My stomach rumbles, and the hunger I’ve been fending off since deciding to order only a salad at lunch roars to life.

A headache follows, poking at my temples like a dozen tiny devils dancing in my brain.

Needing to excuse myself to raid the kitchen for a cup of coffee and hopefully a granola bar or something, I stuff my swollen feet back into my shoes and stand up from the conference table. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

Keen looks up and I swear there is concern in his eyes. “Yeah, it’s probably a good time to take a break.”

Jordan and his team all stand and stretch, and I scurry out of the workroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

Score!

Pouring some vanilla cream into a white mug, I select my coffee flavor, vanilla too, and place my cup under the Keurig.

I close my eyes while the coffee brews, and an unsolicited image of Keen kissing me all the while backing me up onto Jordan’s empty desk until he settles my ass against it pops into my mind.

My eyes fly open.

No!

That is so not happening.

Sure, I saw him looking all hot and sexy while he sat at Jordan’s desk going over numbers, but I cannot want him anymore.

And yes, he ended up being halfway civil at lunch when he offered to pass me the basket of bread.

Stubbornness made me refuse it.

Boy, I wish I had that loaf of bread now.

And then he did discuss quietly with me a little about his fall from Wall Street, in general terms, and I almost understood his need to forget his life.

Almost.

And yes, when our legs touched under the table, I felt that spark, and I know he did too.

Still, we are over.

We both said so.

Daydreams aren’t going to change that.

The dripping of the coffee is like a soothing lullaby and I close my eyes once again.

Unbidden, my mind wanders once again. His mouth never leaves mine as he moves between my legs to push me back. His hand cups my neck beneath my hair and he tugs, only just a little. His lean swimmer’s body clothed in his most tailored suit is a sight that makes me lick my lips.

Mmmm.

Wait—that noise was the coffeemaker alerting me my cup is ready, not me. I swear.

I think I should call Elliot and ask him to meet us out tonight. I could use a distraction from all things Keen Masters.

Opening the granola bar, I take a bite and then a sip of coffee.

Oh, so good.

Closing my eyes to chew, I can’t ignore the image of him in front of me with that hard body, tracing his fingertips along my hem and pushing it up. Of him finding my panties and tearing them off. Of him pushing his fingers inside me and teasing me to the brink of orgasm until I scream out his name.

“Are you okay?”

My eyes fly open. “Keen!” I jump.

He smirks. “Thinking of me?”

Scowling, I throw my granola in the trash, and yes, you guessed it, I want to throw it at him. “No, I wasn’t,” I snap.

Well, yes I was, but I can’t actually admit that, now can I?

He leans against the doorframe in his Simon Warren clothes and I feel like a little drool has leaked from my mouth. “My mistake. I saw the dreamy look in your eyes and just assumed.”

I cross my arms over my chest to hide my straining nipples. “You know what they say about assuming.”

Pushing off the door with a smirk, he claps his hands together. “We only have about an hour before dinner, so let’s get to it.”

Grabbing my coffee cup, I sashay right by him, swaying my hips in an exaggerated motion.

The intake of his breath is the only thing I need to hear to know where his eyes are. And they are right where I want them—on my ass.

Which, mind you, would have been bare under his palms right now, had he not interrupted my daydream.

Such a party pooper.