She smoothed her hands down the stretchy fabric that shaped to her contours. She looked carefree and sexy, something she hadn’t felt in a while. 

Greer tilted her head. Did the sparkles in the fabric make it too over the top for casual drinks by the harbour?

She didn’t care. It was this or the grey jacket and straight skirt she’d worn to work.

She grinned at her reflection. Sparkles it was. But first… She unpinned her long, straight hair and combed it out. Really, she should get it cut. It was overdue. But for tonight she’d enjoy it loose around her shoulders.

Slipping her feet into comfortable sling backs, she stuffed the comb into her bag, picked up her discarded clothes and walked out.

Straight into a tall body.

She froze, thoughts scrabbling at the feel of a hard, hot male body against her torso. Strong hands closed around her elbows, anchoring her, and she realised belatedly that she wobbled on her heels.

Greer gasped as, in slow motion, her clothes spilled from her grip. That gasp brought a familiar scent. A warm male scent, woody with an undertone of leather. Her pulse skyrocketed, making her heart thud against her ribcage.

Because she knew instantly who this was.

Something intense and shocking shivered through her insides.

Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her chin, taking in the crisp shirt beneath the beautifully tailored jacket. Up past his open collar that revealed a V of golden flesh and the dark bronze silk of his loosened tie. 

He always mangled his ties.

Greer swallowed, searching for something to say. Something light and offhand about being clumsy or him surprising her.

Nothing came. She felt his chest rise on a breath, pushing against her breasts, but he didn’t speak. The friction made her breasts tighten and a hollow feeling open up low in her body.

She needed to move back, break the contact. And again her willpower failed her.

Because this felt so good. Too good.

Despite the heat flaring between them, cold fingers danced up her spine, lifting the hairs at her nape in warning.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Of course it was wrong to stand here, soaking up the sensation of Conall’s hard frame against hers. But maybe the knock to her head had damaged her willpower too. Since the moment they’d met she’d been supremely aware of this fruitless attraction and done everything to resist it, or at least hide it. Yet no matter how she told legs to move, nothing happened.

Carefully she lifted her head, seeing the clean, enticing line of his jaw and then that sculpted mouth.

‘Are you okay, Greer?’ His voice sounded husky, probably distorted by the throb of her racing pulse. ‘You seem unsteady.’

Moistening her lips, searching for a semblance of normality, she looked up into concerned dark eyes. Was that concern, or something like the exhilaration she felt?

Conall’s gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering in a way that sent heat hurtling through her bloodstream. It spread over her breasts and throat, at the same time pooling low in her pelvis.

There was a new sensation too, fine fabric against her palms and beneath the fabric, the solid wall of his chest. She hadn’t realised she’d lifted her hands until she felt her fingers moulding possessively over tensed muscles and realised she’d nudged his jacket open.

She wanted… How she wanted…

As if in answer to the longing she’d so ruthlessly suppressed, his head lowered to hers. So slowly she didn’t actually see the movement, just registered his features getting closer.

Excitement spiked. With it came elation and a hunger so profound it should have scared her.

Yet it felt perfectly, absolutely right. As if the answer to her earlier question about what she needed was simply Conall.

Conall holding her close, his body a bulwark against the world, his touch the route to all she craved.

Everything slowed, as it did during life-and-death events. Seconds felt like minutes or hours, while she registered details so thoroughly they stayed imprinted permanently on the memory.

The spiky fringe of his black lashes. The tiny furrow of concentration at the centre of his forehead. The arc of that tiny new scar on his jawline.

She wanted to trace his features. To know intimacies he didn’t share with anyone else. Even, foolishly, how he’d got that scar. But most of all she wanted, needed his kiss. She’d never needed anything so much.

‘Greer?’

His voice was sharper, his fingers tightening on her arms and abruptly she realised she was the one moving closer to him. She was on tiptoe, leaning up to reach him, her body pushing against his. One of her hands had crept to his shoulder, a moment away from grasping the back of his head and pulling it down to hers.

Shock blasted her, breath hissing in as reality pierced the haze of desire.

She stumbled back, embarrassment surging as she realised Conall’s dark eyes held only concern and a wariness that made her stomach curdle.

Almost as bad was the fact he felt the need to keep hold of her lest she fall.

Wrenching her arms free, she retreated further, coming up against a wall. Her chest rose and fell with each quick, agonising breath and she wrapped her bare arms around her middle, trying to hold in the toxic mix of shock, disappointment and embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’

She had meant it. That was the problem. For twenty months she’d kept her attraction to Conall under lock and key, never giving in to it. Never even allowing her gaze to linger.

‘There’s nothing to apologise for. It’s okay.’

She stifled a bitter laugh. It was anything but okay. She’d just come on to her boss. Her face, even her ears burned with embarrassment. In the pit of her stomach fear escalated. Had she just thrown away everything she’d worked so hard for?