“Please don’t tell me you’re hitting on me,” I reply in my driest, coldest tone.

“No, that’s not where I was going.” His voice drops slightly, taking on a silky note. “Although if you want me to . . .” He leans against the wall, trapping me between his arms.

I turn my face away from his. Having him this close makes it hard to think. “Ugh. No thanks.”

“Fair enough. All I meant is that we’re partners—we can think of a way out of this problem, if you’ll just let me help you.”

Why hasn’t he backed off yet? His spicy cologne is slowly filling my head with fog. “I think I have the right to be a little skeptical of a man who I caught with a fucking needle.”

Noah makes a quiet growling huff. “See what I mean? You bring that up again, and I already apologized and explained what happened. We’re just going in circles.” His voice smooths out again into an imploring, seductive tone. “Please, Snowflake. Don’t shut me out. I’ll do anything. Just tell me. Say the word and I’ll be on my knees—begging forgiveness, at your service, ready and willing to make it up to you.”

His warm breath fans ticklishly over my cheek as he speaks. That voice is pure sin, licking at my self-control like flames.

I try to retort, “Y-you’re ready and willing for that anytime. With just about any woman too.”

“You know that’s not true. Maybe I was that way once, but now . . . I’m a one-woman man. You’ve caught me for good. I’ll never be satisfied with anyone but you ever again.”

And suddenly, his hands clasp my bare shoulders and his lips press hot against mine.

I gasp into his mouth. My eyes slide shut helplessly. I didn’t realize how much I needed this contact, this closeness, until Noah’s touch lit my nerves on fire. But now I’m painfully aware of every minute it’s been since he last made love to me.

I’m still pissed at him. Damn his sexy smirk, damn his wickedly skilled kiss, more intoxicating than anything I’ve drunk tonight . . . I don’t want to want him. But I do want this. Dear God, I might even need it.

And so I let myself give in.

It’s okay as long as he doesn’t talk. As long as he doesn’t remind me that we’re Noah Tate and Olivia Cane, heirs to a failing company, with the board’s impending decision hanging over our heads like a guillotine blade.

Right now, under cover of darkness, we’re anonymous. Just a man and a woman, a pair of animals who are starving for each other. I can pretend that this is only sex, only blowing off some steam, and it’s not because I’m still addicted to Noah despite everything that’s happened between us. I can come back to my senses—to my waking life, my anger and hurt and worry, all the crushing responsibilities of my family name—after my body is satisfied.

At the exploring swipe of Noah’s tongue, I open up and return his kiss savagely. He gives a little surprised noise, then a growl of satisfaction. His lips curve against mine in a smug smile.

Does he think he’s won me over? Then he’d better fucking think again, because I’m going to make him fight for every inch of ground. I crush my mouth against his, and when he gently nips my lower lip, I answer with a harsh bite. He moans and matches my intensity right back. Soon our kiss is little more than a dance of dueling tongues and soft murmurs of pleasure.

Still devouring my mouth, he leans into me, walking me backward until my lower back hits a shelf. I jolt at the brush of cold metal on bare skin. Then he pushes a little more for good measure, forcing me to arch my spine and raise my chin, exposing my neck. The shelf’s chill soaks through the thin fabric of my dress and spreads goosebumps over my arms. But I’m already so hot, I barely notice any of it. My senses are too completely consumed by Noah’s touch and taste and smell.

He hikes up my evening gown’s skirt and gropes me, his fingertips tracing up my bare thighs until I can’t stand it. I know exactly where his destination is, and I want him there now.

Lifting the elastic edge of my panties, his fingers glide over my center in one easy stroke. “No matter what, Snowflake, you’re always wet for me.” His voice is rough with need, but his movements are controlled.

“Sh-shut up and do something about it,” I gasp.

“As you wish.”

He gently pets my clit, my blood racing, heart pounding as I rock my hips forward. It’s too slow. Torturous.

Finally, need wins out over pride, and I beg. “More.”

“I hope you’re ready.” And with that, Noah’s control snaps. He yanks down my damp panties and shoves three fingers inside me.

My head almost hits the wall as it falls back. I dig my nails into his shoulders, urging him harder, harder. He plunges his fingers in and out with rough jerks of his arm. It’s still not quite enough; I want his cock, long and thick. But I’m not so far gone as to forget that we’re in public. So I make do.

And in a way, this rough fingering is better than fucking. It’s all for me, all about my pleasure. I can feel his steely erection against my inner thigh, twitching with eagerness, but he doesn’t get jack shit until I decide he deserves it. I reach under his moving arm and grab his crotch through his pants, just to feel how hard he is and to hear him groan in frustrated need.

And he does. The sound is harsh and needy. It makes my pussy grip his fingers hard, quivering as his desperate growl washes through me.

His hand is a surprisingly decent substitute for his cock. Every thrust rubs the ball of his thumb against my clit and strikes the spot inside me that shoots hot lightning through my veins, making my toes curl in my Manolo Blahniks. All the bare hangers on the shelves around us rattle with his force.