“Just a second!” he calls from inside, and I hear soft footsteps. The chain lock rattles, and he opens the door. He looks . . . so casually sexy.

  He’s wearing olive green sweatpants that are hiked up at the ankles, showing his bare feet. I have never once considered a man’s feet sexy. Mostly, I just thank their mothers for teaching them to trim their nails and scrub between their toes. But Daniel being barefoot feels intimate somehow. He’s also wearing an athletic cut black T-shirt that highlights his biceps. I’ve rarely gotten a peek at those, usually only seeing him in business wear. It’s probably a good thing too, because I’m tempted to bite one to test its firmness right now, and that would be hella awkward during a board meeting.

  “Tiffany,” he says, and I watch as his eyebrows jump in surprise at seeing me at his door. But I also don’t miss how his eyes track quickly down my body and back up. No, I don’t think I misread anything last night, and the small victory gives me the adrenalin I need.

  I don’t wait for an invitation. I simply push my way inside and head to the bathroom as I say over my shoulder, “You took care of the car, so I’m here to take care of the bathroom. Sorry again.”

  He follows me down the hallway, arguing with me the whole way. Hopefully, with his eyes unconsciously going to my ass. I swish it back and forth a little extra just in case.

  “That’s not necessary,” he says, but I don’t slow down. “Clara comes to clean this week, and I don’t use this bathroom anyway.”

  Reasonable, logical arguments that I completely ignore. I open the door and take a look inside, leveling him with a raised eyebrow of disapproval.

  “Please tell me you clean up before Clara comes?” I ask, intending to set him off-balance. At the same time, I’m pulling cleaners from my bucket and getting my plan of attack ready for this room. I might’ve only sullied the shower in here, but I intend to clean it all. And after that, I’m hitting up the tub in the main bathroom too.

  “What?”

  Poor thing, he looks so confused at the question. I tsk and pop the top on my bottle of cleaner before adding a half-bucketful of hot water from the detachable showerhead.

  “Why would I clean before she comes to clean?”

  Another mostly reasonable question, but not valid for my purposes. “Really?” I reply, giving him a look of disappointment and continue my attack, on both the bathroom and Daniel. “I see we have much to discuss.”

  While the hot water cools a little, I attack the mirror with a flurry of foamy blue vinegary goodness, working in tight circles until every bit of it is spotless, streak-free, and probably antiseptic.

  Daniel stands in the doorway, watching from under furrowed brows as I make him wait for an explanation. It’s sort of cool, knowing that this powerful, in-control man is in the palm of my hand.

  And maybe later, I can really have a certain part of him in the palm of my hand.

  Slow down, libido.

  When the mirror and sink are done, I turn, bending forward to scrub the toilet. I can definitely say that I have never considered toilet scrubbing as one of my best methods of flirting, but apparently, I was sorely mistaken because as soon as I turn my yoga-pants-covered ass Daniel’s way, I hear his sharp intake of breath.

  I’d like to thank the ruching on my pants. Who would’ve thought an extra line of stitching would be the thing to put me over that edge?

  My lips twitch as I fight my smile of victory and practice my award ceremony speech.

  You haven’t won yet, girl, I tell myself.

  “You pre-clean so she doesn’t think you’re making donut-laced alcohol moonshine in your bathroom,” I finally answer his question. “You want Elliot Ness kicking in your door?”

  I glance up into the mirror, but he’s already forgotten what we were talking about and is fully hypnotized by my ass. He’s sporting a vacant look of wonder I don’t think he’d recognize even if I took a picture and showed him his own expression.

  “Huh?” he says.

  “The cleaning service,” I fill in for him. “The Untouchables?”

  He nods, coming out of his trance momentarily as his brain tries to function well enough to follow the conversation. Except that’s not what I want, so I go back to cleaning, humming to myself as I ‘let’ my ass start swaying back and forth.

  When the toilet is done, I pull out the big guns and sink to my knees by the shower, my butt resting on my heels. “Let me just do this so I can salvage what’s left of my dignity. Please?”

  Oh, he liked that last bit. His eyes are practically dilated at this point. “No salvaging necessary. I’m glad I was able to help when you needed me.”

  Does his voice sound a bit rough or is that my imagination? Unfortunately, his sweats are baggy enough that I can’t quite tell if I’ve had that much of an effect on him.

  “Me too,” I admit honestly. Playing my advantages, I watch as his eyes fix on my lips as I lick them lightly before smiling.

  The stall is spotless already, testimony to Clara’s good work, but I attack it anyway. “Give me a minute, and then you can get on with whatever you have planned,” I tell him, getting to my feet to wipe the pole the adjustable height showerhead is on. Okay, so it only slightly looks like I’m giving the shower a hand job.

  How is that my fault? I don’t intend for it to look that way. It’s just got to be cleaned, you know?

  As I rinse down the cleanser, I can feel Daniel’s eyes on me.

  “There. All good.” I stand and step toward the sink, getting closer to Daniel. I half-expect him to jump back, but he holds his ground.

  Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

  I might be younger and less worldly than Daniel is, but in this instance, I’m the spider weaving a complex and pretty web, and he’s the handsome fly I intend to seduce. Wiping my hands on the clean towel I brought with me, I look him up and down clearly for the first time, giving him a smile.

  “What are you doing today?” I gesture to his casual sweatpants and T-shirt with a pale, slightly pruned finger. “And please tell me it’s not work.” I already know that’s exactly what he planned today, but the tiny hint of begging in my tone is another test so I can check for his reaction.

  He smiles, his teeth flashing white as he laughs lightly. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Nothing exciting. I’ve been working all morning and figured I’d take a break to go for a run and then eat a prepared dinner from the service that does my meals.”

  Brilliance strikes me like a lightning bolt, and I know my next move. I forget about the tub in the other bathroom and go for the opportunity he’s unknowingly offered.

  Drying my hands off, I hum in acknowledgement and then lift my right arm over my head, bending to the side. “All right, give me one minute to stretch and then I’m ready.”

  Daniel’s eyebrows jump up his forehead again, an expression I’m coming to enjoy expertly pulling out of him. “Uh . . . ready for what?”

  I lean the other way, my left arm over my head. “You have to stretch before you run to warm your muscles up,” I explain, doing a couple of lunges right there in the bathroom with Daniel blocking nearly the whole doorway. “Especially me. My calves are like knots sometimes from wearing heels all the time.”

  He’s still looking at me like I’m speaking gibberish and have suddenly broken out into interpretive dance.

  “Get your shoes. Warm up so we can go,” I instruct him expectantly. “Last thing you need is to pull a hammy.”

  With a smile, I push past him again, enjoying the momentary touch of our bodies. Did he feel that zing of electricity the way I did? I sure as hell hope so.

  From behind me, I hear Daniel call out, “You run?”

  Well . . . not usually. But I do today.

  I mean, I don’t not run. But I’m betting running outside is a lot different from the thirty minutes I occasionally do on the treadmill at the gym with zero incline.

  “Yes, we can take one of my usual routes.”

  Of course, I don’t have a usual route. What I have is insider information that Daniel is a runner and a slight obsession with details and plans, so I looked up common run routes in the city long ago, mostly in the hopes of seeing him out and about sometime.

  And now, my research is paying off.

  I quickly scroll through my mental list and choose one near his house that promises pretty scenery and frequent park benches that I can sit on to adjust my shoes—and catch my breath—if I need to. Which I probably will.

  “You ready?”

  He blinks, confusion warring with want in the depths of his eyes. He’s thinking about working up a sweat, all right . . . but not one that involves shoes. Or clothes, maybe?

  A girl can dream and hope. And for sure, fantasize!

  As we go into the living room, a stack of papers on the coffee table catches his attention.

  “Oh, no,” I chastise, “work will be here when you get back, because if I’m guessing, you’ve been sitting there most of the day already. Am I right?”

  I swear to everything that is holy on the face of the Earth, Daniel Stryker blushes. I wouldn’t have thought it possible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but his tanned cheeks have a decidedly pink tint to them.

  “Maybe,” he says slowly, and I know I’m right on target.

  “Then let’s do it. You need this.” I twirl my finger in a circle, indicating that he should hurry up. I think that’s the key with him. Daniel Stryker is a man who calculates every move he takes twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year.

  To get to his ooey, gooey center means I have to squeeze into the tiny moments he doesn’t have planned out with plans of my own. And like water seeping into the cracks in a mountainside rock face and then freezing, I plan on breaking at least a few of his workaholic habits.

  Not all of them. But a few.

  He laughs and shakes his head, but he does turn to head down the hallway, leaving me in the living room alone.

  “You’d best be getting your shoes on!” I call after him.

  “Socks first!” he calls back, and I do a wiggly-kneed victory dance, thankful he can’t see me right now. “And give me a second to change into some shorts!”

  Now that’s interesting. I consider following him, my feet even taking an unconscious step that way, but it’s too soon for that. Not for me. He could take me to his bedroom right this second, and I’d willingly and happily run there. I’d look like the Road Runner, with a cloud of dust around feet that have never moved so fast.

  But it’s too soon for him. He’s too unsure of me and of himself with me.

  Time and some gentle surety from me will fix that.

  A moment later, he shows up with his shoes on, the same black T-shirt, and a pair of red shorts. Yes! Score one for Team Me.

  “Okay, let’s go, I guess,” Daniel says, still sounding stunned that he’s going along with this even as he does it. But as he opens the door for me to exit, I can smell the cologne he spritzed as he put his shoes on.

  It’s subtle and comforting. Sexy as hell.

  “Mmm, you smell good,” I say quietly, leaning in to take a delicate sniff. “I was going to bring your clothes back. I washed them and everything, with the best of intentions, I promise. But then I slept in your shirt again last night, so it’s basically mine now.”

  I hope he’s imagining me in his shirt and nothing else, which is exactly what I wore to bed last night after our dinner not-yet-a-date. “But if you promise to give it back, maybe I’ll bring it over so you can spray some of that on it?”

  I shrug like the suggestion is no big deal and smile innocently as he groans low in his throat.

  “No? Okay, but I’m still sleeping in it.”

  With that decided, I bounce on my toes, running in place. And maybe doing just a bit of happy bouncy-bouncy with what I’ve got.

  “Ready?”

  He lets me take the lead, and I guide him to the flattish path through the park. I know I’m going slower than he usually does, but in a total nod to how good a guy Daniel is, he pulls back his pace to stay even with me. The slower speed suits the park, which is tree-lined and picturesque and filled with families topping off their weekend with a few more minutes of playtime.

  About a third of the way into the path, we reach a gentle, smooth, and wide dirt path that follows a river, adding a refreshing breeze to our run, and our steps become softer. I’m glad because my feet are starting to sting a little. As I suspected, slapping my feet down on concrete is quite different from a treadmill.

  “Hey,” I ask as we come up on a shallow rise in the bank, “think we can take a short break?”

  Daniel, who by this point must’ve figured out that I’m not a habitual runner, cuts me some slack. “Sure. Top of the hill’s got a great view.”

  I look to where he’s pointing, measuring the distance compared to the lack of oxygen in my lungs. “Okay . . . I think I can make it,” I huff, following him. I might’ve been exaggerating my capabilities, but this part is quite motivating because running behind Daniel means the view is spectacular. His calves are pumped and his ass is round and grabbable, but I keep my hands to myself. Mostly because if I reach out, I’ll probably face plant, and my pride cannot withstand another hit.

  When we get to the top, there’s a bench, and I lean on the back gratefully as I breathe deeply. Or gasp for air. Tomayto, tomahto.

  “Stand up and put your hands on your head,” Daniel instructs, barely breathing heavily.

  I’d rather not move, but I do as he says, standing up and lifting my arms. I’m rewarded with additional oxygen, but the real treat is that Daniel is looking at me with care, obviously concerned but more than a little distracted by the lift this pose gives my breasts.

  Once I’m breathing easily again, I sit down on the bench. It’s nice when Daniel sits down next to me, watching the river.

  “We used to come here to play,” Daniel says after a moment, and I follow his eyes to our left, where a family is playing by the edge of the river. “Elle used to love to ‘go fishing’. Not real fishing, of course. Elle didn’t want to hurt the fish. But she had a stick that was her pole, a length of string, and I bought a real bobber to put on it. Took a little playing with a small weight at the end, but I got it to work.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Maybe six or seven at the time,” Daniel says, sighing. “Long ago. Sometimes it seems like only yesterday that it was only me and Elle, and now she’s got a baby of her own. Hard to reconcile that.”

  I nod in understanding, but I’ve got a bit of a different point of view on things. “She’s all grown up, trust me. I know how much of a juvenile delinquent she was and how narrowly she escaped death a time or two, but she’s definitely a different person now. We’re all adults here.”

  It’s a baby step reminder to cut off one of the arguments I know is already playing out in his mind. “And Elle wants us all to be as happy as she and Colton are.”

  I’m planting a seed with my comment, hoping it takes root. But while I’m not exactly blessed with a green thumb, any plant-momma will tell you that seeds don’t grow overnight. They have to be treated with TLC, watered and fed, and gently pruned to be their best.

  I want that with Daniel . . . even if that means things get thorny at some point.

  “Come on, let’s finish our run. I’m feeling better, so I think I can even up the pace a bit if you can?” It’s a hollow challenge at best, but one I know he’ll take.

  His eyes narrow as he scans me. “I think I can probably go a little faster.”

  It might be my imagination, but I’m not entirely sure he’s talking about our run pace anymore.

  Shit, I hope that’s true because I’m ready to go as fast as Cammie does—right back to his place, where I can tackle him to the bed and have my way with him.

  We take off back toward his condo, and I push myself until I’m breathing hard again, but it feels better this time. Less erratic gasping and more measured with my footfalls.

  As we approach the building, and without a word of warning, I take off in a sprint. “Beat you inside,” I call back, grinning. I’m pleased with myself for about two seconds before fast footsteps slap the ground behind me as Daniel catches up faster than I expected. But I get the win, reaching forward to touch the door a half-step ahead of him.

  “You play dirty,” he teases, not winded at all as he jogs by my side.

  “Yep,” I pant out.

  “Then you should learn to stick to your bets,” he teases, suddenly placing his hand over mine on the handle and yanking the door open. He pauses, a glint in his eyes, giving me the second I need to replay exactly what I said.

  Fuck! I said, ‘beat you inside’, not to the door or building.

  I think he’s going to let me win and go to take a step inside, but he cuts me off to hop inside the building first. “I win.”

  I glare at him standing just inside the doorway, his little ‘happy wiggle’ one part cute and two parts annoying. “Huh, I really thought I was gonna get you there at the end,” I say accusingly. “For someone who said I played dirty, that was a dirty trick.”

  Luckily, I’ve got some tricks of my own. I implement one I’ve already used with some success, putting my hands on my head with my elbows splayed wide to give my lungs room to stretch out again and taking a few deep breaths.

  Daniel laughs but notices and sobers before saying huskily, “I didn’t say that I don’t play dirty too.”

  Ah, hell, maybe I’m not the spider?

  Either way, spider or fly, things just got a lot dirtier and a lot more interesting.

  Chapter 7

  Daniel

  Heading into the office on Mondays is usually a simple part of my routine—wake up, hit the gym for a quick round of weights, chug a green smoothie for breakfast, dress in a suit, and drive to the office.

  Once at work, I’ll have a full schedule of meetings, conference calls, and contracts to review as I watch the markets and follow what’s trending in businesses around the globe. All of those things are on my agenda for today too, but somehow, it feels different as I walk into the building from my front-row VIP spot in the lot.