In the days - or was it weeks? - following that near-miss with Max, I drifted in a stupor of confused longing and exquisite, unfulfilled need. What was once an adrenaline-spiked game of romantic one-upmanship had become something darker, richer, infinitely more dangerous.

We had shattered through the fragile borders restraining our provocations. Undeniable wanting had been unleashed in its most primal form, and something inside me had been irrevocably ruined for anything less than total possession.

As I prepared for the upcoming Pemberton Financial gala, a plan began to take shape in my mind. This year, I wouldn't settle for merely observing from the sidelines; No, this time I had a specific goal in mind.

With a slow, devious smile, I pulled out the slinky black dress I had been saving for just this occasion. Holding it up, I admired how the clinging ebony fabric skimmed over every lush curve before flaring out in a tantalizingly sheer lace overlay.

Yes, this dress was pure seduction sewn into silky restraint, equal parts classy and sassy. It was my secret weapon in the tantalizing dance of escalating provocations with Max.

The arrogant bastard was in for a wake-up call this evening - I'd ensure it.

After suffering through his aloof dismissals and that suffocating tension lingering between us, a night of making Mr. Control Freak visibly squirm was precisely what the doctor ordered. Max may have won the latest battle by coolly shutting down whatever this charged thing was brewing between us...but the war was far from over.

Well, this evening's main course was most definitely on the menu - and I intended to ensure Max Pemberton's hungry gaze didn't stray from the banquet for even a single second.

Staring at my reflection, I almost didn't recognize the vision staring back - lips pursed with audacious confidence, eyes glittering with impish challenge. No meek assistant in sight, that was for damn sure.

"Let's go ruin a few nights, shall we?" I told the other me while giving an approving look at my reflection, along with one last lingering once-over.

The black car idled out front, ready to whisk me away into the sort of trouble that made a girl's toes curl. I could already picture Max's arctic stare boring into me, roiling with disapproval and that darkly scorching promise that made my veins thrum with shivery feminine power.

The ballroom was already in full swing by the time I arrived, but my fashionably late entrance ensured all eyes swiveled eagerly towards the vision I presented.

Chin lifted in unconscious challenge, I sashayed through the parting crowd with a defiant swish to my hips, utterly reveling in the weight of every single agog stare drinking in my decidedly unsubtle display.

There were a few ingrained suck-ups I recognized from the office, no doubt preparing to rush over and offer slobbering compliments. As if I would have a single ounce of patience for their placating after this bold transformation. Fortunately, I was promptly waylaid by an unexpected, albeit vastly more enticing, intrusion.

"Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle." The smooth accent stopped me in my tracks.

I turned to find myself locking gazes with quite possibly the most devastatingly handsome man I'd ever laid eyes upon. Oh la la. With one dark wing of glossy hair falling roguishly over his brow and bedroom eyes simmering with unabashed heat as they roamed over my figure, he truly looked as if he'd sauntered straight off the cover of a cosmopolitan magazine.

"Hello?" I replied with a polite smile.

"Forgive me for interrupting your entrance," he said silkily. "But I simply could not allow such incomparable beauty to walk past unacknowledged."

I couldn't help but laugh at his audacity. "Well, aren't you a smooth talker?"

He extended his hand gallantly and flashed me a grin that could melt icebergs. "Jean-Pierre Duvall, at your most fervent service this evening."

I felt a blush warm my cheeks at the overt flattery but returned his handshake. "It's a pleasure, Monsieur Duvall. Charlotte Bennett."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle Bennett," the Adonis purred in a sumptuous French accent that made my tongue fairly water with wanton feminine awareness. "Though I must ask, what brings someone as lovely as yourself to such a stuffy corporate affair?"

Oh, you know, just here to shake the monolith of granite that is my boss, set things up on fire and ruffle a few feathers. Care to join in the fun?

"I could ask you the same thing, Monsieur Duvall. Are you an investor?" Most likely he was an insouciant son of some old money French lineage if his effortless command of masculine grace was any indication.

"A consultant of sorts, you could say," he replied with a roguish wink. "But my interests this evening are of a more...personal nature." His heated look made the implication clear, though his tone remained respectful. Well, isn't he just the whole package? Too bad Max couldn't take a page from his playbook.

I decided to play along. "Is that so? Do tell, I'm quite intrigued."

Jean-Pierre chuckled, clearly delighted by my receptiveness. "Perhaps we could discuss it over drinks? I'd love to get to know the radiant woman behind that beautiful smile."

His compliments were as exaggerated as his accent. But beneath the charm, I sensed a hint of something genuine - or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

"You're very kind," I replied, "Though I'll have to pace myself. I'm actually an employee here - wouldn't want to misbehave in front of my boss."

"Ah, well that's a shame for poor Monsieur....?" He raised an inquisitive brow. I laughed lightly at his mild teasing.

"Pemberton. Max Pemberton."

Jean-Pierre tsked playfully. "What a pity for him, to have such exquisite temptation so close at hand yet forced to resist. Though I imagine if I were in his position, it would be utterly impossible."

Ha! The arrogant prick wouldn't know temptation if it tongue-kissed him full on the mouth. But tonight, I was bound and determined to make Max intimately acquainted with that particular concept...

"You're terrible, Monsieur." I ducked my head with a flattered laugh at his salacious flirtation.

"I am merely an admirer of beauty, Mademoiselle Bennett," he said smoothly. "Though I'll refrain from any more scurrilous comments, lest I risk offending your delicate sensibilities."

"How gentlemanly of you," I teased back. "Very well, one drink then. If you promise to be on your best behavior."

Jean-Pierre placed one hand over his heart with a look of mock-solemn vow. "You have my word, ma chérie."

Seriously, did they hand out accents like that at birth in France? Mental note: If everything fails with Max, schedule a trip to Paris.

I shook my head in amusement as he offered his arm, allowing him to lead me towards the bar. His flirtatious banter was delightfully uplifting, though I knew better than to take the adorable Frenchman too seriously - he was simply a born charmer plying his natural talents.

Though judging by the way Jean-Pierre's grasp grew increasingly possessive as we glided across the ballroom floor, some might mistake me for his arm-accessory over the evening's true intended target.

Still, a little harmless rapport could be just the thing to put me in the right frame of mind before the evening's real game of seduction began.

If Max hadn't seen my grand entrance yet, every set of hungry male eyes tracking my wake would surely alert that infuriating stoic to my presence soon enough. The arrogant prick was no doubt, going to be scandalized watching his proper assistant flagrantly parading around with this French Adonis.

Good. Let him watch and seethe in that uptight three-piece suit of his, I mused with simmering anticipation.

I made a show of throwing my head back with a laugh at something Jean-Pierre murmured, my hand lingering perhaps a tad too long on those boulder-esque biceps as I not-so-subtly drank in the Frenchman's insanely chiseled physique.

After all, my point required an audience for the sort of message I intended to send in the arrogant bastard's direction. And thanks to Jean-Pierre's unexpected appearance and presence, I'd have a far more delicious prop in tow to start piquing my wayward boss's interest rather effectively.

On the bright side, Jean-Pierre was certainly a captivating companion as we chatted over drinks. His flirtatious remarks bordered on saucy at times, but were always tempered with an underlying warmth and respect that prevented them from being off-putting.

"So tell me, ma belle," he purred at one point, dark eyes dancing. "What obscure creative talents is a ravishing creature such as yourself hiding beneath that ethereal exterior?"

I laughed, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "Who's to say I have any hidden talents, Monsieur Duvall? Perhaps I'm an open book."

"Impossible." He tsked, shaking his head definitively. "A femme fatale like yourself? Those eyes alone speak of countless mysteries just waiting to be uncovered."

His words caressed over me like a physical touch. Damn, this man was smoother than silk. How was I supposed to focus on tormenting Max with smoldering looks from across the room when my companion was so...distracting?

As our banter continued to flow easily, I caught glimpses of Max making his way through the crowd, no doubt working the room and schmoozing potential investors as any good CEO would.

Our eyes met a few times from across the ballroom, my heart skipping a beat each time I encountered the banked intensity of his stare. A tiny, secret thrill went through me at the undisguised masculinity in his gaze as it raked over me and Jean-Pierre in clear rebuke.

"Why don't we take this conversation somewhere a bit more...private?" Jean-Pierre purred silkily into my ear, the invitation in his tone unmistakable.

In my periphery, I caught a flicker of movement as Max abruptly turned away, no doubt fighting the urge to incinerate us both with his glare alone. My lips curved into a satisfied smirk.

Message received, loud and clear.

"Tempting," I murmured, brazenly holding Jean-Pierre's smoldering gaze. "But I think I'll leave you wanting more for now, Monsieur. Anticipation is a dish best savored, after all."

I couldn't resist stretching up onto my tiptoes to bring my mouth near his ear, letting my breaths ghost teasingly over the sensitive skin below.

"That is, unless you'd like to beg for a taste..." The poor man's eyes nearly rolled back into his skull as a full-body shudder rippled through him.

Worked like a charm every time. Though based on the stormy clouds gathering over Max's expression from across the room, I may have tweaked the lion's tail a bit too hard this round.

It didn't matter. After all, what fun would this game be if I didn't make things exponentially harder for my dear, sweet boss to resist?

In fact, a deliciously reckless notion began taking root - one that could finally shatter the tension simmering between us once and for all.

The evening was still young, and I had a few more tantalizing tricks waiting in the wings. And just maybe, one would finally be enough to push the infuriatingly stoic Max Pemberton over the delicious edge of capitulation at last.