“Good. That’s good.” He was very close to pressing her back on the desk and doing all the things he’d fantasized about during those long, dark nights he’d lain alone in bed, thinking of her. And she sighed. The soft, broken sound of it seemed to rip something inside his gut. Grinding out an oath, he buried his face in her hair. “I sure pick my spots,” he muttered. “On the sidewalk with a mugger, in my office with a barful of customers outside the door. Every time I’m around you I start acting like a kid in the back seat of a parked car.”

She had to concentrate just to breathe. As he continued to hold her, just hold her, she found herself stroking his hair, counting his heartbeats, warming toward him in a way that was entirely different from the flash heat of a moment before.

She’d been right about the quicksand, she realized. And she’d been right about not sinking alone. “We’re not kids,” she murmured.

“No, we’re not.” Not quite sure he could trust himself, he drew back, taking both her hands in his. “I know it’s moving fast, and I know it’s complicated, but I want you. There’s no getting around it.”

“I knew this would happen if I came here tonight. I came anyway.” Muddled, she shook her head. “I don’t know what that says about me, or about us. I do know it’s not smart, and I’m usually smart. The best thing for me to do is walk out the door and go home.”

He tugged on her hands, bringing her off the desk and close to him again. “What are you going to do?”

She wavered, caught on the thin edge between temptation and common sense. Images of what could be swam giddily through her head and left her throat dry. Repercussions…she couldn’t quite see them clearly, but she knew they existed. And she was afraid they would be severe indeed.

“I’m going to walk out the door and go home.” She let out an unsteady breath when he said nothing. “For now.”

She grabbed up her jacket, her purse. When she reached the door, his hand closed over hers on the knob. A quick thrill of panicked excitement raced through her at the thought that he would simply turn the lock.

She wouldn’t permit it. Of course she wouldn’t permit it.

Would she?

“Sunday” was all he said.

Her scattered thoughts scrambled to make sense of the word. “Sunday?”

“I can shift things around and take the day off. Spend it with me.”

Relief. Confusion. Pleasure. She had no idea which emotion was uppermost. “You want to spend Sunday with me.”