Robbie's hair was pulled back and tied, a tail swishing back and forth with each fluid stride as she made her way across the courtyard. She ran well, efficiently, keeping her feet low to the ground to minimize bounce and the shock on landing. It was a warm morning and she'd dressed for it, wearing athletic shorts and a black, cropped tank with a scooped neckline that showed off slender shoulders and just a hint of— okay, there was some significant bounce.

Paul couldn't tear his eyes away.

Surprise flashed on Robbie's face when she spotted him leaning against her front door, and she stopped dead in her tracks to stare back at him before glancing at her watch. She walked the last fifty yards or so, frowning when she reached him. "You texted nine o'clock."

Exactly.

It was eight-twenty.

"I woke up early." Truth was, he hadn't slept much at all. After the gym, he'd grabbed a bite to eat and gone to see a movie, although he could barely remember the plot, but George Clooney had definitely not been in it. Thank fuck. Then he'd hit the bar for a couple of drinks before heading to his room for a night of tossing and turning. Once up, he'd rushed over to her place, tired, unshaven, slightly hung over, and desperate to see if he'd catch Ian doing the walk of shame.

Yup, he was an idiot.

An idiot with cinnamon rolls.

He held up the bag in his hand. "I brought cinnamon rolls."

"Oh . . . thanks . . ." She moved to unlock the door. "You could have just let yourself in, you know."

"Well . . . I wasn't sure . . . what with the old man and all."

Robbie glared over her shoulder. "Ian," she reminded him.

As if he needed to be reminded.

"And like I told you, it was just dinner." She turned the knob and pushed.

Following her down the hall took him right back to the previous day with his gaze gliding over toned legs, following the curve of hips, and coming to a landing on the strip of bare skin at her waistline. The long tail of hair swayed, calling to him like the curl of a forefinger, daring him to take it down.

She waved a hand toward the stack of files. "You can get started. I'll make some coffee, but then I need to have a shower. I'm all sweaty and icky."

And gorgeous. Let's not forget gorgeous. The cardio had brought a flush to her face that had him thinking of all kinds of other ways to get good and sweaty.

Jesus! He needed to focus or he wouldn't get any work done. Again. "Take your time."

As the pitter patter of water hitting ceramic came from the bedroom, he worked on putting the files in order while mentally going over the strategy they had come up with so far, a half-hearted way to avoid picturing what she would look like all wet.

All over.

Goddamn.

Ten minutes later he was sitting on the couch when she walked by dressed in the standard Caps jersey and yoga pants, the wet hair twisted up into a clip.

Much better, Agent Westcott.

She turned on him. "Excuse me?"

Shiiiiiit. He'd said it out loud. "Sorry, it's just . . . That dress was a little much, don't you think?"

"Let me guess—too flashy?" She brought her hands to her hips. "I do seem to recall you liking it last night. You were practically drooling."

He shrugged. "Well, if you're going to put it out there . . ." He rubbed a hand over the top of his hair. "Listen, if that's what it takes to get the old man's interest, he's not worth it."

Robbie barked out a laugh. "Don't be a hypocrite."

His head snapped back on his spine. "What?"

"You men . . . you always say one thing but do another. You advise all the females in your life to dress conventionally, but when you're out, it's that woman in white you look at. Give me a break. I'm not your sister."

Sister? Paul frowned, totally confused. "What the hell are you talking about? What woman in white?"

"At Cannella's? The woman you were eye fucking?" At this, she spread her arms wide, made some grunting noise, and headed for the kitchen.

Paul dimly remembered a woman trying waaaay too hard as he waited for his order—tight dress, lots of eye makeup, strong perfume irritating his throat.

He burst out of his seat and caught up to Robbie just as she reached the coffee pot. "That's rude. You have no idea what I want, what I'm thinking."

She poured some of the steaming java into a mug, added some sugar, gave it a little stir, and shook her head. "You're not that difficult to read. I'm pretty sure I've got you all figured out."

"Well, you're wrong."

She went to walk by him, but he latched hold of her arm, the one holding the mug.

"Hey," she complained, taking a little jump back as coffee sloshed over the rim and hit the floor. She wiped her palm across the bottom of the cup. "What the—"

"Look at me," he growled.

Robbie lifted her head.

"If imitating that woman at the restaurant is what you were going for, don't waste your time."

She visibly winced. "Fine, I'll—"

"Let me finish. For once." His free hand took the coffee from her grip. The other directed her backward until she hit the counter. He set the mug down behind her and leaned in, making sure he had her full attention.

Jabbing a finger at the Caps shirt, he told her, "This jersey does more for me than any dress ever could. Whenever I see you in the damn thing, I want to slide my hands up under it and convince you to change teams."

Dark eyes stretched wide as those perfect, perfect lips opened in surprise.

There was a long moment of silence as she blinked up at him. Her voice was breathless when she said, "I'll never switch."

It was part promise, part plea, but mostly defiance. And man, if that wasn't a turn on, he didn't know what was. His erection throbbed, pushing against the fly of his jeans, wanting to get out, wanting to get in.

Paul brought a hand up to her neck and tilted her head back with his thumb. "I want to kiss you, but if I do, there is no going back. We won't be just colleagues anymore. Understand?"

"Yes," she all but squeaked.

But she didn't really. A kiss was going to lead to a whole lot more. He doubted she'd had many partners, or experimented much, or done anything beyond the vanilla stuff.

And here he was, a man with a slutty reputation and a ravenous appetite.

She may not be ready for that.

She may not be ready for his kind of sex.

)l(

Robbie's heart was beating triple time and she had difficulty breathing while she waited for Paul to make his move.

"Robbie," he groaned, his eyelids heavy, his stare hot and possessive. The man's desire was palpable, filling the air between them, but she sensed he was fighting it. Why?

When he began to pull back, one thought came to her in a desperate rush. "What are you afraid of?"

That did it. She gasped as he stepped into her body and angled her head further back, his arousal a steel rod pushing into her belly.

"You're the one who should be afraid," he said grimly before his mouth came down on hers.

There was no sweet and tender when it came to Paul Sullivan. The kiss was an invasion, his tongue pushing its way in as he grabbed hold of her hips to grind himself against her. The deep moan was all male, an erotic approval that set off a heated throbbing between her legs. As promised, his hands slipped under her shirt and started a warm slide, inching their way up her sides before heading around to her back. Robbie knew enough about men's maneuvering to know he was going for the clasp of the bra that wasn't there.

When he realized what was missing, Paul broke off the kiss and took a giant step back. He was breathing hard, and oh, what a thrill it was to know she had the power to cause that.

"You been like that every day?" he asked, his voice hoarse, his eyes latching on to their target behind the hockey emblem.

"I told you, I like to be comfortable."

He muttered something, she wasn't sure what, before grabbing her hand and pulling her in his wake as he marched out of the kitchen. His strides were so long, she had to do a little run to keep up with him.

"Easy there, big guy," she said with a giggle.

He didn't appear amused, though. In fact, with the rigid set of his jaw, he looked so serious, she had to giggle again.

"You won't be laughing in a minute," he threw at her, his voice menacing.

Oh, shit. Her stomach fluttered. He suddenly looked different. How well did she know this man anyway?

When they reached her bedroom, he stopped and yanked her forward to slingshot her in ahead of him. She moved to the middle of the room before turning to face him, her stomach now in knots.

Paul's brow creased up, and he looked more like himself. "You sure about this, Robbie?"

It was now or never time. Not trusting her voice, she could only nod.

"I can't make any guarantees."

What? Her eyes drifted down to the hefty bulge at the front of his jeans.

"I meant relationship wise." He chuckled. "I can assure you everything down there is in full working order."

Oh. Well, the data was iffy on whether she could do the relationship thing anyway, so they were in the same boat, albeit for different reasons. She kicked up her chin. "I'm not looking for anything more than this."

"You should be," he said, shocking her.

What did that mean?

He sighed, looking resigned. "If we are going to do this, I have a few rules."

"Rules? What kind of rules?"

He scowled at her. "First off, no questions."

"But—"

He held up his hand. "As much as I love your brain out there"—he thrust a thumb at the next room—"in here, there is to be no thinking, no analyzing, no inhibitions, and little talking. I can be very demanding and have eclectic tastes. For this to work, you must do as I say."

Please don't be some sexual deviant, not after all this. "There's no spanking involved, is there?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Do you want to be spanked?"

Maybe. "No."

"Then no, and we will figure out what works and what doesn't. For both of us. That's my point. I want you to feel comfortable not cautious."

For someone who wanted little talking, he was sure doing a lot of it.

"Can we get on with it?" Bringing a hand to her mouth, she muttered a muffled, "oooops, that's another question" through her fingers and laughed.

He narrowed his eyes, but there was a definite twitch to his lips. "Are you taking this seriously?"

In the end, her impatience cut through any lingering nerves. She crossed her arms, reaching for the hem of her jersey, and drew it up and over her head. Then she pushed down the pants and kicked them to the side. Straightening, she met his stare head on, bared to him but for the lacy black thong.

Heartbeat.

"Fuuuuck," he hissed, his eyes roaming over her skin.

Her nipples reacted, hardening under his burning gaze. The man's ability to create heat from across the room was astounding.

He still hadn't moved.

It was a test, she realized, to see if she'd follow orders. Well, she could be just as stubborn as he was. She kept her mouth shut and waited, growing hotter and hotter with each passing second. But he probably knew that.

Finally, he closed the distance between them, and his hand reached out to brush across her backside as he circled behind her. "Nice ass." The gentle caress ended with a sharp slap, sending a sting across her left butt cheek.

With a yelp, she ripped her head around. "Hey!"

There was a flash of dimples. "Just kidding." Next thing she knew, he was pulling out the hair clip, sending the still-damp tresses tumbling down her back. "I prefer your hair down."

Suddenly he lifted his head, like a dog catching a scent, and checked out the room for the first time. "Wow. I feel like I'm in a cloud."

The rug, the bed, the comforter, the walls, everything was white. "I find its simplicity calming," she explained on a whisper.

"Is it?" Biceps flexed and squeezed up thick as he reached to the back of his neck to grab hold of the plain black tee's collar. He bent a little at the waist to peel it off, the curl of his upper body causing the latent power to rise and shift through the hard muscles of his back, his stomach, his arms.

Oh. My. God. She froze and couldn't stop staring. Her imagination had not done him justice.

After tossing the shirt, he moved in close, and she reached up to touch his chest but pulled back at the last second, wondering if it was against the rules.

"No, touch me," he murmured, grabbing her hand and placing it over his heart. "This is what I mean. No inhibitions."

He shut his eyes and tilted his head back as she made full use of the all-access pass, running her palm across his nipple, over to the valley between the slopes of his pecs, skirting the chain of his dog tags down to his abs. The groan that came out of him was more like a rumble rising from somewhere deep in his chest. Encouraged by both his words and his reaction, she went farther still, hooking a finger into the waistband of his jeans and giving them a little tug.

When she leveled her stare, he was looking right at her.

"Get on the bed, Robbie," he gritted. "Let's put that calming theory to the test, shall we?"

END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Aaarrgghh🥴 just when it was just getting good, right? A different kind of cliffhanger 😜

Do you think Robbie is biting off more than she can chew? Oh, stop, you know what I mean🤪

Dedicated to @houlem01 for attacking my chapters with a spray ✨♥️✨♥️✨♥️of votes and emojis. You are a 📚 👸🏻 ♥️ 💪 supporter 😘

All votes ⭐️and comments 🗣are very much appreciated