V set her glass down rather loudly. Her face was white.

Mr. Wilson darted his eyes between me and V, a worried frown on his face, and I knew it was time to leave, but first …

“V, uh, may I speak to you alone? There’s something I forgot to mention earlier …” My voice trailed off. I stood there like an idiot.

Her hands twitched on top of the table. “Sure.” She rose up. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll be right back.”

She came around the table and I bit back a groan. Her silver top was nothing compared to the short black leather shorts she wore on her long legs. On her feet were a pair of tall, black shiny boots. It was enough to make me squirm.

“What are you doing … and where are we going?” she hissed as I led her back to the busy kitchen at Rio’s. Waiters, managers, and chefs scurried in and out as we weaved through a corridor of ovens and prep areas. No one stopped us, and since it was the height of the lunch rush, I figured we had a good chance of skating by.

“Act like you own the place. It works for me,” I said, nodding at a server as we headed toward the back.

“You’re insane.” She sent a wild-eyed look around. “If someone figures out who I am, Blair will crucify you in the media.”

I got to the back of the kitchen expecting to see a back door, but there wasn’t one. All I saw were rows of walk-in coolers. I must have went the wrong way. I strode up to the pastry chef who was decorating some cakes.

“Sir?” I asked and slipped him a wad of hundreds and patted him on the arm. “Need to use your walk-in cooler for five minutes. You good with that?”

“Absolutely.” He pocketed the money in his white chef outfit.

I winked at him. “Keep this between us, and I’ll eat here for the next week, and sing nothing but praises for your cakes—” I looked at his nametag “—Carl.”

He grinned. “No problem, Mr. Tate. We protect our customers.”

“Can you make sure we have some privacy?”

“Damn straight,” he said. “Loved your last album, by the way. Think you can get me some tickets to your next show?”

“Whatever, man. It’s yours.”

Not waiting any longer, I opened the cooler and pulled her inside and shut the door. We were surrounded by rows of cold beer, boxes of lettuce, and big jugs of mayonnaise. Not the most romantic place.

She tossed her hands up in the air. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re acting like a crazy person. You interrupt my lunch like a caveman and practically pull me back to this cold refrigerator with you—”

“Are you on a date with Mark? Dressed like that?” I glowered.

She tilted her chin up. “He’s a nice guy, and maybe I wouldn’t be opposed if he asked me out—after all, I’m not tied down to anyone … not Geoff or you. But for your information, I’m here to discuss the gala. Both are big contributors to the event and very interested in providing—”

I kissed her. I told myself it was to shut her up, but the truth was she was so damn beautiful. And her nipples were like beacons in her shirt. I wanted my hands on them.

She pushed at my chest—until I stuck my tongue in her mouth and she let out a little whimper and clawed at my shoulders to pull me close.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one who was jonesing for another go.

Her tongue battled with mine, and we escalated fast. I eased her back against the wall, sliding my hand inside her shirt and squeezing her breast. My lips followed my hand, sucking her nipple through her silk shirt. She clutched my hair and moaned.

“I want my mouth all over you, V. Again. I can’t get enough.”

She let out a shaky breath as her hand went to my jeans. She unzipped them, slipped inside and stroked my cock, her soft fingers ghosting over the head.

“I can’t quit thinking about you,” I groaned as she cupped my balls and squeezed. “All damn day you’re in my head … all fucking night I’m dreaming of you.”

“Good,” she breathed.

We were desperate. Hot. Needy.

Hurry, hurry ran through my mind.

I just wanted her.

Just one more time and that would be it. One last time. I promise, I told myself, and then we’d just be friends.

“Why haven’t you called me back? Why are you ignoring me?” I said against her neck, my teeth taking a bite and then my lips soothing it.

No answer. But her hands clenched around my cock, making me hiss.

“Fine. I know what you want,” I said and kissed her mouth hard, my hands pulling at her hair. She returned it with her own fire, her teeth and lips ravaging me. We tore into each other, anger and lust and jealousy and pent-up animal need driving us.

I panted. Out of control. “Spread your legs, V.”

She did, and I propped one of her legs up on a box of beer as I slipped a finger in her underwear and skimmed across her pussy. All the blood in my body went straight to my cock. “You’re so wet for me. I need you—right now. This is all I can think about. You. Me. Fucking.”

She stopped unbuttoning my shirt and shoved at me.

I stumbled back. What?

“That’s what this is to you, isn’t it? I’m just another girl. In fact, this probably isn’t the first time you’ve had sex in a refrigerator,” she yelled at me as she yanked down her skirt. “You saw me with Mark, and you just had to come over and put your mark on me—no pun intended.” She pointed at the wet spot on her shirt.