“Did you organize tonight because you were sick of me and wanted me out of your hair?”

“No,” he repeated, louder and faster than before.

Eve flashed him a smug smile. “Thought not.”

Shit. It was slowly dawning on Jacob that Eve knew him well enough to possibly guess at his motives for tonight. His motives being that he was pathetically in love with her and he would refracture his own wrist, or in this case, ask Theresa and Alexandra Montrose for a favor, to make her happy. “I just wanted you to make some more friends so you could stop talking my ear off.”

“You love when I talk your ear off.”

“You’re a very social being. I was worried you might die in captivity.”

“Now, that, I believe,” she said, and he experienced a moment of relief before she went on. “You were looking after me, weren’t you? You do that rather a lot.”

Shit, shit, shit. “No,” he said flatly. “You don’t need looking after. You’re a grown woman.”

“You do that a lot, too.” Her glossy lips tipped up into a smile. “The whole ‘respecting me’ bit.”

“It’s not a . . . bit.”

“I know. That’s what makes it a panty-dropper.” And then she spread her legs.

Dear fucking Christ.

He saw it all happen in slow motion. Her feet on his desk, slowly parting. His direct view up the length of her legs, and the way those lush thighs separated until he could see straight up her fucking skirt. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. Her pussy was bare and beautifully exposed, as pouting and glossy as her wicked mouth, and at the sight his cock became a fucking crowbar.

He wrapped his good hand around the arm of his desk chair, felt the leather creak and stretch under his white-knuckled grip. “Eve.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Yes, Jacob?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I most certainly am not,” she replied with a sweet smile. “You see, I have been trying really super hard not to jump your bones for a while now, and I have been succeeding. Barely. Even though you’re so sweet and so—” She made this tiny little growl that shot right through him, that brought heat to his throat and yet more blood to his thick cock, and Jacob thought he might die. “You’re so you,” she said. “You’re so firm and funny and ridiculous and precise. You are so fucking you, and I love it.”

His heart almost jumped out of his throat. If he hadn’t slammed his mouth shut, it might have flown out and landed in her lap.

“I’ve been trying,” she repeated. “But tonight, as soon as I realized that you’d taken it upon yourself to organize friends and fun for me, it became clear that I couldn’t hold out anymore. I don’t just want to fuck you, Jacob. I want—I want you to be mine.” She stumbled over the words, but she didn’t stop. She kept going, fast and determined and perfect, so fucking perfect. “I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol all night, and you may call Montrose if you don’t believe me. I drank nothing but lemonade because I knew I was coming right back here to sit on your dick. So. What do you think about that?”