"I want to lick your nipples until you..."
Kindra jumped in her swivel seat as a low voice spoke over her shoulder.
Please don't let that be who she thought it was.
She turned. It was. "Ohmigod. Mack!"
"Whipping the mouse around on her desktop, she tried frantically to close the e-mail that was up on her computer screen. The dirty e-mail from her cyber partner, Russ. The dirty e-mail that was being read by her real live crush and coworker, Mack Stone.
God, where was the minimize button?
"Come like a rocket, hot and wet..." Mack's amused voice trailed off. "What is this?"
"Spam," she managed to say, a sweat breaking out under her white blouse and black jacket. "I get all kinds of junk e-mail."
Kindra clicked the close button as Mack's finger touched the screen.
"Then why does it have your name on it?"
"I don't think it did," she lied without compunction. There was no way she was admitting to Mack "different girlfriend every week" Stone, that she had been engaging in a cyber-affair.
"Yes, it did," he insisted.
Annoyed, she looked over her shoulder at him and gritted her teeth at his total and utter perfection. Why? Why did she have to spend every day for eight hours looking at this paragon of masculinity? From his short black hair, past the strong jaw, down to the broad chest and gorgeous pecs covered in GQ-inspired clothing, and continuing on down_ lower, he was perfect.
And very out of her league.
She glared at him, willing him to back away from her chair and take his arousing aftershave scent with him.
A grin spread out across his face, showing off perfect white teeth. He probably never even got cavities. "Kindra Hill, are you having cybersex? I never would have guessed."
Her impulse was to just push him out of the way and run down the hall and hide in the ladies' room until he left the building. But that hadn't worked in ninth grade when Tommy Slade had pantsed her in front of her geometry class, and she didn't think it would work now.
Two choices here. Deny. Or brazen it out.
Being a proverbial wallflower, she had never brazened anything out in her life. It was time to try.
Taking a deep breath to gather some courage, she said, "So what if I am?"
Okay, what was meant to sound seductive came out defensive. She sounded like a bitter divorcee who goes through a vibrator battery a week.
His ice blue eyes went wide. "Then I'd say there's more to you than meets the eye."
Then he shook his head, clearly curious. "But I figure, why talk about it online, when you can be doing it live and in person?"
Yeah, if she had him to do it with. But Kindra's choices had never been so appealing. After a few mishaps that had ranged from yawn inspiring to borderline gruesome, she had decided she was better off snuggling up with the blue light on her computer screen every night.
"It's easier this way... safer, cleaner," she mumbled. Then she straightened up and turned back to her computer, on the verge of collapsing from mortification. Had she said that out loud?
She had. Mack leaned over her, his hot breath tickling across her ear. His tie fell forward and brushed against the back of her hair, sending a shiver through her.
"But it's so much more fun the old-fashioned way."
"Sometimes. And sometimes it's messy and complicated and just plain lousy." She gave a shrug that was meant to be worldly and nonchalant, as if she'd sampled men aplenty and found them all lacking. Instead she managed to clip him in the chin.
He grunted. "I think you're wrong."
"I don't care." She scooted forward, away from him. Hint, hint, take it please. Go away and take your hot bod with you.
"I can prove it to you."
She froze. He couldn't possibly mean... no. Mack Stone had never given her the time of day before.
But if he did mean that, did she want to take him up on it? Her head said of course not, you naive and greedy slut. Her inner thighs had an altogether different answer, one that had her pantyhose turning into a mini-oven.
He wasn't serious though.
"I'm serious," he said.
Help.
Kindra opened her mouth, knowing full well her brain had ceased to exist and her crotch was in complete control.
"What kind of proof are you talking about?"
She fought the urge to clap a hand over her mouth.
Now she'd done it.
He'd think she was actually interested.
Which, of course, she was.
But she shouldn't let him know that.
Mack was still leaning over her. He said in a low voice laced with amusement, "I think you know what kind of proof I'm talking about."