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wanted to kick herself. She’d pushed too hard, too fast. His hesitation was proof.
    “Now? Tonight?”
    She winced, wishing with all her might she could take back the invitation. “Or whenever.” Her attempt at a breezy laugh sounded like a gust of hot air, even to her.
    “Tomorrow?”
    Disappointment tasted like ash on her tongue. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”
    An awkward pause hung in the air. Apparently, she didn’t sell casual very well, because he asked, “Did you want me to come over tonight?”
    Sara gave up the fight. “Tonight’s fine too,” she blurted too quickly. Silence stretched taut as a wire, humming over the airwaves at a low simmer.
    “Tomorrow,” he said at last. “I like the anticipation.”
    Never one to miss an opportunity to stick her foot in her mouth, Sara snorted. “Eight years of anticipation wasn’t enough?”
    He barked a laugh. “You think you can have what you want whenever you want?”
    “Yes.”
    That honey-soaked voice dropped almost a full octave. “What do you want, Sara?”
    “I want to take dictation from you, Mr. Larson,” she murmured, retreating to the safety of the old, playful flirtation gambit.
    A hiss of static crackled in her ear. “Really? On what topic?” he asked in a neutral voice.
    Sara didn’t hesitate. “What turns you on?”
    “You.”
    She laughed. “Good answer. What else?”
    “The thought of seeing more of you.”
    “Just the thought?”
    “The reality is pretty damn good,” he admitted.
    “What are you wearing?”
    Steve chuckled. “Wow, this is going to be one of those phone calls?”
    “Maybe,” she answered coyly.
    Steve paused long enough for her to picture him checking his attire. “Uh, pants and a shirt.”
    “More descriptive, please. Unpack your adjectives, Steve.”
    His snort subsided into a deep chuckle. “The pants from my gray suit. How’s that, Ms. Wright?”
    “The suit with the pinstripes?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I’ve always liked that suit on you,” Sara purred. “Your shoulders look so broad in it, but your hips are narrow. You make the perfect triangle.”
    “Uh, thanks. I think.” He chuckled. “I guess that’s better than square.”
    “White shirt?” she prompted.
    “Yes.”
    Sara wrapped the hem of the oversized t-shirt she wore around her hand, holding the excess fabric tight in her fist. “Undershirt?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “I think that’s so sexy,” she whispered, leaning back in her desk chair.
    “You do?”
    She wet her lips and nodded, knowing damn well he couldn’t see her. “I’m going to tell you a story, Mr. Larson. Are you comfortable?”
    “Yes.”
    Sara picked up on something that sounded like the clink of a belt buckle. It made her smile. She leaned back in the chair and peered at the ceiling. “A few months ago, you came over one day after work. It was one of the last hot days. When I answered the door, you were wearing that suit, but you had the jacket off and slung over your shoulder. Do you remember?”
    “Not really.”
    “I accidentally dumped all of my playlists,” she reminded him.
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “Not exactly an accident. I knew you could get them back,” she confessed.
    “You did?”
    The hoarse rasp of his voice was enough to make Sara’s nipples stand at attention. She bit back a moan as they rubbed against the cotton of her makeshift nightshirt.
    “I opened the door, and you were standing there in your suit pants and a white shirt. Your tie was loose, the top button undone, and your sleeves were rolled up. I remember thinking the hair on your arms was the exact color of an old copper penny next to your white shirt.” She paused for a second. “I wanted you that day.”
    “You did?”
    The sound of her own breath echoed in her ear. “Oh, yes.”
    His voice was deep and gruff when he asked, “What did you want to do?”
    “You really want to know?”
    “Oh yeah, I really want to know.”
    His thick drawl slowed his words. Her entire body hummed in response.