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That sounded like a challenge, and he was never one to back down.

“It’s a deal,” Sam said, and shook her hand across the table.

And that was probably a big mistake.

Her hand was smaller than his and very warm from the fire. He let go a half second after he should have, and he hoped that she didn’t notice.

Because he shouldn’t be having these feelings about someone who worked for him. It wasn’t professional, for Christ’s sake. He needed to remember that he signed her paycheck.

Then he made the second mistake of the evening.

Over dinner, they talked. It only made him like her more.

They talked about her first apartment, which had a bathtub in the kitchen. They talked about the four books he’d bought on Newbury Street and whether he would ever read any of them.

She got him to admit he had opinions about competitive baking shows, and then would not let it go. He found himself defending a stranger named Deborah’s choice of a lemon curd filling with more heat than the subject required. Alli laughed so hard that the couple at the next table looked over.

The fire put out real warmth. The wine was good, and the food excellent.

And the table?

The table was small. That was the trouble. Mistake number three. Choosing this restaurant where they didn’t have much personal space between them.

Their knees brushed, unintentionally, but the result was the same. A streak of heat coursed through his body that he had no business feeling at all. When she reached for the bread at the same time he did, their fingers touched briefly, and they both pulled back quickly as if they’d been singed by an open flame. They both apologized, but it only added to the awkwardness between them.

Sam had never been this aware of a woman in his entire life. He wasn’t a saint, and he hadn’t lived like a monk, but the way his hormones were acting, it was as if he’d never been around the opposite sex at all. He’d been so busy working, however, that romantic entanglements had been low on his priority list. For the most part, he’d kept it casual.

But without a shadow of a doubt, he knew this wouldn’t be casual. They weren’t going to be friends-with-benefits or have a quick roll in the sack because they were both out of town and the rules didn’t apply in another zip code.

If he gave in to temptation, and nothing she’d said or done had overtly invited him to do so, it would mean something.

Because she meant something. He wasn’t just attracted to Alli; he liked and respected her, too. And wasn’t that the biggest problem he had?

Allison meant something to him. He didn’t know how it had happened. Hell, it had snuck up on him without much fanfare, but there the truth was, in all its glory. He cared about her, and it wasn’t convenient in the least.

She was feeling something, too. Whether the tension was because she felt the same or that she didn’t know how to tell her boss to back the hell off, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he was out there on a limb all by himself, but he couldn’t be certain. If Frankie were here, he might ask her for advice, but he was on his own tonight.

Eventually, he paid the bill, and they headed back to the hotel. It was a chilly night, and Alli was rubbing her hands together to keep them warm. Pulling his gloves from his pocket, he offered them to her.

“You’re freezing. Take these.”

“Then you’ll be cold.”

“I wasn’t even using them. I’m used to the cold. I lived here for a while. Go ahead,” he urged. “Take them.”

“I’m more worried about my feet,” she confessed. “These shoes were a mistake. My feet are icicles, and they weren’t made for walking.”

“Take my arm,” he said, holding out his elbow. “We don’t need you falling and hurting yourself.”

The look on her face was fascinating as she seemed to weigh up the wisdom of letting him help her. She was definitely the type of woman who liked to be independent, and having to hold onto his arm probably wasn’t an idea she relished.

After a moment, she took his arm, her fingers warm even through the thick material of his jacket.

Mistake number four of the evening. Taking her arm. Now they were walking even more closely together, their bodies brushing with every step. By the time they got to the hotel, he was going to be a mess. This woman had somehow managed to tie him in knots, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat.

But he needed to be the voice of reason here. He was in charge. This was a business trip, not a romantic getaway. They weren’t a couple. She was employed by his firm, and that made all of this wrong.

Oh, so very wrong.