Don’t stare, Annabelle, don’t stare. I began to stroll around the room. There was an impressive array of equipment here. Racks of weights, all sorts of machines. Maybe my visions of a torture chamber hadn’t been that far off. I was a yoga girl myself. I liked the corpse pose, Savasana, best. I always caught a good power nap there.

“You are aware that I could evict you for last night?” he asked.

“You could,” I said. I kept my voice mild, never mind that my heart was pounding in my chest triple time. I decided to double down. “But you won’t.”

One perfect eyebrow shot high. He tipped his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard; well, that made two of us. It must be the aftereffects of the alcohol from last night. Definitely, no more whiskey sours ever again.

“I won’t?” he asked.

“Nope.” I shook my head.

“And why’s that?” he asked.

I paused and ran my hand over the rack of dumbbells. I wondered if I should just make room for myself among them as I’d clearly found my people. What was I even thinking in provoking Mr. Daire like this?

I turned around and flashed my most charming smile at him and said, “Because then you’ll never learn the cat’s name.”

He laughed a big hearty chuckle that about took me out at the knees. Then he grinned at me, and it stopped my heart right in mid-pump. It just stopped. I felt instantly dizzy and overly warm. I wasn’t positive but I thought I heard birds singing and the smell of freshly baked apple pie. I knew I should look away, but I had a feeling I’d only be able to see spots because looking at him was like staring at the sun.

“Which is another thing we have to discuss, Annabelle.”

Oh my, I did like the sound of my name coming out of his mouth. I forced myself to focus on the conversation and not grin at him like a simpleton.

“How so, Nick?” I asked. Yep, I was going for it. If we were on a first-name basis, so be it. True confession, I liked saying his name almost as much as I liked hearing him say mine. By the way his eyes flashed at me, he either really liked it, too, or he was offended all the way to his core.

“No pets,” he said. He looked quite serious now, and I knew the stakes for winning him over had never been higher. But he hadn’t corrected my use of his name. So that was a win.

“Sir is not a pet,” I said.

He blinked at me. “Sir?”

“That’s his name.” I smiled. “Because he looks like a little gentleman wearing a tux.”

Nick heaved a deep sigh. “I knew you named him and that makes him a pet.”