Picking up a pen, I click it against my desktop. The sound ricochets through my office, just like the thoughts of Lincoln ping around in my skull.
I’m a twisted mess. My body is on fire for this man. My brain is on high alert. My heart is desperate to feel the warmth and giddiness of having a man in my life.
“It can’t be him,” I whisper, rolling the pen against my stapler. “I can’t do this with him.”
“You can’t do what with whom?”
My head snaps to the doorway where my boss, Gretchen, stands. She’s looking at me curiously.
“Good afternoon,” I say, folding my hands in front of me like I have nothing to hide. “How are you today?”
“Today, I’m curious. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Uh-huh.” She enters my office and places a set of files in front of me. “Take a look at these when you can. It’s the proposed budget. It’s a mess, Danielle. If this passes, I fear for our program.”
“I really don’t see how they can cut us back that sharply. This hospital is known, in part, because of this program. Don’t they realize we can’t provide the services we do without money?”
“It seems not.”
“I’ll go over this in a bit,” I promise. “I have a few emails to get through and a scheduling issue for next week, then I’ll give it a quick look.”
With a nod and a half-hearted smile, she bustles out. I’m logging back in to my computer when a knock at the door pulls my attention away.
Lincoln looks almost edible in a pair of loose-fitting black shorts and a long-sleeved, grey t-shirt. A silver watch sits around his thick wrist, adding a touch of sophistication to his otherwise casual appearance.
Kill. Me. Now.
“Hey,” he drawls, his rich, Southern accent pummeling me.
“Hey,” I say.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
He waltzes in like he owns the place. Every movement is so fluid, so graceful, that I can only imagine what he’s like when he’s moving over me. Beneath me. Behind me.
When I look at him with flushed cheeks, he smirks. “What were you thinking?”
“That you weren’t supposed to be here today,” I deflect.
He sits across from me after swinging the door shut. His feet are shoulder-width apart, his arms resting on the sides of the chair. “I forgot.”
“You did not,” I laugh. “You just do whatever you want.”
He leans forward, his elbows now on his knees. He peers at me from across my desk, his eyes a potent mix of greens and blues. “Trust me when I say I don’t just do whatever I want.”
“You do,” I shrug. “You figure out a way to get your way.”
“If I had my way, you’d be lying on your desk with your ankles wrapped around my back right now, making all those sexy little sounds that I can’t get out of my head.”
I want to look away from him. I should. But he holds me in place with his gaze, steadying me even when I feel like I’m on the cusp of falling apart.
“Have dinner with me this weekend.”
“That doesn’t sound like a question.”