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your lovers, Kasie? Do you address them by their last names? Their first? Or do you turn to words that are a bit more descriptive in nature?”
    “We’re not lovers.”
    “Oh, you’re wrong there. I’ve felt you beneath me, I’ve held those beautiful breasts, I’ve been inside your walls. I know where to touch you to make you lose control.”
    “It was just one night.” I try to keep the chill in my tone but I can see that my line in the sand is now threatened by the tide. “An anomaly. I am not your lover now.”
    “Ah, but then why do you respond to me as if you are?”
    The words penetrate. They toy with my nerves and strain my willpower. I look away from the screen. This is stupid. It’s not in my plans. I’ve cleaned up the shards of glass from the dining room floor. Nothing else has to be broken.
    “I want to meet with your directors, your engineers,” I say, still keeping my eyes away from the computer. I need to steady my voice, my breathing. “I want to talk to them about your capabilities.”
    “Do you remember when you touched me here?”
    I turn to look at the screen and with a graceful, almost languid ease he pulls off the black T-shirt he’s wearing. He’s perfect, beautiful, powerful; he runs his fingers over scratch marks on the skin that covers his heart.
    Had I done that? I remember dragging my fingernails over his back but . . . oh yes, it was when he had pulled me from the wall and lowered me to the floor. He had gently pinched my nipples as I had pressed my hips against his, no control, just lust, desire, and that feeling . . . the feeling of him touching me, the feeling of him opening me up, thrusting inside of me until there were no words at all.
    “Do you remember where I touched you, Kasie?”
    I’m blushing now and, knowing that he can see that only makes me blush more. I reach for the lapel of my robe. I don’t open it, just run my fingers over it, carefully hanging on to the last remnants of restraint I have.
    “Open your robe, Kasie.”
    “I can’t do that, Mr. Dade. I need you to stay focused. I have to talk to you about business . . . security . . . public perception . . . there are strategies that we can implement.”
    His mouth curves into a small smile and I lose my thinly held train of thought as I remember what those lips felt like as they traveled up my inner thigh.
    “Oh, I’m very focused. And trust me when I tell you that I am implementing a strategy.”
    “I’m not your project, Mr. Dade.”
    “No, you’re my lover, Kasie. And I’m telling you to show me where I touched you.”
    This is the time to take my hands away from my robe. This is the time to turn off the computer. This is the time to hold everything together—white wine, not whiskey; quiet dinners at home, not wild nights in Vegas; no more shards of glass.
    “Open your robe, Kasie.”
    I pull on the edges of my lapel, my robe opens just a little wider, and he can see the inner outline of my breasts.
    “A little wider, Miss Fitzgerald.” He says the last words teasingly. He’s mocking me, daring me. It’s childish and should be so easy to resist.
    I pull the robe open a little wider still. I look into his eyes and again I feel his power . . . but this time I feel it entering me. I can breath it; it fills me, touches me, like a caress.
    With steady hands I pull the robe all the way back. It hangs loosely from my shoulders. I hold his gaze, all trepidation suddenly gone. I roll my shoulders back, my fingers slip down to my nipples that reach out to him, hard and ready.
    “You touched me here.”
    And now we’re against the wall of the Venetian and again I can feel him, I can wrap myself around his fierce energy.
    “Where else?”
    My fingers move to the outline of breasts before tracing a line down from my ribs to my stomach. “You touched me here.”
    And I can feel him kissing the base of my neck, that little hollow area where the flesh is softest and the most