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She gives me this what-the-hell look and lets out a half-laugh, half-snort. “Why?”

“Because I want you.” I don’t bother pretending. “When I want something, I make it happen.”

She starts to mumble something, looking down at her coffee cup, but her hands are shaking just the tiniest bit, and I catch it. She’s nervous, but not scared. She’s curious. Excited. I can smell it on her, like the floral perfume she wears. Goddamnit, I want to drown in that scent. “Wow. Like I’m going to make it that easy for you.” Fuck she’s adorable. She turns to me. “Look, Mr. Mercer.”

“Call me Gabe.” I need to hear my name coming from her lips.

She shakes her head. “I can’t call you Gabe.”

“Why not?”

She grumbles something about obtuse men under her breath before glaring at me and huffing out, “Because you’re my boss. Actually, you’re my boss’s boss’s boss. Duh. And I’m not falling for your caveman ‘I want you so that automatically makes you mine’ act.”

Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I haven’t felt this alive in… years. If ever. “It isn’t an act, coffee girl.” I lift her hand to my lips for a light kiss. “I’m one hundred percent dead serious. You’re mine, and I’m going to keep you.”

“Uh-huh.” She drags her hand back against her chest. “If you,” she makes quote marks with her fingers, “want me,” oh, I want her alright, so badly I have to order my cock to behave as I listen to her, “you’ll have to work for it, and don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

I watch the vein pounding at the base of her throat and realize I haven’t looked forward to anything more.

“Let the games begin,” I mutter as a plan begins to form in my mind.