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in her tone drew his attention from his hands. He wanted to show her how alike they were right now, but when he looked up, she looked kind of sad. He shouldn’t bother her with his shit.
    She sat with her hands on her thighs, palms up. She slid off the desk and moved close, her hands held low and wide. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”
    Because he had made a massive cock-up of the whole thing. With his cock grinding into her, massively unwanted and uncalled for.
    Totally wilted now, he noted.
    He gave her a nod and swallowed, unable to speak around the annoying knot that had gathered in his throat.
    But she moved closer and ducked her chin, and knocking over the last brick holding him up, she placed a soft kiss on his shoulder.
    He stared at his shirt there, expecting the fabric to melt away.
    “I thought it would be funny. That it would serve her right. But you know what?”
    He gathered some courage and met her gaze. “What?”
    “I’m not sorry she did it,” Laine said. And she just stared at him for a long time.
    Me neither, he wanted to say, but it was awful feeling exposed like this. He hadn’t had such a strong desire to shield himself since his first patrol.
    “I’ll clean it up if you want.”
    He looked over her shoulder at the desk and wondered what it would have looked like if they really had screwed on the desk. More chocolate on the edges, he thought. They both would have needed to hold the fuck on to something. “No, leave it.” Could she tell what he was thinking? Act normal, dumbass. “If I change my mind, I’ll clean it up,” he said. “It is kind of funny.”
    Laine smiled up at him. “You’re a good sport.”
    They washed their hands, taking turns at the small sink.
    “So what’s on the menu tonight, chef?”
    “Anything but chocolate,” he said and felt some of his tension ease when she reached out and touched his back. He hoped it was commiseration and not pity.
    “Do you have any pasta?”
    “Spaghetti, I think.”
    “How about I cook for you tonight?” she asked. “Earn my keep.”
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    “I want to.” She turned toward the door. “Do you like garlic?”
    “Do bears shit in the woods?”
    She smiled at his lame joke. “Garlic then. Definitely not a vampire.” She winked at him before she turned away.
    He started to follow, feeling dazed, like some love-struck cartoon schmuck with stars and hearts and tweeting birds circling his head, but then something across the room caught his eye. The infuriating stray coffee filter. With a few steps and a quick swipe, he turned it over and mashed it onto its brothers next to the coffee machine.
    “I saw that,” Laine called as she left the office.
    “Whatever, Iowa,” he muttered.
    Her throaty chuckle echoed through the lobby.
     

Chapter 6
     
    Laine woke to a moonlit ceiling.
    The attic lay quiet, with a breath of air moving across her cheek. The cooling system, she guessed, thankful that it didn’t shut down for the weekend with everything else. Slipping her hands under her pillow, she watched the shapes of the windows move almost imperceptibly across the wall.
    At dinner, she had fought the urge to apologize again for the prank. She had known Evan would only wave it off. She had decided to clean up the mess the next day. The job would probably fall to Evan eventually anyway, and that wouldn’t be fair, not when it had been her terrible idea.
    Not such a terrible idea, her mind insisted, backed up by her body, which remembered the weight of him, the press of his erection against her. Her legs had circled him on reflex, to catch herself, to catch him , but when she’d felt his hard length trapped between them, her legs had stayed put. They might even have hugged him closer.
    She arched her back now and pressed her wrist against her mound, trying to recreate the sensation. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was him. But not quite.