Would they wash their clothes together? Intermingling her life with Lucas’s in such an ordinary way seemed terribly intimate. It made their upcoming marriage somehow more real, more valid.

Rattled by the notion, Allie left her clothes tumbling in the dryer and returned to her apartment. The flashing light on her answering machine sent her heart into overdrive—had Lucas called her after all? But it was only her brother Stephen, demanding she call him back tonight.

The last thing she needed was Stephen and his lectures. She’d committed herself to Lucas, to their marriage. Her brother’s haranguing would only heighten her doubts.

Flipping on the TV, she watched a mindless cop show as she waited for her laundry to finish. Lucas never did call, but Stephen did, twice more. Allie resolutely ignored him each time.

With morning light spilling into his office, Lucas paced in agitation. In the week since he’d proposed marriage to Allie, he still hadn’t regained his focus. Each day his preoccupation with his admin assistant grew until it had become a nearly unmanageable obsession.

When he first arrived in the mornings he was barely able to pass her desk without touching her, without threading his fingers through her hair and tipping her head up to kiss her. He could hardly make it through their morning reviews, the urgency to round the desk and pull her into his arms so overwhelmed him. Sometimes her gaze met his as they worked together and he could see the wariness in her eyes. She had to sense his attraction for her.

His only recourse was to rush her through the recitation of his schedule, to hurry her out of his office. But her absence seemed to tantalize him more than her presence. Just the thought of her expressive green eyes set off a throbbing low in his body, a response he couldn’t seem to control. Fantasies played themselves out in his mind—of him calling Allie into his office, tugging the dove-gray sleeveless shirt she wore today from the matching skirt, slipping his hand under it to cup her breast. Then lifting her to the desk, parting her legs and—

Damn, he had to get himself under control. He strode behind his desk and forced himself to sit. Locking his fingers together, he gripped them tightly on his desk.

If he couldn’t keep his hands off her in these weeks before their wedding, how the hell would he do it once they were married? Once they were sharing his home, he wouldn’t have a prayer if he didn’t keep his rampant desires in line now. And he damn well intended to keep that promise.

Lucas dragged in a long breath and let it out. Most of the women he knew looked at sex the way he did—a necessary physical release. No messy emotions to get in the way. But Allie—still young and idealistic and full of hope—she might think physical intimacy meant more than it did. And the last thing he needed was Allie believing she was in love with him.

Unclenching his hands, he lifted a small Post-it square from the left side of his desk and repositioned it on the right. The note had been there all week, a glaring reminder of the upcoming wedding. On the pale-yellow square of paper, Allie had written down the name of the Methodist church in Fair Oaks and the time and date of the ceremony. Reverend Frank Harmon, she’d penned across the bottom of the note, the neat flowing loops of her script as feminine as the woman who wrote them.

A knock on his office door sent tension zinging up his spine. He dragged a folder to the center of his desk and opened it, dipping his head down to the stack of papers he should have been reviewing. “Enter.”

Allie slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. As she crossed the office, her soft skirt rippled around her, shaping itself to the curves of her body. “Could we talk?” The faintest trace of irritation colored her tone.

He closed the folder with precise care. “Certainly.”

She stood before his desk, shoulders thrown back. “You might be able to see our marriage as a cold-blooded business deal, but I can’t. Even though we’re not marrying for love, we’re going to live together for the next two years. We ought to get to know each other better.”

He struggled to focus on what she was saying, distracted by the way the late-morning sun lit her slender form. Would her skin feel warmer under that yellow glow? He shook off the image. “What do you want, Allie?”

“I want you to stop avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

She just stared at him a moment, her expression telling him she knew a snow job when she heard one. “I want to spend some time with you, Lucas. I want a chance to get to know you a little better before the wedding.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request, if you ignored the heat rippling through his body that urged him to get to know her much, much better. More time spent with her meant an even greater trial for his libido. But hell, he was a grown man. He ought to be able to give Allie what she wanted without breaking his promise of a platonic relationship.

She stood there, watching him, no doubt preparing her next argument if he turned her down. Lord, she was a hell of a fighter.

“What am I doing for lunch?” he asked her.

The question caught her off guard. She glanced around her as if seeking her laptop. “No meetings scheduled.”

“I have one now,” he said. “With you.”

Her brilliant smile cut straight to his heart, setting off a flurry of unfamiliar emotions. Before he could catch his balance again, she’d moved around his desk and bent to put her arm around his shoulders. “Thank you,” she murmured in his ear.

The warmth of her breath teased him, the nearness of her crumbled his good intentions. Before she could straighten, he’d curved his hands around her face, brought her mouth to his.

His fingers dove into her silky black hair, the softness against his skin a sweet torment. He brushed his mouth against hers, telling himself with each light touch to back off, to push her away. But when he’d kissed her a week ago, he’d had only the briefest taste. The memory of it had haunted him every night, stealing his sleep, infiltrating his dreams.

And he had to have more.

Allie never should have touched him. In her delight over sharing lunch with Lucas, she’d let impulse take control. Now with him so near, with his breath fanning across her face as he stroked her lips with his, the snare of his passion wound around her.

She had to pull away. She took a step back to do just that when Lucas’s mouth drifted from her lips, along her jaw to nuzzle in her ear. She swallowed back a moan, her pleasure easing out in a sigh instead. The hand he’d buried in her hair moved restlessly, its random pattern electric and breath-stealing.

Her own hands took their cue from him, gliding along the stiff shoulders of his jacket to the warm column of his throat. She wanted to ease her fingertips into his hair, explore his sensitive scalp as he did hers. She wanted to do more—to shift to stand in the V of his legs, to press her aching breasts against his chest.

She was lost. With so little effort, Lucas had taken over. And yet she had only to take another step back, to straighten and tug herself away and he would let her go. He had to let her go.

Drawing in a trembling breath, Allie struggled to regain her strength, her will. She slid her hands from Lucas’s throat, pressed her palms against his shoulders. The instant he felt the pressure of her hands against him, he released her so that she nearly stumbled as she backed away.

He sprang from his chair, turning away from her. Facing the window, he pressed both palms against the glass, arms stiff with tension. “Hell.”

She heard a tremor in the softly spoken word. Raising a shaky hand, she smoothed her hair from her face. “I’m sorry.”

His head swiveled toward her, his eyes blazing. “What the devil do you have to be sorry for?”