“I’m fine,” she croaked.

“I should get Clive home. If he continues to act like this toward our friends, the courteous thing to do is to remove him from your presence.” Joanie stood from the conference table and began clearing the takeout containers. “Are you two going to keep working? If not, we can start again in the morning.”

“You know me,” Marcus said from beside Lily. He placed his palms on the table next to her, leaning over her and saturating the air with that delicious male scent of his. “I love to burn the midnight oil.”

“Not me. I have to go home, pet my neighbor’s cat, feed my goldfish, and heat a cup of soup for one.” She gave Clive a sad smile. He gave her one back…but not like he was apologetic. No, he gave her a smile as if he knew more than he was letting on. He flicked a look to Marcus, and that smile broadened to a grin.

Interesting.

Her eyes went to her best friend, but she saw nothing on Joanie’s face that said she had any clue what was happening. Then Lily snapped her attention to her immediate right, where Marcus stood over her, looking innocent, when clearly, he was not. He’d told her earlier that Clive had bought the “arguing” excuse, but to her, Clive looked unconvinced.

It wasn’t easy, but Lily kept her comments to herself while her friends gathered their things and made their way out of the conference room. Marcus locked them out of the building while Lily cut through the hallway, building steam as she went. He swaggered his very fine ass in her direction, and she stepped out of her office, held up a finger, and poked him square in the chest.

“You said Clive bought it.”

“He did.” His thick eyebrows slammed down. “At least, I thought he did.”

She put her hands on her hips. Marcus was an intimidating figure, and took up most of the narrow hallway. “Then why was he looking at me like he knew exactly what’s been happening between us?”

“Between you and Clive?”

“Stop joking for a second.” She put a palm on Marcus’s chest and shoved. He didn’t move. “You know I mean between you and me!”

“What is happening between you and me?” He stepped closer, leaning over her, looking far too serious. She wanted to eat her words and ask him to keep joking. Joking Marcus was easier than Intense Marcus. No less sexy, though.

“He—he just looks very in the know.” She hedged, backing up another step but keeping her palm spread over his very solid pectorals.

“There’s a reason for that. And it’s your fault.” Marcus advanced another step, looming over her now. She was trying her hardest to stay upset, but her resolve was crumbling like stale crackers. Her traitorous body responded, her nipples hardening and poking the thin material of her bra and silk shirt. She clenched her thighs as she studied his firm mouth, her knees wobbling as she attempted to stand her ground. “Clive is very observant,” he continued. “He knows damn well what a satisfied woman looks like. And you”—he wrapped one broad hand around her hip and tugged her against his very solid thighs—“look like a satisfied woman.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but produced no words at all. Usually this would be the point where he would kiss her. But he didn’t. This near to him, her sexual frustration was reaching its peak.

“Not your fault.” He twirled a piece of her hair around his finger and his expression softened. “You’re killing me in this proper little suit,” he said, skating a heated look over her shirt. “My place or yours?”

She swallowed thickly, the hand against his chest beginning to sweat. “I-I’m busy.”

“You’re gonna be,” he said, smiling. “Need to know what bed you’re gonna be in, though. Bringing my A game.”

“Don’t you think—?”

“About you underneath me? Only every other minute. Now answer me, or else I’ll throw you on the nearest desk.”

Heat burst onto her cheeks. He noticed.

“Oh, really?” He smiled down at her.

“No, that’s not…um. The bed is fine.” She shook her head, realizing the futility of arguing with him. It was like her vocal chords were in cahoots with her hormones. Not a single part of her body disagreed with his desk suggestion. She let out a blustery sigh.

“Resistance is futile.”

“No shit,” she grumbled.

“Come on, McIntire. Live a little.”

“I did. In the copier room earlier.”

“Live a little more.” He was smiling and looking so damned gorgeous that she couldn’t help smiling back. “My desk or yours?”

“My desk is—eep!”

He didn’t let her finish, scooping her into his arms and carrying her into his office and kicking the door closed. Arms looped around his neck, her eyes went to his desk, covered with his computer, phone, and everything else.

“Other desk,” he said, tipping his head at the six-foot table against the wall. The wide surface was clear of any papers, pencils, or clutter of any kind.

She locked eyes with Marcus and she realized why the smile slid across her face. Something about him made her…happy. Just plain happy. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

“Did you set the alarm?” she asked as he plopped her down onto the desk. She spread her hands over the surface. She didn’t like to break rules…usually. She didn’t get a weird rush at being deviant.

“Why, worried somebody might catch us?” His smile suggested he wouldn’t.

“If Clive or Joanie forget something and try to come back…”

When she didn’t finish her sentence, he said, “Yes?”

“You really don’t care if they know, do you?”

“I care about one thing.” He fell silent, and she braced for him to say something tender and warm. Something that would make her feel a little too much in the general area of her heart. But she lucked out, because a second later his smirk clicked into place and he said, “Making you come.”

Chapter Seventeen

That was not what he cared about. Okay, it was what he cared about. He cared about making her come a lot. But he also cared about something else.

Her.

He cared about her enough that he was going to continue this insane idea to keep things quiet even though he didn’t like lying to his friends. But not for long. And he needed to let her know that. She sat, legs kicking over the edge of the desk, hair rolling over her shoulders, white shirt doing nothing to hide her peaked nipples…

He’d let her know later. After desk sex.

“Don’t rip my buttons this time. I still have to drive home.”

Why, why did rod-up-her-ass, Lily McIntire do it for him whenever she was being rigid? Probably because he knew she really wasn’t. As a matter of fact, under his hands and his mouth, she was downright pliant. Like melted peanut butter.

Mmm, too bad he didn’t have that in his food cabinet at work.

“Okay, you take it off.” He smoothed his palm over her bare calf down to one rather demure heeled shoe, which he removed and tossed over his shoulder. It thudded to the floor behind him.

“Do you have any idea how much those cost?” Her brow furrowed, fingers hovering over the top button of her blouse.

“Nope.” He moved to the other leg, slid that shoe off, and tossed it into the metal trash can next to his desk. It hit the side with a clang. “Now ask me if I care.”

She gave him a scolding look, but since she was undoing her shirt buttons – and not slowly – he didn’t mind. Not that he’d mind anyway. Lily’s scolding looks were kind of cute.

“Did you get the salon plans approved?” She continued working her buttons, her attention on her shirt. By the time she was pulling it off her shoulders, he was thoroughly perplexed by this turn of conversation. “I was thinking about it today and wondering if it wouldn’t be nice to have a drink station where customers could help themselves. Coffee, tea, maybe a few nice wine selections…”