After throwing on some jeans and a polo shirt, I head to the kitchen to wait for her, and I’ve worked my way through a jar of peanut butter by the time I hear her feet padding down the stairs. My phone rings, and I eye it warily, hoping this call isn’t going to put a dampener on my mood or ruin my plans for today. “John?”

“Just checking you’re alive,” he rumbles, and I smile. “And Ava, for that matter.”

“Spoke to Sam?”

“Yes. It sounds like you’re doing a fine job of getting that woman onside, you stupid motherfucker.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re both alive,” I assure him. I can feel I’m under close observation, and I turn on my stool, finding Ava at the doorway admiring me. “I’ll be in tomorrow.” My eyes take a leisurely jaunt down her front. “Is everything okay?”

“’S’all good.”

She’s wearing a lovely dress and, blow me away, it’s of an acceptable length. And there I was thinking reasonableness was like rocking horse shit where this woman’s concerned. It seems she’s cottoning on to how this game is played. “Thanks, John. Call me if you need me.” I hang up and get comfortable on my stool. “I like your dress.”

She takes a peek herself, like she hasn’t seen it, and pulls a cute knit over her shoulders. Good Lord, she really is being compliant this morning. I’m suspicious. “Ready?” she asks.

No, not at all. I am, however, ready to spend all day with her. I’m ready for her to beg me for some contact. I’m ready to fall in love with her some more. But I’m not ready for the moment I find the courage to do what’s right.

I get to my feet and wander across the kitchen to her, slipping my shades on and claiming her hand. I smile as I pull her on. She was expecting a kiss.

“You’re not going to touch me all day, are you?” she asks as I lead us to the lifts.

“I’m touching you.”

“You know what I mean.” Her words are tight. Frustrated. “You’re punishing me.”

I get us into the elevator. “Why would I do that, Ava?”

“I want you to touch me.”

I smile, pressing the button to take us down. “I know you do.”

“But you won’t?”

“Give me what I want, and I will.”

“An apology?”

“I don’t know, Ava.” I don’t look at her, but it doesn’t lessen the burn of my skin under her pissed-off gaze. “Do you need to apologize?”