Why the hell is she sobbing? John grinned and kissed her lips. “Say it again.”

Tears flowed as she hiccupped. “I love you, John—”

He covered her mouth with a crushing kiss before she could finish her sentence. He laughed against her mouth and held her close. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her arms wrapped around his neck. As he dragged his lips away to brush his thumb against her tear stained cheeks. “Do you want your pants?” he asked.

Victoria wiped her eyes and laughed. “Yes please.”

“You can’t have your panties,” he said, moving away from her and placing the garment in a desk drawer. “They belong with your other pair.”

As she shoved her legs through her pants, she shot him a puzzled expression. “Other pair?”

“The pair I nicked from you at your office.”

“I’m not giving you any more until you start paying for them. Undergarments are not infinite.” She adjusted her clothes and pulled her knit cap back on her head.

“I know,” he said, reaching for her mask on the floor. “That’s why I keep taking them.” She eyed her mask warily as he extended it towards her. “Would you like this?”

Victoria bit back a smile and shook her head. “No, no masks tonight.”

All of their joking aside, he was relieved to hear her say that. Victoria was ready to participate in a real relationship with him and it made his heart swell with excitement. No more schedules, no more professional pretenses.

He was now her boyfriend, Johnny.

“Could you please put your hat back on?” she asked in a sweet voice. “I really like the whole ensemble.”

John retightened his low ponytail and covered his head with the wide-brimmed hat. “M’lady.” He offered his arm.

“Should we mingle?” Victoria asked as she took his rock-hard biceps in her hand.

“I’m under strict orders to party,” he said, leading her from his office. “From the boss man himself.”

“I can’t believe Mr. Wegman would throw a party like this,” Victoria said, lifting her voice above the blare of Thriller. “This is the first time you guys are doing this, right?”

John held her tight against his side as they maneuvered through partygoers. “It is, but sometimes the old man gets an idea in his head and tackles it with tunnel vision.” He peered down at her. “Much like someone else I know.”

Her head snapped up. “Sometimes tunnel vision is good,” she said with a smile. “It brought me here.”

God, she was so adorable when she allowed herself to relax. John wanted to tweak her upturned nose and kiss her forehead, but a sight caught the corner of his eye that made him cautious. “If you want to talk to the man yourself, you can,” he said, pointing to the elderly Sherlock Holmes near the refreshments table. He was in deep conversation with a woman dressed as a standard black cat.