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when Ginger passed her hand in front of Cal to reach for a file, and he grabbed her wrist, took a look at her watch, and cursed mildly under his breath.
    "I've got to get out of here, Cameron. Sorry. My brother's coming in tonight. We're slated for an early dinner."
    "No problem." Ginger herded the paper and drawings littering Cal's desk into containment. She and Cal had made good progress today. "Other than website design ideas, we're pretty much done for now anyway."
    It might have been past five and time to quit, but Ginger was so excited she could have worked for hours yet.
    After she and Cal had settled the sticky situation of her wardrobe—or so he thought—they'd agreed on just about everything else, the ads, social media, the radio, the TV spots, even the tone and direction of the local interviews. He'd even agreed to Ginger's ideas for opening night: a Hollywood style premiere with limos, searchlights, the town's who's who in attendance, and a gala black tie post-screening dinner.
    Cal had loved it.
    Too bad his enthusiasm was so sexy. More than once in the time they'd spent together, she'd had to step away from the heat of him. Moments like when he sat on the couch, locked his hands behind his head and stretched out his long legs, seeming totally relaxed. And while he'd talked about crossover advertising all she could think about was crossing the room and straddling him—to give those jeans of his a quality control test.
    Goddess, maybe she was a sex addict.
    Cal stood, flexed and stretched until his chest expanded to fill his cotton shirt. "Good work today." He leveled his gaze on her—warm, unwavering and seductive. "You're damn smart. I like smart women." Something in his eyes shifted, turned silky and dark.
    Ginger willed her stomach to quit kicking, was glad when Ellie interrupted with a knock on Cal's door. "Mind if I finish this bit of filing?" She held up a few sheets of paper.
    "Give us a another minute, Ellie. We're almost done here." When Ellie left, he turned his attention back to Ginger. "About doing the website. Who do you recommend?"
    "I'll do it myself. Work up some ideas tonight."
    His head came up. "You know all that tech stuff?"
    "Under these clothes lies a frustrated techie."
    He gave her a speculative look. "Anything else under there a guy should know about?"
    "No." She crammed her papers in her case and put a lid on her simmering hormones. "I think we're done here. You better move if you're going to meet your brother. Me, I'm going home and—" She stopped herself just in time. Given the way he was studying her, it wasn't the time to say you were going home to take off your clothes and sink into a bath, the place where she always did her best thinking.
    "And what?" He ran his index finger along the seam from her shoulder to her elbow. His eyes were sultry, teasing. "Get into something not made with metal threads."
    "Very funny." But she wasn't laughing when he ran his hand back up her arm and her skin got hot enough to bake pizza. He was coming on to her—an activity he seemed to find as amusing as she found it scarifying.
    "You're the funny one, Cameron." But he wasn't laughing, or smiling, he was looking at her as if she were wearing a fuck me T-shirt and he'd overdosed on Viagra.
    As if he were staring into the heart of his fantasy—and she was it. And if he looked at her like that, given the hippo tutu she was wearing, he either hadn't had sex this millennium, which she seriously doubted, or he'd committed himself to screwing any woman who breathed. And she was definitely breathing, too hard and too fast for comfort.
    Trouble. With a capital T.
    "Well, this 'funny' lady is heading home." She made it to the door in double-time. "I'll call you tomorrow. Let you know how I make out with the website." With her hand on the door, she got some courage, said flat out, "And you can save all those sexy looks for someone you might get into your bed. Which is not me. I told you, I don't do the