A moan of frustration escaped her lips. He captured the sound with his mouth. He released her hands, bent down, and caught her by the backs of her thighs, picking her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her core creating more sweet friction. Her arms encircled his neck as he turned and set her on the desk. Brushing papers and a stapler aside, he lowered her to the wooden surface. She was pulling at his shirt. He reared up and tossed it off. Her body arched backward. Her head tilted back. The overhead light caught the bruise on her jaw as a purple shadow showing through her makeup.

Instead of allowing those busy hands to roam freely, he caught her by the wrists again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” Her lips trailed down his neck.

“You’re not fine.” He lifted his head, more concerned with her abrupt personality change than her physical injuries. “Look at me.”

Her eyes blinked open and met his, and the gaze staring back at him shifted from raw sexual desire to more. Much more. The heat that filled his belly rose twenty degrees.

“Louisa.” Yearning deepened his voice. “I don’t want to do this here. It shouldn’t be like this. Let’s go back to your place—”

Louisa’s eyes changed again. Fear clouded desire. Her body went rigid.

He released her wrists and backed off of her. Louisa didn’t move for a few seconds. Conor reached a hand toward her face. He wanted to touch her, to comfort her, to help heal whatever was broken inside of her. But how?

She bolted upright. Standing next to the desk, she straightened her sweater and smoothed her hair, futilely trying to put her appearance in order when everything was in wild disarray.

“I’m sorry.” She walked out of the office and went into the ladies’ room. Water rushed through the pipes while he paced the worn oak floorboards just outside.

Five minutes later, she emerged. Her head was high, her face pale, her eyes wet and shining with unshed tears. “I have to go.”

“Please don’t.” Panic filled his chest at the thought of her tossing him aside.

She snatched her purse from the floor where she’d dropped it. “It’s all my fault. I should have known better. I should have known I couldn’t have it all. I’m sorry if I hurt you, but what I feel for you is too much. I can’t handle it.”

Was she talking to him or herself? With a stiff, mechanical gait, she strode toward the door.

“Wait!” He grabbed his shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head as he followed her. “Let me take you home.”

“I called for a car. It should be here in a minute.” She bolted through the door, her rejection leaving him stranded.