A door opened behind him, and she darted a nervous glance past his shoulder. He followed her gaze, but the man who stepped out of the room moved on down the hallway.

A peek at her ring finger revealed bare skin. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Oh, no. I just finished a marketing session. I need to waste a few minutes before the next presentation. It’s on tax prep. Are you going?”

“No, I was at a dinner.” He gestured down the hallway.

“The Andrés Villanueva dinner? Wow, you are lucky.”

“Are you a fan?”

“Who isn’t?”

Eric rubbed a thumb over the box in his hand, considering. It was meant for Jamie, but Jamie sure as hell didn’t deserve it. If he’d been at the expo as he was supposed to have been, he would’ve had his damn torte. “You’re not one of those women who doesn’t eat, are you?”

“No, I am definitely not one of those women.”

Offering a wolfish smile, Eric held up the box. “Want a little taste?”

Her dark brown eyes went wide. “What is that?” she demanded.

“It’s manna from heaven, also known as salted caramel torte.”

“Shut up,” she gasped.

He gave the box a little wiggle. “Want it?”

“Yes!”

The lustful anticipation on her face shot heat into Eric’s veins. She stared at the box as if it held something naughty. What were the chances that he’d be presenting her with a naughty gift?

“Wait here for one second,” he said before rushing back the way he’d come. He snuck into the room and snatched a clean fork and a napkin from a wheeled tray.

Still, he hesitated before stepping back into the hallway. He could just hand her the box and the fork and be on his way. Or he could watch her eat it.

Yeah, he was totally going to watch her eat it.

When he walked around the corner, she grinned in delight.

Eric held the fork just past her reach. “I noticed a seating area just past the elevators when I was lost earlier. You’ve got a few minutes?”

“I do. And if the dessert is everything you say it is, I might even chance being late to the tax seminar.”

“A risk taker.”

A laugh bubbled from her throat and she pressed a hand to her lips to stifle it. “Not really.”

He found that seriously hard to believe. “No?”

“Well…” Her gaze slid toward him and she gave him a quick once-over as they walked. “Maybe tonight I am.”

At that moment, Eric decided he was fully committed to taking this just as far as Jamie would. He deserved some fun just as much as the next Donovan Brother, didn’t he?

NERVOUS EXCITEMENT SHIMMERED along Beth’s skin as she followed the man around a corner and found herself in a small alcove with a coffee table and four chairs. Despite her anxiety, she took a moment to appreciate the picture he presented. He’d changed into dark slacks and a crisp blue button-down shirt. The pants fit him perfectly, showing off his narrow hips and tight ass. Nice.

She had yet to see his infamous kilt, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she’d much rather ogle his business attire.

He waved her into a chair before taking the one beside it. Then he handed over the prize.

“I should’ve grabbed you a glass of wine, too,” he said as she tugged at the elaborate gold ribbon.

“Oh, no. Wine before a tax seminar? I’d wake up two hours from now, sprawled across a whole row of chairs.”

The ribbon finally sprang free, and Beth made an effort not to tear the cardboard as she yanked it open. Buttery sweetness drifted upward and she sighed. “Oh, man.”

“Taste it,” he urged.

She crossed her legs, aware that a few inches of her thighs were exposed as the skirt snuck up. She didn’t bother easing it back down. Instead, she took the fork he offered and dug in.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned as the first bite of salty sweetness hit her tongue.

“Told you.”

She swallowed, fighting the urge to moan like a woman being pleasured. But she was being pleasured. By caramel and buttery crust and sea salt and chocolate.

“Oh, good Lord.”

She might sleep with this man just to reward him for the torte.

His eyes watched her mouth. She licked a crumb from her lip and watched his own lips part in response. For a brief moment, she was that woman. The woman she pretended to be for her coworkers and customers alike. The woman who knew all, because she’d lived all.

Maybe Jamie Donovan’s gift was making a woman feel like a sensual goddess. She didn’t even mind if this was his standard act, as long as she could push her way onto the stage.

She cleared her throat and looked down at her plate, still afraid to turn the flirtation into something else. Instead, she concentrated on cutting off a perfect bite of torte and savoring every second of flavor as she chewed.

“So,” he said slowly, “I passed your booth.”

“Oh?” She wished she’d asked for wine now. She’d had a vague hope that he hadn’t checked out her booth. That he’d talked her into dessert without any of the complications that came along with a man’s awareness of her work.

“Your job must be pretty interesting.” He was staying neutral. That was a good sign. People had varied reactions to The White Orchid, but oftentimes men fell into the sly and smarmy camp.

And her job was interesting.

Beth let herself smile. “There’s never a dull moment.”

“I bet. How did you end up working there? Or do you own the shop?”

“No. I interned there almost ten years ago, working for the owner, Annabelle Mendez. Somehow I never left.”

He coughed, choking on incredulity, it seemed. “You interned there? Like, as a kid?”

“As a college student. I was all grown up and legal, I promise.”

“But…what did you major in?”

“At first, anthropology, but I just happened upon a class in Cultural Sexuality, and it was fascinating. Then I took a higher-level course in Women’s Sexuality Through Western History, and…”

“And what?”

“And…suddenly, I found myself transferring to women’s studies with a minor in anthropology. I interned at The White Orchid as part of a course, and…here I am. It’s my passion.”

His eyebrows rose. “I had no idea that kind of passion could be so…scholarly.”

“Oh, yeah? How did you think I fell into this?”

“I don’t…” An honest-to-goodness blush crept over his cheeks.

Beth couldn’t quite believe it. Oh, she saw plenty of blushing customers at the store, but men never blushed because of her.

Something like liquid electricity zinged down her spine. Beth studied his face. He had a square jaw and a strong, straight nose. His eyes were smoky blue, almost gray, and his eyebrows were dark slashes above them.

As for his mouth…she could spend hours imagining the feel of those sculpted lips against hers.

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” he finally offered, his smile both chagrined and charming.

He looked as if he would smell good. Like starch and shampoo. She decided to let him off the hook. “I’ll drop it.”

“Okay, great.” Relief chased across his face.

Beth ate her dessert and weighed her options. He was cute. Hot. Sexy. And well-known for flirtation, though he didn’t seem particularly forward. If she was brave enough to indulge her fetish for preppy guys, he might just be the perfect candidate for the job. He wouldn’t want anything more from her than she wanted from him. And how would her friends ever find out?

She took another bite to buy herself some time. His eyes watched as she raised the fork to her mouth. As soon as she swallowed, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Have a bite.”

“No way. It’s all yours. I’m just enjoying watching.”

“Oh, yeah?” She couldn’t help but grin. “Interesting.”

His head dropped as he laughed.

Lust spun through her like a vicious flock of butterflies. She wanted this man. She wanted to touch him. Taste him. Feel his skin beneath her hands.

“Jamie—”

“Um, listen. Beth…”

“Yes?”

His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but he shook his head before saying a word. Was he nervous, or was this part of his shtick? If it was, it was totally working for her.

He cleared his throat. “I’d still like to get you a glass of wine. Can I buy you a drink?”

Uh-oh. This was do-or-die time. She’d flirted with him. She was interested in more. But that “more” had nothing to do with being seen in public with him. “You mean at the bar?”

“Actually, there’s a wine bar across the street. It’s a little less hectic.”

Her hands tightened around the box until the ends bowed. “I don’t think I can. I’ve got the seminar. But thank you.” Even as the words left her mouth, she felt a surge of disappointment. In herself.

She stood up so quickly that she swayed on her heels. He stood too and reached out to steady her with a respectful hand under her arm. God, he was so cute that it hurt.

“Right,” he said. “The seminar. Afterward then?”

“I…”

His mouth looked serious now. He was waiting for her to say no. She was waiting for it too. But that wasn’t the word that escaped her lips.

“Okay,” she said so softly that he leaned forward.

“Sorry?”

She cleared the fear from her throat. “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

“I could walk you—”

“No. I’ll be fine. It’s just across the street, right? Next to the bridge?”

“That’s it. So around nine-thirty? Does that work?”

Beth’s muscles were tightening up as her heart began to pound, as if flirting with this man was sending her into fight-or-flight mode. “Sure. Nine-thirty. That sounds great.”