Page 35 of Fire in You

Pushing the run-in with Paul to back of my head, I made my way to Brock’s office. The door was open, so I called out, “You got a few minutes? I brought you coffee.”

Brock lifted his head and a faint smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. He had several days’ growth of a beard on his cheeks and there were smudges under his eyes, as if he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep this weekend.

A weird feeling tugged at me. It was curiosity. I wanted to know why he looked so bad.

Closing a file he was looking at, he motioned me in. His gaze flickered over me, and I felt a flush travel over my skin. I was wearing dress pants and a sweater, but that quick glance of his made me feel like I was walking around in lingerie, which was one hundred percent due to my overactive imagination.

“I always have time for you, Jillian.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to point out there had been many times in the past, when we’d gotten older, that he hadn’t. Luckily, I had some common sense and realized how incredibly bitter that would’ve sounded.

And completely unnecessary.

So I came into the office and placed the cup on his desk, careful not to spill. “Did you have a good weekend?” I asked, sitting down.

“Long,” he said, reaching for the mug. “It was a very long weekend.”

I eyed him over the rim of my cup. “Looks like it.”

Brock did look tired, but he still managed to look incredibly . . . well, incredibly sexy in his white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck.

He eyed me. “You, on the other hand, look well rested. I’m guessing your date with that little guy didn’t turn into a weekend adventure.”

Slowly, I lowered my mug. “My date withGradywent very well, thank you very much, and for the last time, he’s not little.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, sipping his coffee.

“And how does one date turn into an entire weekend?”

He raised a brow as he placed his mug back down. “Obviously you haven’t been on a really good date then.”

Heat blasted my cheeks. I guessed I hadn’t. Nice of him to point that out to me.Jerk.

“Because a really good date with me doesn’t end with anart exhibit,” he said silkily. “A really good date won’t end until the next night. Not until I’ve spent hours making sure it’s the kind of date my woman never wants to end.”

Oh.

Ohgosh.

Flustered, I squirmed as I stared at my coffee. I had no idea what that would be like, to be the sole focus of the kind of man like Brockallweekend long.

“You guys going out again?” he asked.

I lifted my gaze, feeling oddly hot, like I’d been sitting out in the summer sun. “We’re having dinner Wednesday night.”

Rising, he walked around the desk, and I tensed, having no idea what he was up to when his dark eyes held a wealth of secrets. “That’s a shame.”

Confusion swept through me. “How so?”

He walked until he was in front of the desk and leaned back against it. “You’re not going to be able to have dinner with him on Wednesday.”

“And why not?”

Stretching out his long legs, I tensed even more when his knee brushed mine. Deep in my chest, my heart fluttered like a hummingbird taking flight. “Because you’re going to dinner with me.”

Chapter 11

I opened my mouth, but immediately snapped it closed because my heart was suddenly entering cardiac territory. Was he . . . was Brock Mitchell seriously asking me out? Well, not asking me, but telling me we were going to dinner, like him and me? Us? But that didn’t make sense. He had a fiancée—a real life fiancée.

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