Her eyes are on me. I don’t have to see her to know that. My body’s humming with want, my insides aching for an encore of what happened the last time we left this bar together.

I steel my spine and scowl as I make my way over to her. I’ve got to get this shit locked down. Nothing can happen tonight. Nothing can ever happen again with Maddie Wheeler.

I’m nearly to the door when she pipes up.

“Permission to exit the building, Mr. Haas?”

I itch to smack her ass or nip at her lips—anything to put her in her place. She knows it, too, based on the way she bites the corner of her lip as she eyes me from head to toe.

I refuse to play this game, though. My resolve is dialed in and locked tight, so all she gets from me is a deeper scowl as I reach past her, push open the door, and hold it open with one arm.

“After you.” I nod my head. I follow her, then turn around and make quick work of locking up.

“Where are you parked?” I ask as I pull on the handle to ensure it’s locked.

When she doesn’t answer, I look over my shoulder to find her standing unreasonably close. She’s got one eyebrow raised, and this wicked glint behind her eyes.

Fuck, this girl’s trouble. All she has to do is look at me and my body is ready to betray my sensibilities. I don’t care if she wants to be friends… mutuals... acquaintances. Nights like this cannot happen again. If I’ve learned anything in the last few hours, it’s that I have no control over my reaction to her.

“What?” I press when she gives me a once-over again, ignoring my question completely.

She blinks in slow motion, her lashes resting against her cheekbones before she opens her eyes and beams up at me.

“I parked out back,” she reveals, giving me a look that’s anything but innocent. “But don’t worry,” she adds. “I know a shortcut.”

Before I know what’s happening, she grabs my hand and pulls me toward Clinton’s with a surprising amount of strength.

“Maddie, stop,” I insist, pulling my hand out of her grasp just as she turns down the narrow alley between the buildings.

Calling the walkway between Clinton’s and The Oak an alley is a generous assessment—it’s barely wide enough for two people to walk through side by side.

My frustration ratchets up as she struts through the space at a brisk pace. She’s more than halfway into the damn alley before she turns back and calls to me.

“Come on, slowpoke! Keep up!”