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Not helpful. “I’m serious.”

He snorted in a way that made him sound like Gram. “So am I.”

He was the worst wingman ever. “Forget it.”

“Okay, wait.” He caught my arm before I could bolt. His fingers wrapped around my elbow. He used the other hand to set down his precious cupcakes.

I now understood the concept of erogenous zones. What they were and how they worked. His hand. My bare skin. The dizziness that had my body falling into his.

Think of Brock. That would kill any sexual feelings and shift my focus back to my never-ending work mess.

“What exactly are you asking?” His eyes narrowed. “Because my advice is simple. Tell the truth and end this before it blows up on you.”

I didn’t even want to think about how this work situation could get worse. “They’re going to be mad.”

He winced. “It’s more likely they’ll be disappointed.”

The comment stabbed through me. “Don’t say that. My behavior sounds so much worse when you use that word.”

“They’re also going to understand your panic and how that led up to the pitch disaster. They aren’t going to let NOI near their business, but I sense you didn’t want that to happen anyway.”

Such a smart hottie. “Right.”

“But the longer you wait, the worse this will be. If they find out from someone else what—”

“Who?” The traitor. “You?”

I pulled back and he immediately let go. So fast that my balance wavered and my body tipped. He caught me before I did aheader into the post. To be technically correct, he grabbed on and tugged me closer... and my work priorities took a violent nosedive.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding more concerned about me than usual.

No. This whole treading-water-at-work thing I’d been doing zapped my strength. Being close to him shut down my brain. The combination of the two had me flailing and jittery and a whole bunch of other words that sounded like wading into dangerous territory.

I looked up at him, ready to launch into a renewedI need a planwhine when something shifted. In the air. Inside me. In the gazebo. The place I kissed him all those years ago and sent him running. We stood in the same position, under the same lights.

A miscalculation... or was it?

My stomach performed the same tumble it had back then. I might be older, but I appeared to be not one inch wiser when it came to Jackson Quaid.

“I think...” What did I think? My brain put up anout to lunchsign.

His gaze went to my mouth and lingered there. It’s possible I stopped breathing. Who the hell knew.

He lowered his head just a fraction. “Tell me not to kiss you.”

Those words were not coming out of my mouth. Ever.

His head moved another inch, bringing his mouth within a breath of mine. “If you don’t want this...”

Warnings fired in my head and logical questions filled my brain but mostly I thought: Do it!I’d lost the power to speak and all sense of self-preservation. That was the only explanation for my next move. I shifted. Just a bit, but a definite shift, until I stood in the circle of his arms with my hands pressed against his chest.

“Good.” That’s all he said.

Then he lowered his head and kissed me. Not a gentle, exploring kiss. Not a testing-the-waters kiss. No, this wasa kiss. He didn’t hold back. He didn’t play coy. He kissed me as if he’d been waiting forever for the chance.

His mouth crossed over mine and his hands went to my waist. The touch of his lips and his fingers set off a blast of energy. I curled into him. Up on my tiptoes, arms wrapped around his neck, heat pounding through me. Every shield I’d erected to protect myself from this attraction fell.

Need and desire washed through me. The incessant craving I kept at bay leapt to the front of my mind. I wanted to jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. To tell him I’d been dreaming of this for years as he cycled through girlfriends and women who weren’t me.