The sharp buzz of her cell phone interrupted Shelby’s NSFW dream. Still half asleep and smiling, she groped for it, accepted the call without paying attention to the screen, and murmured, “Nolan.”

“What?”

Alan.

She was upright and wide awake in an instant, the sheet gathered around her hips, revealing how very naked she was. She yanked it up and covered her breasts.

“What did you say?”

“I said Alan,” she lied. “Sorry, I was asleep. What did you think I said?” Idiot. She banged the heel of her hand against her forehead, then looked around her bedroom, but all signs of the man whose name she’d really spoken were gone. For a moment, disappointment warred with mortification in her belly. Then she remembered that he’d warned her he’d be leaving before she woke.

Which meant he hadn’t walked out without a trace.

Which was good for her ego.

On the whole, though, it really didn’t much matter. He hadn’t suggested they go out again, and they’d made no plans to see each other after work or on the weekend. And why would they? He was a local celebrity, after all. He was probably booked with a different woman every night from here to eternity.

And that was just fine by her. Because while Nolan Wood might have been a fun diversion—a very fun diversion—he didn’t fit into her life plan at all. He was a guy whose show title was a double entendre, and whose drive-time program was known for being raucous and racy.

So, no. He just didn’t fit. Not like the man on the other end of the phone line did.

“I woke you?” Alan chuckled. “You and the girls must have had one hell of a time at that bachelorette party.”

“Oh, well, yeah. You could say that.” She felt the slow burn of embarrassment creep over her body. “Wait. What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Ack. I need to get out of here.” She leapt out of bed, then looked immediately around for her robe since she was naked and talking to Alan. She couldn’t find it. “Listen, I need to go. Can we talk later?”

“Sure, sure. I only called to remind you about tomorrow. Dinner at your parents.”

“With the dean of the department,” she said. “I remember. Meet you there?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll pick you up at six.”

She smiled as they ended the call. Alan had impeccable manners, and they always had a lovely time when her parents put on a faculty event. It was sure to be an absolutely wonderful evening. The kind she inevitably enjoyed, with lots of interesting conversation about the kind of theoretical mathematics she found fascinating but didn’t need to keep up with in her job.

She showered and dressed quickly, ignoring Hannah’s crumpled dress on the floor of the bathroom—then hurried to the office, hitting every red light on the way.

She was already up the elevator and through the reception doors when she got Hannah’s text. Where R U?

Frowning, Shelby tapped out a reply, hoping there wasn’t a crisis brewing. Lobby. Overslept. Tell me F’s not looking for me.

F was Frank Talbot, Shelby’s immediate superior. And the one who’d trained her to always get to the office by eight so that she had time to get herself organized before the day began in earnest.

Just hurry.

Shelby sighed, but picked up her pace, wondering what kind of crisis had landed on her desk. Major, if Hannah knew about it, since that meant the legal department was involved. Shit. She trotted the rest of the way, thankful to be back in her comfortable, sensible shoes.

“What’s going on?” she asked, bursting through her office door and finding Celia, Hannah, Leslie, Kayla, and Ria huddled around her desk.

“Girl, what did you do last night,” Kayla asked. A stunning black woman, Kayla wore her hair so short you could see her scalp, a style that accentuated her huge eyes—which right now seemed even bigger than normal as she stared down Shelby with what looked like a mixture of surprise and respect.

Ria giggled. She was sitting on the edge of Shelby’s desk, her swinging feet decked out in two inch platforms sporting four inch heels. At four foot three, Ria was always trying to compensate. “I think the question is what didn’t she do.”

“I know, right?” Hannah said. “I swear, my little girl’s all grown up. I’m so proud.”

All five women laughed at that, but Shelby continued to stand in front of her desk, her mind spinning. “So this has nothing to do with Frank?”

“Shut the door,” Hannah said, even though she was moving to shut it herself. “Go ahead,” she said to Celia, who hit a button on her phone and put it in the middle of the desk.

“They have an app,” Celia explained.

“Who?” Shelby asked.

“The show streams live in audio,” she continued, not answering Shel. “Sometimes there’s even video,” she added, as if they were just discussing the weather.

“It’s really funny,” Kayla added, her tone apologetic as the last strains of Heart’s Crazy On You faded out. “I mean, he’s good on the air, and it’s not like he ever calls you by name.”

Oh, God. Shelby trepidation ramped up until it hovered somewhere near terrified. And when Hannah pushed one of the guest chairs up behind her, she sat without question.

“Aaaand we’re back!” Nolan’s voice filled the room, and even though Shelby was already five thousand percent sure that she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say, she couldn’t deny the effect that smooth, sensual voice was having on her body—or the decadent memories that rushed to fill her mind.

Casually, she crossed her legs, then clasped her hands on her knees as she breathed deliberately through her nose.

“We’ve got time for one more request. Remember, folks, after one night, I can’t say if she rocked my world, but she definitely rocked me. So that’s our theme. So you say it, and if I play it, you get two tickets to the upcoming Pink Chameleon concert in San Antonio—all because I’m in one hell of a good mood today.”

“Ooooh, Nolan. Tell me more!”

“Ah-ah-ah. Believe me. It’s way too hard to describe how I feel. But then again, maybe that’s why we call the show Mornings with Wood. Hey, there, caller. What’s your name?”

He was talking about her. The simple reality slammed into her mind as Nolan went back and forth with some guy named Tommy. He was actually talking about her. On the radio.

Not only that, but he was talking about her and about hard-ons on the freaking radio.

“The bastard,” she said as she snatched up Celia’s phone. “I can just push this little phone icon to call into the show?” she asked, inspecting the screen.

“Are you nuts?” Hannah said. “What are you going to say?”

“I’m going to tell him to stop.” Had she told him it was okay to do this? Last night, when she’d joked about their sex being too hot for the radio, had he really thought she meant that this—this—was okay?

“You can’t call in,” Leslie said. “Someone will recognize your voice.”

“Shit.” She tossed the phone back on the desk, the cringed at Celia’s perturbed, “Hey!”

“Sorry.” She drew in a breath and tried to calm herself, but that really wasn’t happening. “It doesn’t matter if I call in. Everyone already knows. What the hell is he doing? Everyone in that whole damn bar knows it’s me.”

“No, no,” Ria said. “Just us, and we wouldn’t tell a soul.”

“You never go to The Fix,” Hannah added. “No one knows your name.”

“And even if the staff knew, they wouldn’t say,” Leslie assured her.

Shelby looked to Kayla, who shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I doubt anybody knows.”

“I could call the studio,” Shelby said. “I mean, the office. So I’m not on the air.”

Hannah leaned against the side of the desk. “If you really want to talk to him about this, then call him at home.”

Shelby licked her lips. “I don’t have his number.”

She watched as the five women exchanged pointed glances.

“Well,” Hannah said slowly, “then my guess is that this is just a riff on his part. Tomorrow, he’ll be on to something else, and no one will even remember today.”

“Oh.” Shelby said, and despite the fact that she’d already told herself that this thing with Nolan was a non-starter … and despite the fact that his ridiculous on-air announcement really capped that sentiment … the stark realization that she’d had a one-night stand without even realizing it hit her hard.

A one-night stand with a man who’d made her feel things she didn’t know she could feel, and want things she didn’t know she could want. Who’d had her begging and laughing. Who’d hands-down shared the best sexual experience of her life. And then he’d gone and used their sexual exploits as fodder for his radio program. The whole thing made her queasy. “This is a nightmare,” she whispered. “I mean, it’s a nightmare of absolute epic proportions.”

“Oh, hell,” Leslie said, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got an interview in ten minutes. Honey, it’ll be fine.” She gave Shelby a squeeze on the shoulder as she headed toward the door.

Shelby bent to put her head between her knees as Celia paused the program. “Oh, God. What if Alan hears? What if my parents hear? What if Frank hears?”

“Hears what?” The familiar deep voice of her boss came from behind her, and she almost jumped to her feet, but was forced to keep her head down by Hannah’s firm hand on her back.

“That she has some sort of horrible intestinal bug,” Hannah said. “Her doctor says it’s not contagious, so she came in. But the cramps and the, you know, bathroom runs…” She trailed off, her voice reflecting disgust and sympathy. “I told her she should call in, but she’s so damn responsible.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, Shelby. Do you really feel that bad?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

“You’re not working retail, you know. You’re a professional. You can make your own schedule. Have your assistant move your appointments and go home.”

“Right. I should. I will. Thank you.”

She kept her head down until she heard the door latch behind her, then rose up. “You are an incredible liar. And I’m still completely screwed.”

“No, you’re not,” Hannah said firmly.

“Unless she’s talking about last night,” Kayla said, and they all burst into laughter. Even Shelby, who figured that this must be some form of gallows humor. Because, really, this situation was so not good.

So. Absolutely. Freaking. Totally. Not. Good.

The radio. He talked about her—he talked about her and sex—on his radio program.

That simple truth ran through her head over and over as she headed home, as she made herself a pot of coffee and some slice-and-bake cookies, and as she settled on her couch to watch mindless television.

After a few hours, though, she clicked off the TV, realizing that mindless television was too mindless to block out the murderous—and unfortunately still lustful—thoughts of Nolan. After all, this very couch had been the background of what was now a ridiculously pleasant memory. At least it had been until his stupid radio stunt had tainted it.

“Well, hell,” she muttered, then picked up The Man Who Knew Infinity, a biography of a self-taught mathematical genius that she’d started a few nights before. If anything could take her mind off Nolan, it was math, and after half an hour, that theory proved to be true. She’d become completely absorbed in the beauty of the story—so much so that she jumped when she heard the sharp knock at her door.

“Shelby? It’s Nolan.”

She froze. Just completely froze right there on her couch. Then she realized that the blinds were drawn, and there was no way he could see her. So she carefully put her book down and moved to stand next to the door.

She wasn’t sure why she did that—she had no intention of talking to him or opening the door, mostly because she didn’t know what she wanted to say. He’d left her no room for planning or rehearsal. But, strangely, she’d been drawn closer. And so now she stood just inches away, her palm pressed lightly to the wood.

“Hello? Well, shit. Your car’s here, Shelby. I don’t have your number, so I couldn’t call, but I know you’re there. Except maybe she’s not,” he added, his voice changing slightly, as if he was a voice actor playing two roles. “Maybe she’s taking a walk or going on a bike ride. Or maybe she’s with a friend. Hell, maybe she’s in some other man’s bed, in which case, I just might have to kill him. Shelby.”

Her name, accompanied by the sharp ring of her doorbell made her jump and clap her hand over her mouth.

“I have your travelers mug. If you don’t open the door, I’m holding it for ransom!” A pause, then the second voice, “She’s not there, you idiot. Leave the mug, and go.”

She put her hand on the knob, and almost—almost—turned it. But then she chickened out and simply stood there and listened to the lid of her mailbox squeaking. The clatter of the mug hitting bottom. The patter of his footsteps on the stairs.

And when, finally, she heard the purr of his Audi’s engine pulling away, she sank to the ground, leaned her back against the door, and sobbed as the tears she’d been holding back all day flooded out in earnest.