As the last remaining descendant of the Bennett family, I should have been the presumptive choice for the position, but the board was increasingly skeptical that a thirty-year-old woman should take the helm. My great uncle, Archer Bennett, was the current executive director, and was also open to the idea of considering outside candidates for the position. His one concession to the fact that I was family: he’d given me a shot to prove myself by overseeing the fundraising, planning, and construction of the new headquarters.

If I couldn’t complete that project on schedule and on budget, I was as good as out of the running. It wouldn’t matter that this error on the deed was in no way my fault; it would only matter that I hadn’t caught it before the architect drew up the plans. In Archer Bennett’s eyes, shit didn’t roll downhill. Anything that went wrong on my watch was on me. I didn’t disagree with his outlook, but it also meant that if I didn’t get Con to donate the property, I was screwed.

God. When he’d asked if I’d do anything for this project, my entire body had frozen, as though waiting for his verdict. What would I have done if he’d told me he wanted a repeat of that night I still couldn’t get out of my head? It was easy to tell myself that it’d been a drunken mistake, but that didn’t stop the memories from coming back all too frequently. And dear Lord, did I remember.

Part of me wanted Con to throw down the challenge so I’d have an excuse to relive it. Because otherwise it would never happen. Even if my common sense didn’t stop me, my pride would keep me from going back. We were like oil and water. Although that night, to be cliché, we’d been like fire and gasoline. I still blushed at the things he’d done to me. The things I’d let him—no, begged him—to do. Forget blushing, my panties were in serious danger of needing a change when I thought about… I shook my head. I was clearly the only one remembering that night with any kind of longing, because from what I’d heard, Con needed a new bed frame to keep up with the notches he’d accumulated. Yesterday he’d had me in the perfect position to demand whatever he wanted from me. And he’d demanded… what exactly?

I stared at the warehouse again, and this time my imagination went wild. The possibilities were too ridiculous to even allow them space in my head. But seriously, I had no idea what I was walking into. Con had mentioned getting dirty. So I was probably going to be scrubbing floors or painting over graffiti. I was beyond embarrassed to admit I’d never done either.

The clock on my dash clicked over to three o’clock, and I climbed out of the car and locked it. Twenty-seven steps to the steel door. I knocked hesitantly and waited.

And waited.

Finally, a plate in the center slid open.

“What you want?”

Jesus H. Christ. It was like a speakeasy. Was there a password I was supposed to know?

Before I could gather my wits enough to say something, I heard a familiar voice. “It’s cool, Reggie. She’s with me.”

“You had your tail come here?”

“She ain’t tail; she’s here to help,” Con countered.

“Whatever, man. I’ll believe that when I see it.”

I was still processing their conversation about tail when the door creaked open to reveal a well-lit hallway with black and white checkered tile. And Con.

He lifted his chin in greeting.

“You came.”

“Did I have a choice?” I asked.

“You’ve always got a choice, princess.”

I glanced down at my jersey knit skirt and pink Fleurty Girl NOLA T-shirt. “Then it looks like I made mine.”

He examined my attire. “Don’t you own jeans?”

I looked pointedly at his basketball shorts. “I think even you can agree that it’s too damn hot to wear jeans this time of year. Besides, for all I know, I’ll be outside scrubbing sidewalks.”

“Fair enough.” He tossed a glance toward my car. “You probably want to park around back. That ride might not be here long, otherwise.”

I bit my lip. “Can you explain exactly where ‘around back’ is? Because I was lucky to even find this place.”

Con’s grim expression fell away, and he grinned. In that moment I was struck by how intensely gorgeous he was. Not that I wasn’t already keenly aware of that fact, but his smile brought it to the forefront of my mind. Unruly dark blond hair, dark blue eyes, over six feet of tattooed, muscled man. His jaw was covered in a few days’ worth of stubble, but that just made him even more ridiculously attractive. My panties were indeed a lost cause. “I’ll do you one better—I’ll show you.”

What the heck is he talking about? I’d completely checked out from the conversation we were having.

My eyebrows lifted as he plucked the keys from my limp fingers and strode toward my car.

“What are you are doing?”

“Showing you where to park. And since I don’t let chicks drive me around, you’re going to have to suck it up and get in the passenger seat.”

I followed him, my flip-flops making it easier to keep up than my normal pumps would have.

“Is that your version of asking for permission?” I felt like the token protest was necessary to preserve the rapidly deteriorating buffer zone between us.

Con stopped at the passenger door, opening it for me. The courtesy was surprising, but I didn’t get a chance to linger on it before he replied, “Honey, I’m not sure where you got the impression that I’m the kind of guy who asks for permission. I would’ve thought I’d made that clear two years ago.” He waited until I dragged my eyes up to meet his. “Or have you managed to block that night out?”

And the buffer zone just disintegrated completely.

My mouth went dry, and I tried frantically to come up with some sort of response. I didn’t think saying ‘no, I remember that night altogether too well for comfort, and those memories have given me more than a few dozen orgasms over the last two years’ was appropriate.

“Umm…”

His grin spread wider and took on a stupidly attractive smug quality. “Girls like you always like it better when I don’t ask for permission. When I just take what I want.”

I froze as the memories battered me. Heat licked along my insides at the same time goose bumps prickled along my skin. I needed to shut this conversation down. Now. Before I sacrificed any more of my dignity at the altar of Con Leahy. So I went with the most obvious lie. “That night barely registered on my radar, and I surely don’t remember any details.”