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“Can you handle this? It’s no trouble to have security look into the situation.”

I feel my blood pressure skyrocket. “Thank you for the intimation that the only man who could want me must be a psycho.”

“That’s not what I said. This guy sounds sexually demanding, Lauren, like someone determined to tie you down, fill you up with everything he’s got, and take you for a long, hard ride.”

“And your point is…? I’m divorced, not a virgin.” Gritting my teeth, I pull away from him.

He jerks me back to face him. “You want to find yourself on your knees with a mouthful of cock or be introduced to the couch when he bends you over the back of it to fuck you?”

His words flood me with heat. I picture myself kneeling at Noah’s feet, looking up at his rugged face as he wraps his fist in my hair and leads my mouth to his waiting cock. I’d lick the swollen head, drag my tongue down the veined shaft, then suck him deep as he groans and forces me to take more. Or he pins me behind the sofa, shoves me down face-first, rips away my panties, then thrusts hard inside my desperate, clasping pussy.

“Your pupils are dilating. You like that idea.”

With overheated cheeks, I watch his unreadable face as I sit, resisting the maddening urge to press my thighs together against the liquid heat pooling there. Oh, god. I’m having a deeply inappropriate conversation with my boss—and shamefully aroused by his mere words. And if he knew he starred in my dirtiest daydreams, he’d probably recoil. I need to watch my tongue, hold my temper, and rein in these traitorous fantasies before they’re my undoing.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Did you need something?”

“Answer me. I’m your friend, Lauren. I’m concerned.”

“Forget it. Please.”

He sits on a corner of my desk. By virtue of his six-three frame, he towers over me as he braces his elbow on one knee and leans dangerously closer. My breath catches in my throat, his intense masculinity overwhelming in the scant inches between us. Not for the first time, I wish my sense of smell wasn’t nonexistent. I’ll bet Noah’s scent is to die for, like an intoxicating blend of fresh-cut grass, smoky musk, and sheer temptation. I hate that I’m missing out. Stupid genetic quirk.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been too brash. I didn’t intend to upset you,” he insists. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“I have two children. I’m familiar with the concept of sex.”

Noah grabs the note. “What this guy plans to do to you will bear no resemblance to whatever Tim did in bed. This man will take you. Possess you. Own you.”

I shift restlessly at the thought of Noah doing that to me, then tell myself to focus. “He’s talking about a fling.”

“If you think that, you don’t understand men. If you’re uneasy, I’ll do everything I can to stop him. I’ll make sure you feel safe.”

His protective assurance drains my anger. “Look, I may not be twenty-five anymore, and I may not be a professional cheerleader, but I still like to feel desired.”

“Lauren—”

“Save the speech. I haven’t had any attention from a man in more years than I want to admit. And it feels…nice, okay? You’re right. This guy may be off kilter. He may demand more than I’m prepared to give. If so, I know how to say no. But until I have a reason to, I’m going to enjoy the fact someone has noticed I’m female. So drop it.”

“One more question, then I’ll shut up.” At my reluctant nod, he hesitates, choosing his words with care. “I’ve known you for years. Sometimes, you’re an impulsive woman.”

I can already hear him trying to talk me out of a fling with the mysterious lingerie-giving stranger, and it makes me grit my teeth. “The question, Noah?”

“You’ve had, what, two dates since your divorce? And now you’re contemplating something way beyond dinner and a movie with a man you’ve never met. Maybe you should take it slower.”

My temper spikes. I grab my purse and the gift box, and I stand. “You’ve been counting my dates like an overprotective brother? It’s been two years. You don’t wait two weeks between one model and the next, but I need to go slow? Amazing.”

Before five or not, I’m leaving. This conversation is just too humiliating. I turn and march toward the door.

Noah seizes my elbow and pulls me close, his lips against my ear. “You want to wear red lace for a stranger? You want him to touch you? To fuck you?”

I jerk away, determined not to notice how Noah makes my skin burn. “I want to feel alive again. I’m ready to move forward, to touch and be touched⁠—”

Tears tighten my throat. I can’t go on. God, I’m baring my soul to a man who treats me like his sister.

“Lauren? Sugar…”

I shake my head, frowning to ward off more tears. “I need to go.”