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Stifling a shiver, she opened the folder, revealing the detailed profiles she'd compiled. "These are the most likely hackers he used based on Reed's professional network and the technical skill required."

She watched Marcus scan the documents, trying to keep her mind on business and not on continuing their passionate kisses from last night.

"Kevin Ramirez," Marcus noted, tapping the top profile. The brief contact of his finger against hers sent an entirely inappropriate spark through her system. "Former IT director. He was fired shortly after you left. He’s got the motive and the skills."

"And he’s Reed's golf buddy," she added, leaning forward to point at a photo she'd included. "They kept in touch after Ramirez left."

“Has the hacker or Reed made any demands?” he asked.

She shook her head. Nothing. And the clock was ticking. The movement sent a sharp pain through her neck and shoulders. She'd been hunched over her laptop for hours, tension coiling through her muscles as anger and fear cycled through her system. Stephanie winced, automatically reaching back to massage her aching muscles.

"Trapezius strain," Marcus observed. "Same thing I get after a long road trip in cramped plane seats."

Stephanie gave him a wry look, grateful for the momentary distraction from her anxiety. "Thanks for the diagnosis, Doc."

"Basic hockey training. We learn about muscle groups when we're rehabbing injuries." He set down his coffee, hesitating before adding, "I can help, if you want. Team massages are part of the routine on roadies."

The offer caught her off guard. Part of her wanted to refuse—maintaining professional distance seemed wise, especially now. But her neck hurt like hell, and the prospect of relief won out.

"Sure, why not?" she relented, trying to sound casual.

Marcus moved behind her, and Stephanie felt suddenly self-conscious. "Sit down," he directed. "Easier to get the right angle."

She lowered herself into the desk chair, oddly nervous as she felt him position himself behind her. There was a brief moment where his hands hovered above her shoulders, and Stephanie held her breath, unsure why this felt so significant.

"This might hurt at first," he warned, then pressed his thumbs into the tight muscles at the base of her neck.

The pain was immediate and exquisite, pulling an involuntary gasp from her that transformed into something embarrassingly like a moan. "That hurts in the best possible way," she said through gritted teeth.

"Knots in the tissue," he explained, voice steady while her heart was anything but. "Like after taking hits along the boards all night."

His fingers found each point of tension, applying pressure that walked the perfect line between pain and pleasure. Stephanie closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation. This was far from the first professional massage she'd received, but something about Marcus's touch was different. More intimate. More affecting.

"Where'd you learn this?" she asked, her voice emerging lower and huskier than intended.

"Team physiotherapist in juniors," he replied, finding a particularly tender spot where her neck met her shoulder. "She taught me after I kept re-injuring my rotator cuff."

"Lucky me," Stephanie murmured, her head dropping forward as the tension began to ease.

As Marcus worked in silence, Stephanie became increasingly aware of each point of contact between them. The strong, sure pressure of his thumbs. The occasional brush of his fingertips against her skin. Heat radiated from where he touched her, spreading through her body in a way that had nothing to do with therapeutic muscle release and everything to do with the man behind her.

When his thumbs pressed into a tight knot near her spine, a sigh escaped her that sounded far too much like desire. God, what was happening to her? This was Marcus—analytical, frustrating, brilliant Marcus who drove her crazy on a daily basis. And yet, the thought of his hands moving elsewhere on her body was suddenly all she could think about.

"Better?" he asked, his voice rougher than before.

"Mmm," she acknowledged, rolling her head experimentally. The pain had receded, replaced by a different kind of tension altogether. "Much. But don't stop yet."

His hands continued their methodical work, but something had shifted. The clinical precision was giving way to something more exploratory, more personal. When his fingers grazed the side of her neck, a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with pain.

"Too hard?" Marcus asked, freezing in place.

Stephanie turned slowly in the chair to face him, looking up to find his expression transformed. The cool, analytical mask had slipped, revealing heat and uncertainty in equal measure.

"Not hard enough," she heard herself say, hardly recognizing her own voice.

The moment stretched between them, taut with possibility. Stephanie watched Marcus's face as he visibly calculated risks and rewards—and then, remarkably, stopped thinking altogether.

He leaned down and kissed her, one hand sliding to cradle the back of her neck. Stephanie responded instantly, rising from the chair to press against him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. All the fear and anger she'd been holding transmuted into something urgent and consuming.

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