His Temporary Assistant

Dating profile.

Needs.

Likes.

Dislikes.

He snatched the page out of my hands. “That’s none of your business.”

No, it really wasn’t my business. He was so very right about that. “Nice to see that you don’t want to actually enter a monastery, PMS.” I arched my brow and loosened my muscles until it seemed as if I really didn’t give two craps.

Even if I literally wanted to rip out his tongue and slap him with it. Goddamn him.

“I’m not a monk. I’m just careful with my sexual partners.”

“Oh, right? You work all the time and won’t dip your wick in the office ink. So what does that leave you with but a dating service? Not shocking really.”

He so didn’t seem the type. Then again, Mr. Logic probably loved the idea of a computer shitting out his perfect match.

Blond, petite, unassuming.

Not me.

Of course.

He crowded into me. “Is that right? You think I need a dating service?”

It was unnerving that he was taller than me. Most men were not. I hadn’t gotten used to it yet. Maybe I never would.

I tipped my chin up to meet his gaze, and then I slid my knee between his legs. “You aren’t willing to seal the deal with me, so it’s not surprising you need a hand.”

Shock hadn’t let me really comprehend what I’d been reading other than the profile part. I dragged my finger across his lower lip. “So what gets that big…brain of yours hot? A sweet little blond with a soft voice? Deferential, polite. Punctual.” I said the last word with a hint of bite.

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?”

“Excuse me?” My spine snapped straight, and I took a step back. “Pretty sure your date wouldn’t be into a threesome.” My neck heated. “Or do I have you pegged wrong? Emphasis on the peg.”

“What? No. Peg?” He shook his head. “I don’t want to know. Your mind is startling. The tracks it takes are absurd and astounding.” He turned to the briefcase sitting on my desk and slid the folder inside. “No, it’s a speed dating appointment.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like to do everything fast. Guess that was just you being boastful.”

It was his turn to arch his brow. “Are you frightened? Don’t think you can survive a speed round, Miss Moon?”

“Oh, honey. You don’t know what I can survive.”

He snapped the locks and lifted the black leather briefcase. “I dare you to come.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Afraid you won’t procure yourself a date?”

Me and my grass stained skirt could out-date his repressed suit with my hands tied. “You really want me to show you up in front of all those people, PMS?”

He smiled. “I’m game if you are.”

Twelve

How I found myself in his car and not walking back to my own damn apartment, I really didn’t know. Pretty sure it was the red haze of annoyance and jealousy that put my ass in his beige car.