He repeats, "I won't do that to you ever again . . . unless "

Yes? I will him to say it.

"Unless . . . you want me to." He lets it trail, his expression hopeful.

What do I want?

That's the trouble. I don't know what I want. I want him to kiss me again, to hold me, to explore me, to make me feel desired and wanted and a million other wonderful things that a man can do to a woman. But at the same time, I want him to fall in love with me while he's doing all that something I don't believe he's capable of.

I want us to start a normal relationship. I want to be the one. His one.

But I don't think he's capable of that either. I would be merely one of his 'friends with fringe benefits'. Adult dating, that's what he calls it. s.e.x that is purely physical the hollow and vacant form that fulfills the Id but not the soul.

He says, "Do you want me to?"

His face is guarded. He knows he's treading on dangerous territory, crossing into the boundaries of boss-employee relationships. One false move on his part, and I can construe it to be s.e.xual hara.s.sment.

I swallow.

"I need to know something," I say.

"Yes. Anything."

"Your PA before me. The one with the red hair. What happened between the two of you?" I know I'm getting bolder in asking this, but I need to know.

He doesn't flinch. "We were friends too. Well, at least in my definition. I never coerced her or anything. It was consensual. Then she wanted more . . . and I couldn't give that to her either."

Yes, I suspected as much. My heart is sinking.

I say, "And so she went away."

"Yes. She went away. Put in her resignation and stayed because her contract required her to until I got a replacement."

I digest this.

Do I really want to be the next PA in a long line of previous PAs to give themselves to him, only to succ.u.mb by falling in love with him without the hope of him ever reciprocating?

Maybe I'm thinking too hard with my head. Every fiber of me aches to have him hold me, to ravage my mouth as he has ravaged it before. How can such an overpowering desire be so wrong, even if it's destined to end up in disappointment?

He takes one step closer to me. My feet are rooted to the spot.

"Elizabeth," he says urgently, "I want you. And I know you want me too. We have something real between us here and we owe it to each other to give ourselves up to explore it. Just do one thing for me."

"What?" I say, trembling.

"Kiss me. Kiss me, and then tell me if you don't feel something. If you don't feel anything, I'll walk away and leave you alone forever. We can go back to being employer and employee and we'll forget anything ever happened."

He takes another step closer, and he's so near now that I can feel his radiating body warmth. I can't take my eyes off his magnificent features his chiseled blade of a nose, his marvelous bone structure, his lush full lips and those melted chocolate hazel eyes that are so warm and crystalline, drawing me into their very pools.

I make a decision.

It is not with my head.

I'm the first to move into his s.p.a.ce. My lips crush against his, and he responds hungrily. There's nothing tender or sweet about our pure unadulterated pa.s.sion. It's l.u.s.t brutal and naked and raw. I'm drawn into it. No, sucked is a better word. He opens his mouth and his tongue prizes my lips open.

I've never been kissed this way before. Never.

His arms creep around my back, as do mine around his shoulders. His kiss escalates in intensity, and he's devouring my mouth now, twisting his neck to press his lips and tongue onto me in every angle possible. I'm drowning in him drowning in that kiss and his ardent touch, and I can't help but be swept away by his incredible fervor.

Ohhh.

He wants me. He really, really wants me. The thought of this virile, handsome man desiring me is combustive and exhilarating.

He comes up for air. His face is flushed and his chest rises and falls with effort.

"So," he says in a low drawl, "do you feel something?"

Do I feel something? That is understatement. Define 'feel'. Is it physical or emotional? Does the sudden moistness between my legs const.i.tute feeling something?

"I do feel something," I murmur.

He visibly relaxes.

"Then come home with me. Let me make love to you."

I feel his animal magnetism pulling me in. He has not taken his arms away from around me, and I luxuriate in his closeness and scent a musky eau d'toilette that makes me think of coupling beasts.

I whisper, "I can't. I'm a virgin."

There. The cat is out of the bag.

He leans his head to one side in a quizzical manner. "Seriously?" The corners of his mouth are beginning to crinkle.

My cheeks start to burn.

"I'm saving it for someone special." Like on my wedding night, I don't want to say.

"And I'm not special?"

"You know what I mean." I suddenly feel like a doofus. A small town girl with unnatural and archaic values in front of a big city sophisticate.

"You don't think I'll be someone special," he says softly. He nods, commiserating. "I get it."

It seems to hit him harder than I thought. My chest winces.

He says, "I have a proposition."

I hold my breath. It's uncomfortable being pressed against him, because he's so d.a.m.ned supernaturally attractive and I just want to lose myself in his kiss again.

He continues, "Why don't you try being with me . . . for seven days?"

At first, I don't think I'm hearing right. "Being with you?"

"Yes. Give me a try."

"You mean sleep with you?"

He pauses. "You're really hung up on saving it for someone special, aren't you? OK. I respect that. Yes. Be with me . . . for seven days. I'll make love to you . . . but there'll be no intercourse . . . unless you want it."

I don't believe we're having this conversation.

I back off, and he releases me from his arms, looking dismayed.

"I didn't scare you off, did I?" he says. "I meant what I said. We'll take it as far as you want to go on your terms. Anytime you tell me stop, we stop. And there'll no penetration, so you get to keep your virginity."

"What's in it for you?" My head is reeling.

"Me?" He laughs. "Are you kidding? I get to be with you. Maybe for once and for all, I get to satisfy this thing I have about you that drives me crazy. Do you know that I dream about being with you every night since I first laid eyes on you?"

I find myself shaking my head. "Coming from anyone else, I would have loved to hear that. But you don't want a real lover, as in my definition. You want another friend . . . with benefits."

"Yes. I'll admit I really want you as a friend."

"So what's this seven days trial for? For you to try me out?" I'm getting really peevish here, and more than a little mad.

"No, it's for you to try me out. To see if you want to be my lover." He nods convincingly.

This is all going wrong. My cheeks are burning. There's something wrong with the way he sees women.

"A lover without love. That's not the way I am."

I back away even further. I know I'm subconsciously backing away from his ideals, and not him. Are you kidding me? Every fiber of my body wants him physically. It's just his world vision I can't abide.

"I know. But that's the way I am." He reaches for a tendril of my hair and brushes it lovingly from my forehead. If I hadn't known he was incapable of love, I'd have thought it a loving gesture. "Just seven days, I beg of you. Just try me out . . . and if you don't want to be my friend, I'll be OK. We'll go back to this." He waves his hand around his office.

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to feel. The tornado of emotions churns in my head desire, l.u.s.t, anger, futility.

"Elizabeth," he says, "you know you want me. You know I want you. What can be so terrible about two people wanting each other desperately? For once in your life, don't think about it. Just go with what your body tells you to."

BETH.

I don't believe I said yes.

I think the ent.i.ty that said "yes" in that small but precariously wanton voice wasn't me. It was some other vampiric person who hides by daylight and comes out only when her special b.u.t.tons are pressed.

No one has ever pressed them before.

Until now.

I told myself what do I have to lose? It's not as if he's technically taking away my virginity. I will be in control. I can stop him anytime I want. I'll never be as powerful as I feel today.

At least, that's what I'm convincing myself.

Liar.

You said 'yes' because you want him to touch you all over and make you melt again.

Day One has officially started today. I feel like there are two 'me's'. One that is checking out my work timeline since the day I was hired. The other is marking this particular subset on my calendar.

The work day proceeds as normal. People come, people go. Meetings happen, meetings end. And through it all, he's cordial, smiling, polite every inch the boss that he is.

Finally, at six o'clock in the evening, a message on my Communicator pops up.

"Hi."

"Hi," I type back.

"You ready to go on our date?"

A date. Is that what he calls it?

I write: "Shouldn't I go home and change first?"

"No need. I'm cooking you dinner tonight."

"You can cook?" Color me incredulous.

"My housekeeper left us something. But she's a great cook. Meet me downstairs at my parking s.p.a.ce. Don't want people to see us walking out together, do you?"

"Certainly not."

"Good. C U."

"OK." I hesitate, then I type. "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?"

"If we're going to be doing this, please call me Beth."

My fingers ache from the frantic keyboarding, and my pulse is a wild rush at my neck. Why does he do this to me, even when he's not in the room?