She threw herself in front of them. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to throw those in the Dumpster where they belong.”

“No, you’re not. They’re mine.” This was her first bouquet from a boy ever.

“I’ll get you better ones,” he said through his teeth. “Those have to go.”

“I don’t want you to get me flowers.”

“We’re dating, remember?”

“We’re not dating. We went on one date, and I don’t want another. We’re not compatible at all.”

Benita pursed her lips and watched Philip with raised eyebrows, obviously enjoying the drama.

He approached Stella with tensed shoulders and clenched hands. “And you’re compatible with him?”

She curled her fingers around the card. Was it still compatibility if it was one-sided?

“I was really happy when he and I were together. He’s a good listener. More than that, he wanted to know about me, my day, what I was doing, and—”

“All I care about is whether or not he’s good in bed,” Benita interjected.

Stella bit her lip and blushed down at the carpet. The word good didn’t do Michael justice. Phenomenal was more like it.

“You lucky duck.” Benita turned to Philip and grabbed his arm. “Come on, PJ, let’s go to the kitchen. You need to ice that eye.”

PJ?

Philip grumbled under his breath and stared a few daggers at her lilies before he allowed Benita to pull him out of Stella’s office. As the two of them walked down the hall, he settled his hand at the base of her spine, slipped it lower, and squeezed. Instead of smacking him as Stella thought she would, Benita brushed the light hair from his brow and clucked over his bruise.

That was . . . interesting.

Apparently, Benita didn’t care that Philip was a complete hound when it came to women. That worked out just fine for Stella. She didn’t have to feel bad for not asking him out again.

She rotated the flower vase and fiddled with the stems. Flowers had always seemed pretty senseless to her. They stank, they wilted, and then you had to clean them up. But these were from Michael.

Her phone buzzed repeatedly, and when she retrieved it from her desk drawer, she saw it was him. She considered letting it go to voice mail, but her thumb hit the talk button on its own.

“Hello.”

“Did you get them?” he asked.

“Yes . . . Thank you.”

“How’s Philip Dexter’s eye looking today?”

“Purple.”

He made a satisfied sound, and she could almost see his evil smile. She barely refrained from sighing like a schoolgirl. His barbarism shouldn’t please her like this.

“It’ll start turning green in a few days,” he said.

“You really shouldn’t have given him a black eye.” But she loved that he had. It made her feel special in a way she’d never known. She was a bloodthirsty villainess.

“You’re right. Next time, I’ll double-punch him in the balls. If anyone’s going to kiss you, it had better be me.” After an awkward pause, he asked, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Her foolish heart leapt at the thought of seeing him again, but she forced it into submission. She didn’t understand why he was doing any of this, didn’t trust it. “No.”

There was a long silence before he said, “Good. I like a challenge.”

“I’m not trying to challenge you.”

“I know you’re not. You’re trying to get over me, which is worse.”

“Michael . . .”

“I have stuff to do. Talk to you later. Miss you.” The call disconnected.

She paced about her office with increasingly agitated steps. He didn’t want her to get over him. How irritating. What was she supposed to do? Pine over him for eternity?

This burst of outlandish courting had started immediately after he saw Philip trying to kiss her when she didn’t want it. Michael was trying to warn Philip off because he didn’t think she could protect herself.

She was still his charity case.

Breathing heavily, she picked up his note, crumpled it into a misshapen ball, and tossed it in the trash. That was what she thought of his pity.

If she wanted to get over a man, she was going to get over a man.

She sat down and read over the last few lines of code on the programming screen. Her brain was too distracted to concentrate. She kept thinking about Michael. Her body still yearned for his caresses and his dirty words. More than that, she missed him and the routines they’d made together.

He couldn’t really want her back, but it would be wonderful if he did. When she noticed the hopeful direction of her thoughts, she scolded herself and told herself to focus on the data. It didn’t work. Making a frustrated sound, she fished his note out of the trash, smoothed it out, and stuffed it in one of her drawers.

• • •

Each day that week, he called and asked her out to dinner. Each day, she refused. She didn’t need or want his help. She could take care of herself just fine.

As of Friday evening, her desk sported the vase of still lovely calla lilies, another vase of roses ranging in shade from bloodred to pink, a bundle of balloons, and a fuzzy black teddy bear in a karate gi. She was far too old for stuffed animals, and the sight of it embarrassed her. Michael’s extravagance was making her the talk of the office. She had to figure out a way to make this stop.

When it was time to leave, she powered off her computer, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door, snatching Karate Bear on the way out. She didn’t want him, but the thought of him sitting alone in her office all night made her heartbreakingly sad.

She squished the bear under her arm, making him as small as possible, and exited the building. No one needed to see her walking around with a stuffed animal in tow.

“Heading home?” The solitary voice came from behind as she crossed the empty parking lot, and her heart leapt into her throat.

She whipped around with a hand on her chest.

Michael pushed away from the wall of her office building, thumbs hooked into his pockets. He wore a fitted black vest over an oxford shirt that was unbuttoned at the throat and dark slacks. Too gorgeous. She dragged her eyes away and went to pick up her bear from his abandoned location on the blacktop.

Brushing off the bear’s fur, she said, “This can be interpreted as stalking, you know.”

He ducked his head with a sheepish smile. “I know.”

“You need to stop all of this.”

“It’s not just a little romantic? I don’t have a lot of experience with courting, so you’ll have to excuse me if I come across too strong.”

She pursed her lips. With his looks and charisma, she was sure all he generally had to do was crook his finger and wait for women to crawl to him. She didn’t want to be one of those foolish women anymore. “Cut it out, Michael. We both know you’re not courting me.”

His shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t need to protect me from Philip anymore. He’s switched his attention to the receptionist.”

“None of this has been about Philip.” He stalked toward her, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight.

Her instincts told her to back away as he neared, but stubbornness had her digging her feet in. She lifted her chin. She wasn’t scared of him. “I’m done being your charity case. I don’t want—”

Clasping the sides of her face in his hands, he kissed her. Sensation shocked through her, ending her struggles before they began. The cool silk of his lips on hers felt like heaven. As he stroked his hot tongue into her mouth, his salty taste and familiar scent intoxicated her. She gripped his shoulders and pressed her body to his. He surrounded her with his arms and aligned their hips, her softness to his hardness. Liquid aching pervaded her limbs.

“Look at you melting for me,” he rasped against her mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

He kissed her again, a deep, slow tasting that curled her toes and made her sigh against his lips. Her hair loosened, and she shivered as he threaded his fingers into the mass.