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thought, even as she put her hand to the back of his head to hold him close. Too much. He was going to really hurt her if he wasn’t careful.
    Elliott pulled his hand away. Stepped back, out of reach. Breathing hard, he tried to clear his mouth of the taste of her. Her smell clung to him.
    Simone straightened, the lazy, lustful glint in her eyes becoming something else. “What’s the matter?”
    Elliott reached to touch one fading mark on her throat. She didn’t wince, didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into the touch like a cat butting his hand for a caress.
    Everything inside him went first hot. Then cold. He pulled away again, shaking his head.
    “I’ve got to leave.”
    “Elliott…”
    Without waiting for an answer, he backed toward her front door. She didn’t follow him, and when the door had closed behind him, he let out the breath he’d been holding. In the elevator, Elliott straightened his tie. Smoothed his hair. By the time it opened to the lobby, he’d composed himself, but it took him the entire cab ride home before he could stop his hands from wanting to make fists.
    Inside his own apartment, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, neat, though it was nearly one in the morning and too late for drinking. He sipped at it, staring out the window into the city lights. He closed his eyes, thinking of her silky hair. The sweetness of her pussy, and how she’d gasped a moan when he’d pinched her.
    His cock thickened again at the memory, and he downed the rest of the whiskey before stalking to the bedroom, where he stripped out of his suit and hung it up. In only his boxer briefs, erection straining the material, he stroked himself through the fabric for a moment before letting out a muttered curse.
    “More,” she’d said, and he’d wanted to give her more.
    He’d wanted to pinch her until she bruised. Bend her over the back of the chair, lift her skirt and leave the marks of his hands on her ass. Thinking of it now, his cock throbbed.
    “More,” Simone had said, but she’d had no idea what that meant for a man like him.
    No woman ever had.
    *   *   *
    She’d watched him walk out her door with the stiff-legged gait of a man who’d been hit someplace tender, but she hadn’t gone after him. Simone had never been a run-after-the-guy sort of girl, not for a man she’d been completely and desperately in love with, and certainly not for one she barely knew. Still, with her heart still pounding and her neck and thighs still tingling from Elliott’s attentions, she had thought about at least calling his name to see if he’d look back.
    She was glad now that she hadn’t. The marks had faded, but the memory of his kiss hadn’t. Nor had the memory of his twisting, pinching fingers. He’d barely hurt her. There’d been the potential there for so much more, but not, she decided, from a man who’d looked at her as though she’d grown another head when she asked him for it.
    It didn’t stop her from watching him, of course. He was too delicious to give up, and besides, Simone had long ago learned she was a voyeur. It was harder to do it during the day because of the tint on the windows and the glare from the sun that fell for most of the working hours directly on his part of the building. But come four o’clock or so, when the shadows fell and then night … yeah. She still watched him.
    For two weeks, she barely caught sight of him, even the few nights she’d worked late when she really didn’t have to. She’d glimpsed him once in the lobby, but he hadn’t even glanced her way. She’d thought about going directly to his office, knocking on the door and seeing what he’d do … but Simone didn’t chase men. And what would she do anyway, if she caught him?
    Elliott Anderson seemed like kind of a mess, and Simone didn’t have time for that.
    Tonight she did have work to keep her at her desk beyond regular office hours. Her boss, Tasha, had left for vacation on Monday, leaving a long