It was close to nine-thirty when we stepped outside into the much cooler night air. The men said their goodbyes to Brock and then me, shaking my hand. It was Tyler James who spoke. “I’m really excited to hear more about the possible expansion.” He smiled. “I think you got something very interesting brewing there.”

“Thank you,” I said, bubbling with elation. If Brock was on board and if possible endorsers were interested, then getting my father on board shouldn’t be so difficult. “I think so, too.”

I could barely contain my excitement as the two men climbed into the car they had rented. It had been a long time since I felt like I was actually accomplishing something I cared about at work.

Without thinking, I spun around and sprang forward, throwing my arms around Brock. It wasn’t until I was hugging him did I realize exactly what I’d done. He was just sort of standing there, arms at his sides, still as a statue and obviously shocked by the unexpected gesture from me.

Okay.

We were friends now and while Brock didn’t act like a boss should toward an employee, maybe we hadn’t hit the hugging stage yet.

Feeling like a giant idiot, I started to pull back. I didn’t make it very far, because Brock finally moved, folding his arms around my waist. A gasp parted my lips as he pulled me more firmly against him, and suddenly it wasn’t just a normal, excited hug. Oh no, it was so much more. My breasts were pressed to his chest, my lower belly to his hips. There wasn’t an inch of space between us, and when Brock drew in a deep breath and his chest rose, I felt it shudder through him.

His fingers tangled in the ends of my hair as I felt him lower his chin until it rested atop my head. Brock didn’t hug me back. He held me to him, and yeah, that wasn’t the same as a hug. They were vastly different things.

Cars passed us on the street. The distant hum of conversation drew close on the sidewalk and then passed us. A wild, raw emotion crowded my senses, dredging up old, familiar feelings of the way things used to be. A cyclone of passion and yearning whipped through me as I rested my chest against his, right above his heart. I could almost pretend like we—No. I couldn’t pretend. That was starting down a road only someone who was a glutton for punishment traveled. I pulled back and looked up at Brock.

He stood still, the epitome of relaxed, but there was a coiled intensity to the way he stared down at me. It was unnerving and provoking. It made me think that if I stretched up on the tips of my toes, I could maybe kiss him.

Oh my God, what was I thinking?