I lose track of my orgasms, lose track of how many times we come down, bodies shaking and flooded with warmth and heat, only to start all over again. All I know is that it’s nearly five o’clock when we finally emerge from Dominic’s master suite, fresh out of his luxurious shower, my hair displayed in damp waves around my shoulders. I’m wearing one of his dress shirts over a pair of his boxers, the fabric giving off an expensive scent. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so satisfied, so good, in my entire life.

Folding my legs underneath me on the sofa—I see now that it’s covered in fine, soft, buttery leather, and the coolness feels delicious against my newly showered legs—I watch Dominic through the doorway into the kitchen. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Do what, open a bottle of wine?” He’s popping the cork on a bottle, taking two glasses down from a cupboard over the sink. The curve at the corner of his mouth gives away that he likes this—he likes these moments when he’s being funny. Dominic isn’t wearing a shirt, only a pair of shorts, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the strong lines of his shoulders, the cut of his abs rising above the kitchen counter. Damn, he is hot. And not only that. Every time I think of that whispered confession—I love you, Vivienne Davis—my whole body goes warm and giddy.

“No…pleasure a woman like that.”

He looks up at me, eyes sparkling, and turns to pull a plate down from another cupboard. “Years of practice.”

“You didn’t take some kind of class?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh, right. There was that course at Yale.”

I laugh. It doesn’t make me jealous that he’s been with other women. Today I reaped all the benefits of his experience. After this, it’s going to be hard to call to mind any of the other men I’ve been with—they all pale in comparison in every way.

A quiet buzzing from across the room distracts me from my Dominic-worship. The pattern sounds familiar, but—

It stops, and I watch him arrange some slices of French bread on the plate, reach for some cheese in the fridge—

The buzzing starts again. With a jolt, I realize that it’s my phone, ringing in my purse by the door.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper under my breath, jumping up from the couch. Then I remember myself. I don’t want to look too panicked, but there’s a hustle in my step when I cross to my purse and dig my phone out. Please let it be Margo. Please let it be Margo.

It’s not Margo.

The number on the screen isn’t saved into my contacts list, so there’s no name to go with it, but I recognize the digits. Of course I do. It’s my boss calling—and not Mr. Overhiser, but Milton Jeffries, my boss at the FBI.

My heart leaps into my throat, my gut going cold. Is he calling because he knows I’ve slept with Dominic? In his view, that would really be terrible. Or is he calling because—

I can’t wait for a voicemail, and he’ll be pissed if I do, so I swipe the screen to answer the call and raise the phone to my ear. “Vivienne Davis,” I say, like it’s no big deal.

I cross back into the living room, giving Dominic a little wave and pointing at the phone, and then I head into the hallway toward the master suite. There’s an office along that hall, and I go inside, closing the door gently behind me, and move toward the window, as far away from the door as I can get.

Not that Dominic is going to follow me to spy on my phone call. He’s not. But this is—

“Are you at the Wilder Building?” Milton’s response is clipped, strained.

“No, I—”

“Where are you?”

“I’m not far.” My mind scrambles for an explanation, but I don’t have one, except— “I was following a lead. I can be back there in fifteen minutes. What’s going on, Milton?”

“The surveillance team caught something while sorting through the bulk emails.” A few people are assigned to the case who watch every piece of email that goes in and out of Wilder Industries, trying to figure out who’s responsible for the theft, but the data isn’t always complete and there are massive holes to fill. “From what they can tell, there’s going to be an information exchange in thirty minutes. We need you on the ground.”

“Thirty minutes? But that’ll be after five.”

Milton makes a short sound that’s meant to indicate that I’m being stupid. “All the better, Viv. At least some of the staff will have gone home by then, right? Narrow it down…”

“I know. Of course. I’ll be back there shortly.”

I end the call before he can ask me what lead I was following and where it had taken me that I needed to be away from the Wilder Building on a Monday afternoon.

I will my hands to stop trembling and go back out into the living room, where Dominic is setting out the plate of bread and cheese and glasses of wine on the table. The instant he sees my face, his smile disappears.

“What is it, Vivienne?”

“I—I have to go back to work.”

He narrows his eyes, and then his mouth turns up into another smile. “If Overhiser is giving you a problem—”

“It’s something I need to finish. I forgot about it before I left.” I grin back at him, trying to be convincing, and I can’t tell if it’s working. “Don’t be mad at me, boss.”

I can see him considering this situation, considering whether he should tell me to stay, that he owns the company, that ultimately he’s my boss and he’ll have the final say.

I try again. “I don’t want—” I bite my lip, looking down at the floor, hating that I’m being deceptive, hating the fact that after all this, after what we had together this afternoon—I love you, Vivienne Davis—

“I understand.” Dominic crosses behind the couch. I look up into his eyes, wondering why he’s not going to press for details, wondering why—and then it hits me. He trusts me. We’re both still in the afterglow of our time together in bed. My heart warms, then sinks, then aches at the sight of him. He leans down, taking my face in his strong hands, and kisses me softly on the lips. “Come back when you’re done, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, wishing it was over already, wishing I could retreat to his bedroom with him and never come out.

But instead I put my clothes back on, take the elevator downstairs, and throw myself into the Town Car he’s called for me.

Back to work.