Crossing the Line Read online

  “So you see,” Caite said as she demonstrated, “You have to keep your finger pressed to the screen to record. You only get a few seconds. And then the video records, and it makes a loop.”

  Margeurite Miles was one of the leading concert pianists in the country. She’d forged her name as a child prodigy, performing complicated pieces of music even masters found difficult, and had continued her career by creating an image of herself as something beyond the stereotypical classical musician. Her shows were full of theatrics and special celebrity guests, air cannons of confetti or bubble machines.

  She was also technologically incompetent.

  “Like this?” Mags held up her phone, a brand-new model she’d brought into Caite’s office without even taking it out of the box.

  “No...you have to hold in the... Press on the...” Caite demonstrated.

  Mags tried again. And failed. But she didn’t get frustrated, which was a quality Caite appreciated about her. The older woman wanted to reach out to her younger audience, and if that meant Connex and Buzzvid and Twitter, by golly, she was going to learn how to do it.

  Caite had already gone over how to schedule social media updates and some basic training, but so far Mags was simply not getting it. With a sigh, Caite shook her head. Mags laughed, embarrassed.

  “I’ll practice.” Mags held up both hands, wiggling her fingers. “I’m supposed to be good with my hands.”

  Caite laughed and patted her on the shoulder. “You’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure.”

  “Is our time up?” Mags peered at her phone. “Darn, is the time even right on this thing?”

  “The time should almost always be right on that because it’s supposed to update automatically. Even if you change time zones.” Caite slid a checklist of phone apps and websites across the desk. Normally she’d have emailed it, but Mags never checked her email.

  Still, she’d become one of Caite’s favorite clients. Helping Mags reach and entertain a new audience felt good. As Caite showed the older woman out, Mags shuffled in her purse, pulling out an envelope.

  “This is for you. Two tickets to one of my shows.” Mags looked at her. “You have a date, right?”

  “I think I can find one.”

  “If not, I have a really handsome nephew about your age,” Mags began as they walked down the hall, only to be interrupted by Jamison coming out of his office. “Oh, Mr. Wolfe. Hello!”

  “What’s this about tickets to your show?”

  Caite held up the envelope. “Mags gave us two tickets. She’s trying to set me up with her nephew. Think I can get a better offer than that?”

  “My nephew is very handsome,” Mags said again, “though...now that I think about it, he’s not very funny. Takes after my sister that way, which is really too bad. A man who makes you laugh is a keeper.”

  “I think we can find you someone who can make you laugh,” Jamison said with a straight face, his gaze piercing Caite’s.

  Mags waved a hand as she headed for the lobby, leaving them both behind. “Just so long as he doesn’t make you cry!”

  Caite watched her go, waiting until Mags had turned the corner before facing him. “You do make me laugh.”

  “Good.” He pulled her close for a kiss, nuzzling her neck until she gasped and pushed him away.

  “You’re the one who said we had to be discreet in the office,” Caite muttered, shaking a finger. “Though I’m sure Bobby’s got his suspicions.”

  “Nobody’s here to see us. Mags was your last client of the day. And I told Bobby that once she was gone, he could knock off early, too.” Jamison bent to nuzzle her again.

  Caite held him off and took a step back, out of reach. Since Jamison had been so adamant in the beginning about workplace relationships, she’d made sure to keep any sort of physical hanky-panky to a minimum. Partly to assuage him. Partly to frustrate him. It had been delicious.

  “So you think that you’re going to get lucky in the office? Is that it? A little afternoon delight?”

  “A guy can dream, can’t he?” He flashed her a charming grin that threatened to melt her panties, though she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash to show him how hot she thought it was.

  “Did you finish the list I gave you this morning?”

  And just like that, the inferno that constantly simmered between them flared to life.

  “I did. Come with me.”

  His grin, wide and bright, made Caite melt, mostly because she’d seen him smile at a lot of people, and he didn’t look at anyone the way he looked at her. No man had ever looked at her the way Jamison did. It didn’t only set her on fire. It made her feel adored. Cherished.

  Loved.

  Which scared her, but she wasn’t going to think about that now. Instead she followed him into the conference room, where she let out a small gasp at what lay in front of her. She turned to him, stunned.

  “You...did this? All of this?”

  His smile was her answer. Caite took an unsteady step toward him, not sure if she meant to laugh or cry. Surprise me, she’d told him. He’d done more than that. He’d blown her mind.

  Jamison had set the table with a vase of crimson roses in a crystal vase tied with a thick purple ribbon. The flowers were standard—any woman might love red roses—but the ribbon...that was all Caite. Two plates of thin china, matching the ones she had in her apartment, held thick slices of cherry cheesecake. Her favorite. Two wine glasses filled with red wine. A platter of savory crackers and sliced cheeses, along with small bowls of Greek olives.

  “Cheesecake for dinner?”

  “Dessert first, because you’re the sort of woman who breaks the rules,” he said. “And just a little appetizer. Dinner reservations are for later, at Serrano. And tickets to see that guy you like. The one who plays the guitar.”

  Caite couldn’t move. She tried to breathe and found the best she could manage was tiny sips of air. She was going to burst into tears, and she didn’t want to do that. She swallowed her emotions around the lump in her throat and opened her mouth to thank him.

  “There’s more,” he said before she could say a word. “Open the box.”

  She’d missed the sleek black box, about the size of a cereal box, though made of much heavier cardboard. Another purple ribbon was tied around it in a crisp bow. Caite went around the table to look at it.

  Jamison followed her. “Open it.”

  All at once, she didn’t want to. Her hands shook so much she had to fist them, hiding them in the folds of her full skirt. She couldn’t look at him. He’d done so much, all of it proving he knew her exactly. Whatever was in this box would be more of the same or a disappointment, and Caite was suddenly terrified of being disappointed.

  “Jamison,” she said, but couldn’t make herself continue.

  He fit himself along her body from behind, his hands slipping around her to press flat on her belly and pull her against him. His kiss found the smooth curve of her neck and shoulder. He didn’t nuzzle or try to feel her up. He held her. Offering her his warmth. His support, though he couldn’t possibly know her reason for hesitating. Could he?

  “I’m scared to open it,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be scared.”

  “What if I don’t like it, whatever it is?”

  His gaze, dark with desire, softened. “You wanted me to surprise you. To show I know you. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “And so far, everything...is perfect.” She twisted in his arms to kiss him.

  “Shouldn’t I be the one who’s worried if you won’t like it?” His tone was light, but she saw a hint of seriousness in his eyes. “What if I failed?”

  “What if you didn’t?” Caite asked. “What if you got it just right, because you know me so well?”

  Something was changing between them,