He smelled as delicious as the pastries she studiously avoided.
She had willpower. She passed the pastries every day and managed not to be lured by them, she could do the same with Joe.
“I’m working on a pro bono case for a woman who had her children taken away from her.” He gestured to the mess of papers all over his desk. “I need to highlight all the outcalls from Children’s Social Care, and then I need to organize them according to date.”
Nodding, Em moved a chair closer to his desk. She took a pad of sticky tabs from his desk and primly sat down. “Do you have a pen?”
He handed her a highlighter.
She took it, looking up when he didn’t let go. “What?”
“I was going to offer you a more comfortable seat.”
Before she could help herself, she glanced at his lap. Flushing, she covered her naughty thoughts with a saucy tilt of her chin. “I’m fine where I am, and if you don’t let go of the pen, I’ll never get anything done. I wouldn’t want to be accused of keeping you in the office all weekend.”
“There’d be worse fates than being here with you,” he said as he let go.
She arched her brow. “You’re assuming I don’t have other engagements.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.”
“I could make you forget them.” His eyes promised sin and delicious things.
She wanted it all, which was why she tugged her sweater down and said, “I’m sure you could, but to what end? You aren’t my type, and I’m certainly not yours.”
“You sound so sure of that.”
She tugged at the pen. “Let go.”
He seemed like he was going to argue, but he surprised her by letting her get to work.
She marked everything he’d asked her to mark. At first, it was difficult concentrating with him so close. She swore he smelled like cake—the most devilish, tempting chocolate cake ever. She wanted to run her finger in his icing and lick it.
But she didn’t want cake. She wanted something substantial and true, not a fleeting satisfaction that’d make her crash.
She wanted Ben.
She lowered her head and focussed on the work.
She got to the bottom of the paperwork and set the pen down. “Done.”
He looked at the neat pile. “Now we need to organize them by date.”
“Already done, and I marked each quarter with a tab.” She turned the stack of papers to show him the blue tabs peeking from the sides.
He frowned. “That was fast.”
“Are you saying I didn’t do a thorough job?” She dared him to say otherwise with her gaze. “Because I can assure you that I did.”
“No, I’m saying you’re a wonder.”
“Oh.” Flustered, she felt herself blush. She stood and pulled her sweater down. “If you won’t be needing me …”
He stood, too. “I need you, Em.”
There was a hint of dark desire in his voice, and it made her shiver. She lost her voice, not sure what to say because she was sure Take me wasn’t right, even though it was the only thing in her head.
He stepped closer, reaching out to her—
A knock on the doorframe startled her.
“Sorry, miss,” a workman said. “We’re done now.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat and gave Joe a reproaching look before briskly following the workman to let them out.
To be safe, she left with them. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Joe—she didn’t trust herself.
She took the underground to Shoreditch, walking dazedly to the coffeehouse. What had just happened? If she didn’t know better, she’d have suspected that he’d been about to touch her—maybe more.
He was a player. Whatever he’d been up to couldn’t have been good.
“Hello, Em.”
Startled out of her daze, she realizing she’d almost walked straight into Ben. She frowned at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here.” He flashed his sweet smile at her. “You’re right on time, like usual. Ready to go out to the greenhouse?”
Not thinking, she winked at him and held up one of her gardening gloves. “More than ready. Want to help me get it on?”
Confusion shadowed Ben’s face. “Is something wrong with your hand?”
She blinked. What was she thinking, trying to flirt with Ben? It was Joe’s fault, which was exactly why she didn’t want him. Ben was much more suitable as a husband and father: dependable and loyal.
Dull, said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Joe’s.
She lifted her chin. Dull was just what she needed.
Chapter Eleven
“Sorry I’m late,” Sara said as she unwound her black scarf and shimmied out of her overcoat.