“Fuck,” he ground out, breaking the kiss and tearing himself away.

Left panting and scattered, she watched him stalk toward her door. Was he leaving? Nope. He shut the door and locked it, then faced her. The hunger in the tight line of his full, expressive lips and the heavily hooded look to his eyes stole her breath.

She stood, her legs weak. “Chandler, what are you doing?”

“No talking,” he growled, prowling around the corner of her desk.

Her eyes widened as he pulled her chair back. “Excuse me? No talking? Who in the fuck—?”

His mouth was on hers once more, but this kiss… Good God, she’d never been kissed like this before. Thoughts of Brent King and random roses vanished in an instant. It was like he was staking a claim, marking her as his with his mouth and tongue. She had no idea how that was possible, but she felt claimed. Knew that she was. There was no fighting it, not when his tongue rolled over hers as he pulled her against him. She could feel his erection burning hot against her belly, pushing through layers of clothing.

Chandler broke off the intense, fiery kiss and framed her face. He placed feather-light kisses across her cheeks and over her forehead, fogging up her glasses. His hands slid down her sides and for a moment, she forgot where she was and her earlier concern about this happening again and what it would mean for her. Her pulse was racing as his lips found hers once more.

As if he was trying to drive her absolutely senseless, he upped his tactics, slipping his hands down the outside of her thighs, sending currents of heat through her.

“I am so fucking glad I convinced you to buy these skirts,” he whispered against her swollen lips. “And you wore one today. Perfect.”

Before she could question why it was perfect for today, his hands slipped over the bare skin of her thighs. Pantyhose were the work of the devil, so she’d always sworn them off. Feeling his hands roaming up to her hips, under her skirt, left her feeling warm and sultry. His fingers hooked around the fragile material of her panties.

A burst of laughter from somewhere outside her office startled her back into reality. “Chandler,” she hissed, grabbing his wrists. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” A wicked glint filled his blue eyes.

Her grip tightened. “We can’t do this.”

“We can.” Easily breaking her hold, he tugged down her panties. A wide grin broke out across his face as she gasped. “And we will.”

“Chandler!” she whispered, her heart pounding. How in the world had she ended up in this position?

He gripped her hips and lifted her up on her desk, her bare cheeks right on her desk calendar. She’d never be able to look at Monday through Sunday the same way again. Or her desk. Or her office. But then he had her panties off, slipping them into the pocket of his jeans with a wink.

Heat flooded her face. “Chandler, we really—”

“I’m hungry.” He kissed her deeply, stealing away her protests.

“Then let’s…” She cried out softly as his finger brushed through her wetness. “Then let’s go get something… Oh God,” she moaned as his finger slipped inside her. “We should go get something to eat.”

“I’m about to.” He sat in her chair and rolled himself right between her spread thighs, working her with his finger the entire time. “Except I want dessert first.”

Dessert? Couldn’t he just be into chocolate or ice cream like most people?

“This is so inappropriate,” she murmured, but she made no attempt at stopping him.

He paused, his head level with the juncture above her thighs. “Oh, this is totally appropriate.”

Before she could question his reasoning, he dipped his head. The very next second, his greedy mouth was on her, his fingers spreading her so his tongue slipped in deep. The first lick nearly had her crying out as she clutched the edges of the desk.

Everything was quickly spiraling out of control. She was at work for fuck’s sake, in her office for her public relations job, and there was a man’s face between her thighs and his tongue—

“Oh,” she gasped as he sucked on the sensitive nub. “Chandler.”

He growled against her, and her body coiled impossibly tight. Who was she kidding? Things weren’t spiraling out of control. She was completely under his control. The realization was as frightening as it was thrilling and it nearly toppled her right over the edge.

Passion consumed her. It was too much, and in the same sense, not enough. She threw her head back as he delved deep with his tongue. Violent jolts of sheer pleasure coursed through her and she bit her lip, to the point that she tasted blood, to keep from crying out. Release shattered her as she surrendered to the pleasure, to his power and control.

When the tremors subsided, Alana was a weak heap on her desk. A huge part of her didn’t even care that they had done that in her office. Right now, she didn’t care about anything.

Unexpected late-morning orgasms were better than Valium.

Chandler rose, carefully tugging down her skirt. He lifted her off the desk, placing her on her feet. He held her to his chest, as if he knew there was a good chance her legs wouldn’t hold her.

Pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, he smiled devilishly. “That was the best damn dessert I’ve ever had.”

…

Chandler knew the only reason Alana went along with him and let him pick the restaurant without arguing was because she was still rocking some major post-orgasmic bliss. Which was good, because he wanted to eat somewhere he knew the exact placement of all the exits, the staff, and the easiest route to get in and out of. One could never be too safe, especially with the sudden appearance of Brent King.

And he could admit the smug grin he wore had everything to do with him being the reason she was in the relatively easygoing mood. But as they waited for their food to arrive and after Alana had spoken about one of her clients, he wondered about the flowers and what Murray had said Saturday night. Was there an ex? Was there someone else?

His hand clenched into a fist atop the table at the thought of anyone else being with her. He so did not like the idea of that. Not at all. But then that left it potentially being someone like Brent, and that… yeah, that was worse.

Alana gave him the perfect opportunity when she asked about the status of the suspects she’d provided him. Telling her about William and Ms. Ward, he watched her intently. Disappointment pulled at the corners of her lips. He couldn’t blame her for that. The quicker they figured out who was behind this, the better. This whole situation was out of her hands and he knew it was driving her control-loving ass crazy.

“We won’t be able to talk to the actress until next week and we’re still trying to track down her friends, but obviously one of them has just bumped his ass to the top of my list,” he finished, pausing when their plates arrived. He let her get in a few bites of her salad before he jumped on the more important question. “So you don’t know who the roses were from?”

She shook her head as she met his gaze. “No. I really thought they were from you. I mean, I have no idea who else could’ve sent them or had any reason to. So, yeah, that was sort of awkward.”

Unease festered in his gut. Who would send that amount of flowers and not take credit? He believed her when she said she didn’t know, but…

“Did you catch what flower shop they came from?” he asked.

“No.” She sighed, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken with a vengeance. “He was in and out super fast, and I was busy staring at them…” Her eyes lit up. “But the front desk should have the info. Whenever someone is delivering something, they make him or her sign in.”

“We need to get that info when we go back.”

Her brows pinched and her tiny nose wrinkled. “Why? You don’t think it has anything to do with the creep?” She seemed to come to the realization on her own, because her face paled and she placed her fork to the side. “Oh my God, you think it was him? That he sent me the flowers? That’s so…so fucking creepy.”

His lips twitched at the curse, but the smile quickly slipped away when he realized the topic had stolen her appetite. Part of him hated that he’d brought it up then, but it was too late to change that now and he did have a job to do.

Sexy fun times aside, Alana was a job, and he was forgetting that.

Sitting back, he rubbed at the scar along his shoulder. An odd feeling poured into his chest, making him want to crawl into the booth beside her and cradle her close, like he had wanted to at dinner last night. The feeling had a name. Tenderness?

Aw, shit.

She folded her napkin into a neat triangle. “Why would this person vandalize my car and my apartment, then send me roses? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t.” He took a sip of his water, watching her over the rim. “Not if it were a client.”

Alana frowned. “It has to be a client.”

“Does it?” Even with Brent being here, something about that didn’t sit right with him.

Her lips, the very ones he’d been kissing not too long ago, parted, but the waitress stopped by with their check. Irritation pricked at his skin as he took care of the bill before Alana could. Her frown grew into a scowl.

“What’s happening here is personal,” he said, sitting back against the booth. “At least, that’s what my experience is telling me.”

Flipping the long length of her ponytail over her shoulder, she shook her head. “I think your experience isn’t helping you here.”

He shot her a dark look. “That’s doubtful.”