"If you're looking for tension relief, I suggest you sign up for yoga."

He laughed. "I'd rather have sex."

"Then find a date."

"I'd rather have sex with you."

"You're not my type."

"What type is that?"

"You thrive on being bad and edgy."

"Hey, I'm as nice as the next guy."

"Only if you're standing next to Colin Farrell or Sean Penn. You are so far from being a sensitive guy

that you make the Rock look like a pussycat."

"You exaggerate."

"Do I? Let's see. How often do you buy women flowers?"

"Flowers?"

"Yes, you know. Those things that grow in gardens and are given as gifts."

He couldn't remember the last time he had given a woman flowers. Truth was, he couldn't remember ever

giving a woman flowers. "Maybe I don't do the flower thing," he said, a tad on the defensive side, "but I've doled out my share of jewelry."

"What was the occasion?"

When he remembered, he swore he might have blushed.

"A parting gift?" she asked disdainfully. "Appreciation for a really great night of inventive sex?"

"Hey, I'm not here to talk about me."

"You started it."

"Then now I'm stopping it."

"Too late. Do you own a sports jacket or pair of khaki pants?"

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"You said you weren't a bad boy. I'm testing that. Sports coat? Khaki pants?" she prompted.

"I've got a sports jacket."

"One? For emergencies? And the pants?"

He glowered.

"I won't even ask if you have ever worn any sort of pleated pants. You probably don't even know what

a pleat is."

He glanced down at her skirt. "Believe me, I'm very aware of pleats-or I was until you went off on

your little lecture."

"See, you have a one-track mind."

"And that is?"

"Sex. All you care about is sex."

"And you don't?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Go away." She humphed.

Instead he stood and pushed her swivel chair back from the desk with her in it. Then he stepped in front of her. Reaching out, he grasped her arms and pulled her up.

"I'm not sure in what country Go away means Grab me out of my chair."

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tugged her close until her body lined his. The soft cashmere made her breasts even more of a mindblower than the tight Lycra had. High, soft nipples distended.

He wanted to touch and suck. Heat slid between his legs.

Her lips parted, pink and full, and he saw desire flash in her eyes. He could tell she was fighting a battle with herself. The need to flee doing hand-to-hand combat with the need to satisfy the itch they both felt.

He slid his arms around her, gathering her close.

She made a sound, part start of surprise, part purr of pleasure. When he kissed her neck, she shuddered with the passion he knew burned barely contained just beneath the surface of her donned propriety.

He kissed her ear, trailing across to her temple, then hairline. Then back to her neck, where he sucked with gentle pressure. Finally she gave in and slid her arms around him with a moan, her hands slipping down the muscles on either side of his spine.

Her head fell back, allowing him better access to her neck. They didn't bother kissing anymore. They searched for skin, each seeking. He pulled up the sweater top and felt a swift spear of heat at the knowledge that at least underneath she hadn't resorted to prim. She wore a sheer violet bra that hooked in front. He could see her nipples through the gauzy material.

He cupped her breasts, pushing them high, running his thumbs along the tender skin. The sensation of material between her nipples and his thumbs made her moan again, low and throaty.

"Yes," she whispered when he unsnapped the bra.

Leaning down, he kissed her on the full mounds, getting closer and closer to the peaks, but holding back.

She groaned in frustration when his lips came to the very edge of her nipple, then stopped.

"Damn you," she whispered.

He chuckled, and only then took her deep in his mouth.

He sucked and pulled to the rhythm of her panting breath. First one breast, then the next. She ran her fingernails down his back, making him arch closer.

It was like she had been holding on to prim until she couldn't take it any longer, then all the wild came rushing out of her. His arousal pressed against his jeans, and she boldly reached down between their bodies and cupped him.

This time the wild broke through him. When she tugged at the 501's fastenings, he groaned. And when she reached inside, she curled her fingers around his dick.

"God," he managed, gulping air.

His jeans fell down around his thighs, then lower, and he kicked them away. He wrapped his hand around hers, making her grip him tighter. Dragging in a ragged breath, he moved her hand on him until she found the rhythm. When she cupped his balls, a hard, driving sensation ran through him, and he knew he couldn't take much more. Reaching down for the hem of her schoolgirl skirt, he ran his hands underneath. Awareness burned through him at the feel of the same sort of wispy material of her thong. It wouldn't take more than one sharp tug and it'd be gone.

Her butt was round and elegantly firm, and he pressed his erection into her. She clung to him like she was starving for intimacy. He didn't think about consequences. He didn't think about his wound and that maybe he was pushing too quickly, yet again. He couldn't have turned back then if he wanted to. In that second he would have gladly spent another night in the hospital if it meant that first he could slip hard and deep inside her.

He wanted her. He couldn't think of anything else but having her. He ripped her sweater off, then cupped her fullness at the same moment she palmed his sack.

In some distant recess of his mind, he became aware of the doorbell ringing. His brain registered that fact, but then she squeezed him gently and a shock went through him like an electrical current, making it hard to care.

"Don't answer it," he commanded gruffly.

He pinched her nipples, and suddenly she didn't seem any more interested in answering it than he did.

It rang again.

"They'll go away," he added.

Either the sound wasn't registering with her at all or she agreed, because she let the straps of her bra fall down her arms before the slip of violet gauze drifted to the floor.

Triumph and pleasure roared through him. Holding her, bringing her body to life, made the wound and everything that had led up to it fade to the back of his mind. He wanted relief. Though he knew he didn't deserve it.

Closing his eyes, he held her tightly, burying his face in her neck, reveling at the feel of her breasts pressed against him and the silken brush of her hair.

But all of a sudden she stiffened.

"Miss Julia? Where are you?"

He wrenched up at the same moment her eyes went wide.

"Oh, my gosh! I forgot Zelda!"

Julia scrambled for her clothes. When she tried to fumble into her bra, she couldn't get it snapped.

With calm efficiency, Ben moved her hands away and had her snapped up in seconds. Then she slapped at his hands.

"Get dressed," she demanded.

"I will. But you've got to get out there and distract her while I do."