Madeline Jones should come with a warning label: Do not operate heavy machinery while under the influence. My hands tightened on the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

After a pause, I replied easily, “Yes, I have had road head, Madeline.”

“Oh.”

“Have you?”

“It’s a little harder for women,” she said. “Logistically speaking.”

I tilted my head to consider the angle, the seat, the center console, and figured she was right. And then shifted in my seat, cursing my stupidly responsive dick. “I meant, have you given, not received.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t have to look over again to tell that she was blushing. But she didn’t answer the question, and I didn’t press her. Instead we decided to try working.

I’d dictated to her for the first hour, all of which of course she rearranged and paraphrased and repeated back to me, as she usually did. The edge of her laptop dug into her belly as she tried to work in the low-slung seat, and she had to hold her elbows at a strange angle in order to type.

On my right side, her hair bobbed back in forth like a candle’s flame as she worked, then asked me a question, and continued. It was nice to have company for the drive, and in my peripheral vision I caught the smiles she thought she was so secretly aiming my way.

“Music?” I asked.

She glanced at my phone in the cup holder. “Anything good on there?”

When she reached for it I wrapped my hand around her wrist, stopping her. Call me paranoid, but I didn’t let anyone touch my phone except me. My whole life was on that thing. She inhaled sharply, but didn’t jerk her hand back right away. The slim bones of her wrist felt birdlike in my grasp.

“What do you like?” I asked, clearing my throat and peeling my fingers free. “I’ve got lots of stuff.”

She shook back her hair and pressed her fist to her chest. “I totally heart Scandinavian death metal.”

Quickly I brought the car back under control before it veered into the other lane. “Uh, I don’t have that.”

Her laughter filled the small space, and her hand drifted over to touch mine on the wheel. “I’m just joking.”

This time I took my vision off the road just long enough to see her trying in vain to suppress her giggle. The smug twinkle in her eye made me chuckle with her.

“I almost had you,” she said.

“Yeah, you’re an expert in persuasion, remember?”

“Not always,” she reminded me. She bent over the phone, her fingers scrolling through playlists. “Jazz?”

I shrugged, wrinkling my nose automatically. “Anything newer?” She named a few bands I’d never heard, making me feel unbelievably old and uncool. “Okay, not that new.”

“You want retro as in my parents’ CDs or retro as in those big record things?” she teased me.

“Watch it, Madeline. I’m not a hundred years older than you.”

“Classical?” she suggested.

I raised an eyebrow at her. “You want me to fall asleep at the wheel?”

“Point taken.” Scroll scroll. “How about the Beatles? Hey, did you ever see them in concert?”

She giggled when I growled at her.

By the time the fool was on the hill, she’d started to drift off. The album ended, and without shuffle turned on, silence filled the car again. Within moments of peaceful stillness and the rhythmic sound of the tires slapping the highway, she was out like a light. I was jealous, but couldn’t hold it against her.

For a retreat weekend, I didn’t feel very refreshed. In fact, I felt exhausted.

It was surprisingly hard work resisting my own desires all weekend. I’d never had to work so hard at it before. Never had I felt so impulsive or so close to being out of control—and all over a woman.

But something in my chest twisted as I looked over at Madeline, and over the previous forty-eight hours I’d accepted that I wanted her. I wanted her, and I was going to have her—any way she would let me. It was a good thing I was an excellent multi-tasker.

In the quiet car, with her breathing quietly beside me, it seemed like as good a time as any to fantasize about her. I imagined her in my shower, on my kitchen island…

The tires on the cement made a rhythmic white noise, though muffled by solid German engineering. My eyelids felt heavier as we bore down the road. After the third time I found myself shifting in my seat to stay awake, I decided to pull over at the nearest rest stop.

She woke as I stopped at the far edge of a picnic area, bereft of cars.

“Do we need gas or something?’ She straightened her legs, her toes stretching underneath the glove compartment.

I swiveled in my seat toward her. “Are we going to do this?”

“Do what?” She peered at me. “Road head?” she squeaked.

“No.” I smiled. She may not like pink, but her blush was very becoming. There were several places on her body I yearned to see all rosy and warm. “Though I would definitely take a rain check on it, if you’re offering.”

“I thought you were offering,” she joked.

“Touché.”

“I wish.”

With a gentle click I undid her seatbelt. “There’s always making out.”

Her gaze was riveted to me, curious and open and she let me twist my hands in either side of her open coat. I pulled her toward me, thrilling at her small gasp.

“Making out? How old school of you, sir.”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” I said.

She looked me straight in the eye and repeated, “You don’t want this.”

“Liar.”

I kissed her. Each time I kissed her I fell further under her spell. My body had been in a constant state of tension all weekend, and my soul wasn’t far behind. She kissed me back, but hesitantly at first. Her lips drifted across mine in the lightest of touches. Was she unsure?

When I drew back a little, she glared down at the console between us, and I realized that her timidity was due to the obstacle in the car, not in her mind. Hauling her to my lap was a great idea in theory, but impractical unless she wanted to almost sit on the steering wheel.

I opened the car door and got out. She watched me as I walked around the front of the car. Her eyes were still on me when I opened her door.

“Back seat. Now.”

She raised a delicate eyebrow at me, but the corner of her mouth also perked up. “I’m sorry?”

Oh right, the magic word. “Please.” This is why I’d hired her, after all. I wasn’t always the best communicator.

I stepped back to offer her assistance. When she took it, the electric feel of her skin against mine unnerved me, and like an idiot I dropped her hand. She climbed out of the car and closed the door behind her, then leaned against it.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know. What are we doing?”

“Dating?” she guessed. “But what about work?”

I tilted my head as I considered it. “What about it?”

“Do you think we can still work together and see each other? I mean—you are my boss. Everyone probably already thinks we’re sleeping together since we shared a suite this weekend.” She put her fists on her hips. “Really, Gage, that wasn’t the smart—”

I covered her mouth with my hand. “Let it go. As for the office, are you going to charge with me sexual harassment if I do this?”

Her eyes widened when I reached inside her coat with my other hand and palmed her breast. Her nipple hardened underneath her sweater and bra. Wordlessly she straightened, reaching up to tug my hand away from her face.

“Only if you do that at the office.”

“I want you.” I simply could not be blunter. “What do you want?”

“A raise?”

I doubted that she meant my own pulsating erection. My hands met at the small of her back; she was trapped between my body and the car behind her.

“Are we negotiating?”

She shook her head, her cinnamon-colored curls floating around her shoulders. “I am not trading sexual favors for money,” she informed me. Her tone was extraordinarily prim, considering the fact that you could barely get a piece of paper between us.

I grinned. “I don’t want your money.”

“What? No, I meant—ugh!” She reached up to smack me on the side of my arm.

“Madeline, as you noted earlier this morning with the assistance of a foam bat, I am very good at putting things into boxes. I’m sure we can successfully compartmentalize our relationship outside the office and still perform at work.”

She blinked up at me, her eyes shining. “You had me at ‘compartmentalize.’”

“Smart ass.”

My mouth covered her smile as I pressed her back against the car. Immediately she welcomed me inside, the tip of her tongue touching mine in a long, slow kiss—the kind that kneecapped you like a gangster. It was a good thing I could brace myself against the car, because her taste, her smell, the feel of her body were all threatening to fell me like a tree in the forest around us.

I’d never dated a lot, much to my mother’s—and her friends’—disappointment. In college I was a geek playing video games, and when I started making money I wanted to stay in control. That meant control of everything, including my libido.

Maddie’s hands skimmed down my back to the hem of my leather jacket. Her fingers traced along the waistband of my pants, making my skin crawl in the best possible way.

“Back seat?” she whispered against my lips.

I hadn’t planned to take her in the back seat, only… borrow her a little, make out like lust-ridden teenagers. Looking around, I saw a lonely picnic table, a trash can designed to keep out wildlife, and a lot of trees. There was nobody around…

“What would we do there?” I had ideas of my own, but wanted to hear hers. It was still a fairly sleek car, not exactly a station wagon.

She tugged my head down, her mouth close to my ear. “I still haven’t gotten my hands on you yet,” she said. Oh god.

“No, you haven’t.”

“I bet you I can make you come without even touching you.”

Something in my spine rattled. “Miss Jones, you can be very persuasive.”

“That’s why you hired me.”

“Has anyone ever called you ‘spunky’?”

She squinted, her hands stilling maddeningly on my fly. “Maddie, Madeline, Mad, Kid, Maggie, and Red,” Her hand moved further down the front of my pants. “But no Spunky… yet.”

“Smart ass,” I said again with a groan, inwardly cursing as an SUV pulled up about twenty feet away. The heat of her body was driving me insane. I wanted to be inside it. But it would have to wait.

“You’re being repetitive.” She tsked.

A young couple fell out of the nearby vehicle, catching my attention. The woman then pried a crying toddler out and took it over to the grass. With a sinking heart, I shook my head and reconsidered my plan. “No back seat.”

“Awwww.”

Her pout utterly disarmed me. Then she shocked me a little with her next words.

“You’re right. I think we need to back up a bit.”

Her words clogged my ears, not quite making it to my brain. Normally, when I wanted something I went for it—all in, no excuses.

Conversely, Madeline’s spontaneity and feistiness belied a casual, noncommittal attitude, which stuck in my throat even more. I wanted her to give me all of herself, or at least one hundred percent of whatever portion she was offering.

“Back up? Madeline, I’ve already tied you up and made you come like a freight train,” I reminded her in a low voice.

Her face went bright pink with embarrassment. Her forehead bonked on my chest, her hands still on my waist. “Ugh, I know,” she muttered. The memory made me dizzy, distracting me briefly. The arch of her back, the rope on her wrists, the succulent taste of her—oh yeah.

“What do you want?” I asked her again, deadly serious. I tilted her chin up, not letting her hide while I tried to ignore the aching bulge in my pants. It got more painful when she pressed her knuckles against it.

She kissed the left corner of my mouth. “I want you to want me.” Then she kissed the right corner. “I want to be wanted, just for me.”

“I do,” I replied shakily. Actually, it alarmed me how much I desired her. It threatened to make me lose control, to unman me. Just telling her that gave her power over me that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

The screeching of the nearby child and the white noise of the cars on the highway numbed my ears. Madeline took up the entirety of my vision; everything else around us was blurry and unimportant. I only knew the sun was shining because of the way it lit up her hair like a fiery halo.

But when I gazed into her eyes, I realized that her need wasn’t just about lust. There was a shadow of insecurity, of uncertainty about what or who she was. Knowing now that she was adopted, I tried to remember what she had said about her birth mother. The memory, despite it being so recent, slipped through my synapses like a computer worm.

Her hands slid up between us to briefly cup each side of my neck. “So let’s go home, and then tomorrow—” She smiled lazily. “—Or the next day, since my boss gave me the day off, we go to work. We just don’t let work get in the way.”

“You mean us get in the way of work.”

“Either way. We’ll give it a shot.” She shrugged.

Her confidence overwhelmed me.