“Should we?”

“Here’s what I’m thinking. You’re a client of mine; I’m a client of yours. I think that washes the client deal out.”

“I can agree with that.”

“We’ve established we’re healthy individuals. I’m a good-looking guy with a cool name, you’re a hot woman who really knows how to wear cargo shorts.”

“This is all true.”

“Maybe we should go out for a drink, or dinner, or the movies. Or.”

She turned around, leaned back against the counter. “You’ve already bought me a beer and a half, pizza, and Swiss Rolls. That covers drinks and dinner.”

“I appreciate you acknowledging that. Movies then.”

“I could be interested in a movie. I could be interested in ‘or.’”

He stepped closer, watched her eyes. Yes, interest, with a good dose of amusement. “I have Netflix and all the premium channels. I can find a movie in two minutes.”

“Do you have popcorn?”

“Newman’s. Microwave.”

“This is tempting.” Especially when he laid his hands on her hips, as he’d done during that outside-the-ballpark kiss. “I’d enjoy a movie, and have a strong suspicion I’d enjoy ‘or.’ But—”

He paused on his way in to seal the deal with a kiss. “I’m not going to like this part.”

“I’m grungy,” she reminded him. “I’d like to embark on ‘or’ when I’m clean, and perhaps more appropriately dressed.”

“You can use the shower. And I like your shorts. I especially like them when you’re still wearing your boots.”

“Thanks, and that’s very generous of you. How about this? If you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, I could shower at my own place after work, come over about nine for a movie. Then if we’re both in the same frame of mind, we try ‘or.’”

He believed in negotiations. “Eight-thirty. We’ll have cocktails first.”

“Oooh, cocktails. Fancy. I definitely need to clean up for that.”

“Okay. What kind of movie?”

“Since the movie is basically foreplay, nothing weepy. I can go for a solid rom-com or action adventure.”

“You’re a really interesting woman.”

He went in for the kiss, and she met him, rising up on her toes, linking her arms around him. He felt himself slide into it, into her, just slide like he would into the lake on a hot summer day.

The need washed over him, drew him deeper until his hands ran up her body, down her back, testing her shape, etching it into memory.

He felt her give just a little more, just a little more.

When he drew away, a breath away, her hand rested on his cheek, and her heart thudded in time with his.

“Maybe I like my women grungy.”

“Oh boy.” Her breath, wonderfully unsteady, fluttered against his lips. “It was such a sensible plan, too. If I’m going to change plans, convince me.”

His mouth took hers again, let the heat flash, let the hunger out. This time when his hands took her hips, she boosted herself up, wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Convinced.” On a throaty sound she nipped at the side of his neck. “You smell so much better than I do. Maybe I should take that shower.”

“After.”

“After,” she murmured as he carried her through the house. “I’m supposed to be doing paperwork.”

“Me, too.” He paused at the bottom of the steps, gave her an extra dose of convincing, then carried her up.

“I love your house. I’d probably have had sex with you just to see what you’ve done with the rest of your house.”

“Now she tells me.”

She laughed, nuzzled his neck again, then her head popped up as he carted her through the open double doors of the master.

“Oh my God, look at this space!”

“I’ll give you a tour later.”

“Oh, don’t put me on the bed. My clothes—”

“You won’t have them on long. And I have more sheets.”

He tumbled her on the bed, tumbled down right after her. And gripping her hands, dived into the kiss like a man starving.

Maybe he was. She’d stirred his appetite almost from the first glance, intrigued him from the first conversation. Then she’d flattened him at the ballpark.

Now he could feast.

Her hands, hard, strong; her mouth, smooth, soft. The sharply defined angles of her face, with the skin under her jaw, down her throat as delicate as silk. Tough, taut muscles, yielding breasts.

He found her a series of fascinating contrasts.

He tugged off her shirt, and she wasted no time returning the favor. More flesh, more muscle. She ran those firm hands over his chest, breathed out.

“Mmm, yes.”

He wanted to look at her, just look, but he couldn’t stop his hands. When they worked off the simple white sports bra, he thought, Mmm, yes, as he captured her breast with his mouth.

As she arched, he fought with the buckle of her belt, with the button of her shorts, riding on the urgency for more.

Breathless, struggling for some sense of control, a little finesse, he eased back. “I should slow down.”

“No,” she said, very definitely, and wiggled to help him strip her down. “No, you shouldn’t.”

“Thank God.”

“Let me…” She worked her hands between them, quick, capable hands, loosened his belt. “Let me.”

As she dragged at his pants, they rolled so he could kick free of them, rolled again, greedy to take.

Slow could wait. She wanted fast and fierce and free. Here, with him, she wanted the loss of control, for both of them, wanted to steep in the mindless desperation of mating. To be touched, to be wanted, to feel the need pulsing in him just as it did in her.

When he plunged into her, at last, at last, the pleasure struck sharp as an arrow.

Her hips pumped; her fingers dug into his as she reveled in the power and speed. Release ripped through her, leaving her trembling, gasping.

Grateful.

And still he drove her, building it all again.

She held on, held on, matching him beat for frantic beat. When she fell again, when the hands that gripped him slid weakly away, he fell with her.

After a moment where they both lay wheezing for air, he flopped over on his back so they lay, hip to hip, staring up, dazed as two survivors of a shipwreck.

“It’s confirmed,” he managed. “I like my women grungy.”

Her laugh, still a little wheezy, ended with a sigh. “It looks like I like my men built. Not scary built.” She reached over, patted his abs. “That can be intimidating. I’m going to get a better look at you once I stop seeing double.”

“I guess we’ll call that one the lightning round.”

“We both won.”

“Yeah, we did. It’s been a while for me, so lightning round.”

This was nice, too, she thought, that they could lie here, sated from sex, and have an actual conversation.

“What’s ‘a while’?”

“I guess about nine months, maybe ten.” Staring up at the high, coffered ceiling, he decided his brain was too buzzed to accurately calculate.