“Take part in any sort of funny business?” he said with a raised eyebrow, daring her to laugh.
“Exactly. This is—well, it’s not professional. It’s not personal. I don’t know what this is, but it doesn’t include—”
“Hanky-panky? Funny business?” he said, leaning in and stroking her face. She felt chills run through her. Her hands clenched, her breath caught, “There’ll be no shenanigans? No high-jinks? No naughtiness?”
He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, “And absolutely no fucking. Right?”
Her breath stuttered as she exhaled. So aware of the warmth and pressure of his fingertip on her lips. She wanted to taste his skin, draw his thumb into her mouth. She nearly trembled with wanting him. Even without the awareness of his touch, the forbidden thrill of that word, the one he spoke low and dark as he looked in her eyes, would have been enough to make her break a sweat. Her pulse juddered. Her legs felt like they wouldn’t hold her up. She grabbed his arm to steady herself. The hard muscle of his bicep was strong beneath her grip.
Luke caught her at the waist and pulled her to him, a sardonic smile making that Greek god face even sexier. He slid his thumb along her jaw, his fingers nestling at the back of her neck beneath the weight of her hair. Her neck felt sensitive and alive, all nerve endings firing like the Fourth of July. She was pulled full-length against him. There was no mistaking the firm proof of his arousal against her stomach. Her mouth went dry at the realization. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
They flirted and joked. That was all. They were friends. Work friends. Work friends who occasionally gave gifts like flowers and designer shoes and who helped each other with scheduling. Just work friends who were going out on a couple of dates. Work friends who could ignore something insignificant like a mind-blowing erection pressed between their panting, yearning bodies. Totally normal, professional behavior.
Yeah, right.
She was obviously tired from worrying about her sister and working to keep up with her deadlines and still help Gina out. And tired from all those trips up to the executive floor for no legitimate reason other than to try and run into the CEO whose rock-hard cock was currently pressed against her belly. Because exhaustion caused the same problems she was having—distraction, dry mouth, racing pulse, fluttering or shivering sensations, lightheadedness, the overwhelming desire to feel Luke Conners’ tongue in her mouth...she could practically find the symptom list on WebMD. Tiredness and fatigue would definitely produce those effects. No question at all. And the urge to spread her legs for him, to put his hand up her skirt—that was probably just part of the lightheadedness or confusion. Same for the dampness in her panties. That was nothing to do with Luke. They were, after all, only work friends.
Paige shut her eyes. She needed to snap out of it before she did something even stupider than she had already. She pushed away from him, smoothed her skirt unnecessarily. She fidgeted, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“Sorry. I felt lightheaded,” she said truthfully, “Didn’t mean to grab you like that.”
“Really? Then how did you mean to grab me? If not like that?”
“I didn’t. Intend to grab you or touch you at all. I think we can count grabbing as the sort of off-limits shenanigans we are absolutely not going to take part in on those dates. Where are we going anyway?”
“I’ll surprise you.”
“Do I need, like, a ballgown?” she said, “I know you go to galas and stuff.”
“This would be more in the category of ‘and stuff.’ I don’t consider award ceremonies or charitable fundraisers to be diverting enough for a proper date.”
“What’s a proper date? Because most of the dating I’ve done involved pizza, movies, diners, or a drive-thru window.”
“Who are these people you date? You posed a similar query about the boring people I’m involved with. So, who is taking you for drive-up tacos on a date? I swear I’m going to take your dating to the next level once you’re comfortable with me. The purpose of a date is twofold—shared entertainment and increased knowledge of one another. To determine compatibility as well as to pass the time in a delightful manner.”
“Oh my gosh that sounds boring. Get off my lawn,” she muttered.
“I assure you, boredom will not cross your mind. You will be enthralled—”
“Animal attraction. Yeah, I remember. Now that you’ve mansplained dating to me, can you tell me what I’ll need to wear?”
“Just be casual. Like what you wear to the office,” he said, gesturing to her clothing.
“An ironed blouse and a pencil skirt are not casual. Sweatpants are casual. Leggings and a baggy shirt are casual.”
“Perhaps we have different working definitions of the term ‘casual.’ I suppose attire more formal than baggy shirts but less tailored than your work wardrobe. Is that viable?”
“That’s jeans. Literally, jeans. I have this continuum of clothes in my wardrobe—there’s the black pants and pencil skirts for work, the sweatpants and leggings for relaxing, and then jeans. Jeans and a sparkly top for going out. Maybe a cold shoulder?”
“Are those the ones with great gaping holes on the sleeve?” he said, mystified.
“Yes. It’s supposed to be sexy.”
“Very well,” he said dubiously.
“I have a really nice blue one. It has birds on it.”
“Birds?”