“I need practice.” Sara realized how stupid the words sounded the minute they left her mouth, but the damage was done. She stood in the doorway to Warrick’s office. It occurred to her she’d spent a lot of energy trying to avoid his office. She seemed to be doing a crap job of that one lately.
Warrick looked up at her. “You do?” He’d undone his tie, leaving it hanging loosely around his neck. The effect was ridiculously hot. She had to refocus before she lost her nerve.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He looked at her, but didn’t say more, and she realized she was going to need to spell it out.
“Just, you know. I mean….” She waved her hand in the air as though that might magically make him understand. “Just you know, hanging out. And like, well, like you know.”
“Do I?” He quirked a brow. The man shouldn’t be so sexy. Hand to God, it was just not fair.
“Yes. You do.” She folded her arms and leveled him with a look of her own. He knew damned well what she meant. And, no, she wouldn’t spell it out for him.
He answered her with a laugh. “I do. I just wanted to hear you say it.”
“No sex.” She blurted this little tidbit out then wanted to crawl under a table or behind a chair or something. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and swore under her breath. She was a veteran for crying out loud. She didn’t blush.
“So, not a date?”
She raised her chin a hair, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. Really, on the inside, there was a hell of a lot of squirming going on. “No. Not a date. No sex. Maybe kissing. But no sex.”
He gave her a long look but she forced herself to stand still when she really wanted to turn and run. She held her ground while he watched her.
The next words that came out of his mouth shocked the hell out of her and took away any hope she’d had of doing this without squirming.
His voice was deep and sexy in that octave that said he was thinking about taking her clothes off. “I’m not sure I can do that, Sara.”
She inhaled slowly, then nodded. Did that mean what she thought it meant? Technically, he’d said no. Sort of. But he’d said it in a way that seemed to say he wanted to put his hands on her. The memory of those hands on her came flying back and she was sure now she was flushed. And squirming. She nodded again and turned way, high tailing it back to her own office where things were safe. Where she didn’t feel like she’d just flung herself out of a plane with a doily and some duct tape for a chute.
An hour later, she sat staring at her computer screen, still replaying the scene in her head. She’d really, really wanted that to go differently.
A knock on the door had her looking up. Carl, the teenager who worked in the mailroom three afternoons a week, didn’t take his headphones off as he handed her an interoffice envelope. She took the envelope, waiting until he’d left to open it.
A single sheet of paper with a handwritten note. Saturday. 7 pm. Not a date.