement sounds off, as if she’s hiding something. But considering how long it took for her to fess up and tell me she danced at night, I’m not keen to push her on whether she once was involved with someone else in this business.

She presses her hand against my chest, her fingertips outlining my ink. “I appreciate you keeping this quiet. And I probably sound ridiculous since we screwed in your shop. How can I say I want respect and then do that with you? But . . .”

“But what?”

She flashes a naughty little grin. “You were impossible to resist.”

My chest is a sunburst. “Good. And clearly, I could say the same for you.”

“But the point is still this. I want respect. I want to set an example, too, for the other women in this field, like Karen. I’ve worked hard to make it as a woman in a male-centric field. Getting my engineering degree was key. Getting a job with you when I graduated was another. You were the best, and I wanted to learn from the best. That’s why I pursued work with you. Remember when I tracked you down at the car show years ago?’’

I nod, recalling the day I met her. I was showing off some new rides, and she marched up to me, told me about her college degree, flipped open the portfolio of cars she’d worked on during school, and the Camaro she restored for herself when she was a teenager. Then she said, “The next thing on my to-do list is landing a job as the apprentice to the top builder in the country. I’m a fast learner, and I’m not afraid to tackle any problem.”

I hired her on the spot. “You were insistent.”

“You asked me how I learned the trade, and you were one of the few people who didn’t assume I must have been raised by mechanics.”

“I was impressed you learned on your own. You had fire in your belly. You had drive.”

“And that’s why I work my butt off at everything. Even small things, like not swearing. I do that because I don’t want to pretend I’m one of the guys. I want to talk to my colleagues and coworkers like a professional.”

I run my finger over her top lip. “I admire that, even though I do want to hear you say fuck someday.”

“But Max, do you see what I mean?” She shoves my shoulder. “Being around you makes me stupid. I flirt with you, and I get naked in your bathroom, and then I come over and jump you.”

“You do flirt. And you did get naked. But I definitely jumped you,” I say, correcting her.

“How will anyone respect me in this business if I’m just the booth bitch who screws the hottest builder around?”

I snort, for many reasons. “First, thank you for the compliment. Second, I presume you’re not going around and sleeping with every dude in the business.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ha. Ha.”

“Don’t judge yourself because we slept together. The fact that I’ve been dying to get you naked since I saw you again has nothing to do with my respect for your work. And third, you’re not a booth bitch. You make the damn cars. You’re the chick who makes a Corvette cool again. You’re the one who souped up a Camaro at age sixteen. And you’re the kickass gearhead who customized the beautiful red beast for Brick Wilson.” I tap her temple. “That’s where the respect comes from. What you do under the hood, not on the hood. And you’ve got that, Henley.”

“Thank you,” she says, and I can hear the gratitude in her tone. I can tell it matters to her that I respect her talent and her abilities. She taps my chest. “But I didn’t build the red beast. We built the car together. I know that must have been hard for you. To give up control to someone who’s not at your level in the business.”

“It was fine,” I say, because anything more would be a lie. I didn’t want to share the credit on the Lambo, but it is what it is, and I’ve had a good time working with her. “We’ve been a good team.”

“What if I was at your level?” She brings her hands under her chin, and she looks vulnerable, innocent.

I blink. “Aren’t you?”

“I don’t own my own shop yet. I’m still not at your level.”

I clear my throat. “What would be different if you owned your own shop?”

“Well, you say I’m your rival, but I’m still Aaron Rodgers to your Tom Brady.”

I crack up, a deep laugh that takes root inside my chest and spreads across my body because she made a football joke of all things. I flop to my back and pull her into the crook of my arm. “Aaron, you are one fine-looking quarterback.”

“And you have so many inches . . . I mean, rings.”

I laugh. “I don’t think we’re Aaron and Tom, though.”

“Who are we, then?”

I flash back to Creswell’s comments at the first meeting. “Cybill and Bruce. Wait. You’ve probably never heard of them. They did this show called Moonlighting.”

She smacks my chest. “I’m not that much younger than you.”

“Six years,” I mutter.

“I was twenty-one when you knew me before,” she muses.

That’s a big part of the issue. Not the age difference. But that I knew her before. That I was wildly attracted to her then. I’ve wanted her since the day I hired her. I’ve been attracted to her ever since she entered my line of sight. It was instant and electric, and I tried desperately to snuff it out. I refused to be the boss who wanted to bang his apprentice, even though I was. The strategy? Resist. I did, white-knuckling it through every day of longing for her. I didn’t make a move because she was my employee, my apprentice, and my job was to teach her, not touch her.

Now, I have touched her, and it’s astonishing the way we fit, the way she feels. I don’t know how that changes things in business, on the project, or in my life. I’d like to think we won’t lose focus.

But that may be wishful thinking.

I didn’t pick up on the seat measurement. She’s the one who went the extra mile and researched Brick’s actual height. Did wanting her cause me to miss that detail? Or would I have missed it no matter what? I don’t honestly know. All I know is when you mix business and pleasure, it’s pretty tough to say you’re all-business anymore.

She worries about respect, and I worry about distraction. She’s moving up in her career, and I’m trying to maintain the pole position I’ve been lucky enough to achieve. This woman is her own brand of diversion because she’s the competition. Though we’re working on a car together, most of the time we will vie for jobs, like we did with Livvy. I compete fiercely with John Smith for business, and Henley’s his lead builder. That, right there, is a conflict of interest, one I don’t know how to resolve.

I glance away from her briefly, spotting the Dramamine pack on the table. I lean over the edge of the couch for it, and she pretends to cling to me, like she can’t bear to let me go. “Don’t leave the cocoon of the blanket,” she teases.

“Just getting something.” I hand her the packet. “It’s for you.”

She clutches them to her chest and flutters her lashes. “You are so romantic. Don’t ever, ever let anyone tell you otherwise, Max Summers.”

“I got you hot chocolate and motion-sickness pills. That’s the height of romance.”

She laughs then bumps her hip against me. I groan because it feels really fucking good. She sets the pills on the table, and I tug her back under the blanket.

As I bring her close to me, she murmurs, “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re totally out of my system.” Her voice is sleepy sexy.

“You’re so out of my system, too.”

“I should go, then.”

“You should absolutely leave.”

But as I drag her closer, I inhale that spring apple scent that’s now mixed with sweat, and sex, and me, and I can’t for the life of me want to let her go.

She makes the decision for me.

She’s gone when I wake up.