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  Except maybe when you're fucking.

  But hell, good sex like that, the life-altering kind that mimics the rush of racing?  That shit happens once in a lifetime, maybe.

  I think that's the way it would have been for me and Delaney.   I've thought about that a lot.   More than a lot.   Fuck, I've jerked off to her memory a thousand times.   We never got quite that far.

  And now Beau makes me feel like a jackass in front of her, a child who needs babysat because I can't be responsible enough to take care of myself.   I'm an idiot for convincing myself that Beau thought I was a good investment, an adult and not an irresponsible kid.   But that's exactly what he thinks, just like everyone else.

  I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts I almost don't even hear the knock on the front door.   There's no way it's Beau coming here to apologize; if there's one thing Beau doesn't do, it's admit he's wrong.

  I pull the door open, and Delaney stands there, looking nervous as hell.   And hot.   Hot and nervous as hell, in my doorway at eight o'clock at night.   Shit.   I'm already aggravated and pissed off -- and now I'm getting hard, too.

  "Can I come in?"  She tucks her hair behind her ear, the same way she used to do when she was nervous.   I guess some things don't really change after all.

  "What, did you trek all the way down here to gloat about how you're going to babysit my ass in Japan?"  I stand in the doorway, blocking her entry.

  "Why am I the bad guy all of a sudden, Gaige?" she asks.   "I thought we were getting along. "

  "Getting along?"  I ask, feeling a surge of anger.   I'm not irritated with her; I'm angry because I agreed to do this thing I don't even give a shit about, because I thought her father respected me, but it turns out he doesn't.   I know I shouldn't be taking it out on her, but I can't seem to help myself.   "Yeah, we used to get along, didn't we?  Did you come down here to see if you could help yourself to that old style of getting along?"

  Delaney's face colors red, the way it does when she's angry, or embarrassed, or upset.   She's probably all of the above right now, I imagine.   Does she think I forgot what passed between us?

  "Don't take it out on me because you're pissed off, Gaige O'Neal," she says, punctuating her words by poking my chest with her fingers.   I wrap my fingers around hers, pulling her against me, and she inhales sharply, the hiss of air audible in the silence of the evening.

  "Pissed off?" I ask.   Her body feels warm against mine, and I want more than anything to kiss the ever-loving hell out of this girl.   Scratch that -- I don't want to just kiss this girl.   I want to tear her clothes off right here, right now, and plunge my cock between her legs.   "Did you come down here to the guest house because you wanted to talk about a work trip that's a month away?  Or did you come for something else?"

  Delaney struggles against me.   "Let go of me, Gaige," she hisses.

  "You sure you want me to, darlin'?" I ask.   I run my other hand along the side of her neck and she tilts her head to the side, into my touch.   She's practically purring as I touch her.   She looks at me, her green eyes wide.

  "I don't know what you're implying, Gaige," she whispers.

  "I'm not implying anything, Delaney," I say.   "I'm outright saying that you waltzed that little ass of yours all the way down here from the main house at this time of night for something that couldn't wait. "

  "You should let me go," she says, but her voice is softer now, the edge from before suddenly gone.   I'd let her go if her pupils weren't as big as saucers and her breath weren't coming in short gasps.

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  "Or what, Delaney?" I ask.   "You're so hot for me you're practically panting.   I bet if I were to reach between those legs of yours, you'd be soaked. "

  "Don't be disgusting," she says.   This time, she yanks her hand from my grasp and pushes away from me.   Apparently, suggesting she came down here to screw me was one thing but talking about putting my fingers between her legs crossed some kind of imaginary line.

  Her reaction makes me want to keep crossing that line, pushing that same button over and over and over.   What can I say?  I'm a fucking child.   So I guess Delaney's father had a point after all.   Maybe I'm not maturing as I get older.   It's funny how Delaney makes me feel like a damn teenager.

  "Whatever you say, darlin'. "  If she's going to babysit me, I might as well give her something to fucking babysit.

  I can see Delaney's jaw clench and she tugs at the edges of her shirt, smoothing it.   "What happened between us was years ago," she says, her voice hard.   "It was a lifetime ago. "

  What happened between us.   She doesn't say the actual words.   She doesn't describe the kiss that started everything that summer, the kiss that sent both of us spiraling out of control, reckless in our pursuit of each other, until it came to a crashing halt just before anything went too far.   She fails to mention the stolen kisses when we were left alone, the frenzied groping that carried the promise of more.   More that never happened.

  And I've never forgotten about it.

  "Right," I say.   "And you've never thought about any of it in the past four years?"

  She waits a moment too long to respond.   "I don't think about it at all. "

  "Liar," I say.

  "If you think I came down here to get some of your. . . tool. . . " Her eyes drop down to my waist, then lower.   "You'd be wrong. "

  "You tell me why you walked your fine little ass down here then. "

  "I came back to Dallas to work, Gaige," she says.   "That's it.   And that's why I came down here tonight.   To say I want things to be professional. "

  "Professional," I say.

  Delaney nods.   I want to kiss that serious expression right the hell off her face.   "Appropriate," she says.

  "Appropriate," I echo.

  I definitely don't do appropriate, and I'm sure as fuck not doing appropriate with Delaney Marlowe.   In fact, getting under Delaney's skin and making her behave inappropriately just might be the kind of cure for boredom I've been looking for.

  It's my first day of work at my father's company.   My first real job.   And I couldn't be more uncomfortable if I tried, as I survey my office.   Sure, it's no bigger than a closet, but it's an office.   With a damn window.   The window might overlook the parking lot, but it's still a window.   Most new college graduates would be absolutely thrilled to have a setup like this, but not me.

  I should be in a cubicle, but the fact that I'm my father's daughter has gotten me an office with walls and everything.   I make a mental note to tell him later that I should be moved.   People are already going to hate me enough, just because it's my father's company.

  I can already tell it's a huge problem by the way my brand new boss Chelsea has treated me since I walked in the door this morning, her voice practically dripping with contempt when I introduced myself.   Chelsea is Gaige's domestic account manager, and I instantly know she hates me.

  When I hear the knock on the door, I groan inwardly, steeling myself for her.   "Come in. "

  It's not Chelsea.   It's Gaige.

  Gaige walking through the door on my first day is fucking perfect.   Especially after I just saw him last night, when he was pissed off and angry and. . . sexy, the way he pulled me close to him, his hand wrapped around my fingers, practically threatening to kiss me.

  No.   I refuse to even let my thoughts go there.   The past is the past.   When you're eighteen years old, on your way to finally throw caution to the wind and sleep with the guy you like more than anything else in the world and you're intercepted by a girl he may or may not be screwing, that makes you feel differently about him.

  Of course, it was damn hard to ignore how I felt about him last night, the way my heart raced and my breath caught in my throat when he pulled me toward him.   Gaige had the same effect on me back then.   All along, I've discounted my memories of that summer, attributing my d