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She flushed even more. “Uh—why?”
“For starters, you’re not afraid of me.” He swallowed a bite of eggplant parmesan. It was perfection. Chef Antoine had outdone himself. “It’s refreshing.”
She raised her brows and cut into her own dinner. “What’s to be afraid of?”
“I guess it’s because I’m a beast.”
She choked on her food, swallowed it, and reached for her wine with a shaking hand. He watched her with amusement as she drank the whole glass. Once finished, she set it down and locked eyes with him. “So, you heard that?”
He nodded once. “I also heard you defend me. Thank you.”
“Oh. That?” She waved a hand. “That was nothing. It’s ridiculous that they gave you that name in the first place. You being a strict boss doesn’t make you scary.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” She licked her lips, and he couldn’t look away from her red, exquisite mouth. Leaning in, she rested a small hand on his arm. Her innocent touch burned through his shirt, searing his skin, and he stiffened. Her nostrils flared slightly, and she held his arm tighter, as if she felt the instant attraction, too. His pulse sped up, and he shifted in his chair to accommodate his increasing hardness. “And anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool.”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he didn’t. “So, uh, where are you from originally?”
It had been years since he’d been this curious about a woman. She worked so hard. Never complained, and she was beautiful in a quiet and serene kind of way. She was nothing like the women he used to date—not that this was a date, nor was he even thinking about her that way. Okay, well, maybe a bit.
But they were just two people getting to know each other on a Friday night. At the office. He was rewarding her for her efforts. Yes, that’s what this was.
That’s all this was.
“A farm in South Dakota.” She put her fork down and held a hand up. “You’re shocked people actually live there, right?”
He swallowed a laugh. “Well, now that you mention it…”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, laughing and tossing a piece of bread at him.
It hit his chest, exploding with crumbs before it fell into his lap. He blinked down at it. No one, in all his thirty-three years, had ever thrown food at him. He’d seen it in movies but didn’t think people actually did it.
Something of his shock must have shown on his face, because she turned whiter than the table linen.
“Oh…” She jerked back, knocking her fork under the table. “Oh crap. I’m sorry, sir. So sorry. I forgot—”
He held up a hand. “It’s fine. Your fork might not agree, but I’m good.”
She laughed uneasily. “I’m such a klutz, give me a second.” Scooting out the chair, she crawled under the table. Benjamin lost sight of her, but her hand brushed his ankle, which didn’t do a lot of good for his dwindling resistance to her. “Oops.”
He swept the breadcrumbs off his crisp dress shirt, forcing his body to cool the hell off, and peeked at her under the table. She knelt at his feet, on all fours, and stared up at him. She rested a hand on his knee, laughing uneasily. “This isn’t awkward at all, right? I mean, I’m just a girl, kneeling under a table at her boss’s feet…”
An almost-laugh escaped him. “Maggie.”
The moment they locked eyes, the air between them became charged, and the desire was undeniably there. Her hand on his knee tightened, and then she let go with a small sound. The way she looked at him—all wide eyes and parted lips—practically begged him to stop fighting the attraction between them.
To take what she had to offer, and more.
He cleared his throat. “You—”
“I—” she started.
“Am I interrupting?” A chilly voice he recognized all too well intercepted.
Well, shit.
“Not at all.” He stiffened, fisting the dainty white napkin in his lap. He knew, just knew, his mother would immediately assume the worst as to why a woman was on her knees, under the table, in his office. “What are you doing here?”
