The Elliotts: Bedrooms Not Boardrooms!

But Liam didn’t pitch Aubrey’s lingerie into the trash. He lay in bed staring at the black satin in his hand.

He’d gone to bed early to try to catch up on some of the shut-eye he’d been missing, but so far all he’d done was toss and turn and fight the hunger thickening his blood and tightening his skin. Her scent clung to the lingerie. He pitched it onto the nightstand and then turned out the light and rolled over. The sheet clung to his overheated skin. He kicked it off, but it didn’t help. Resting one hand beneath his head, he hunkered down for another night of staring at the ceiling.

What was it about Aubrey Holt that made her so damned hard to forget? Her violet eyes? Her slender figure? Her summer-roses scent? Or the way she’d driven him wild in bed? If he could understand her allure, then he’d be steps closer to eradicating her from his thoughts.

And what was it about him that always drew him to the wrong women? In college it had been his freshman academic advisor. He hadn’t known she was married until after they’d been sleeping together for a month. He’d ended the affair immediately, a little older, a little wiser and a lot more wary. His junior year he’d become involved with a woman on the rebound. He’d lost his heart when she’d returned to the jerk who’d dumped her.

For some reason attached women sought him out. His sister, Bridget, claimed it was because he was a good listener. But, hell, problem solving was what he did best. He listened to both sides, weighed the evidence and then worked out a solution. Working out the solution was his favorite part—like solving a riddle. But he’d learned the hard way to find out a woman’s marital status before asking her out.

Aubrey’s single.

Don’t go there, man.

The phone rang, jarring him, but he welcomed the interruption. He glanced at the bedside clock. Eleven. Probably Cade calling. He picked up. “Hello.”

Silence greeted him. “Hello,” he repeated.

“Liam.”

The breathless voice sent his pulse rate soaring. Not Cade. “Aubrey.”

“I’m sorry to call so late. Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” The words came out in a rush, as if she’d been practicing them for a while.

“You’re welcome. They reminded me of you.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Probably not.” No probably about it. And Aubrey shouldn’t have been the first thing he thought of when he spotted the arrangement in the florist’s window during his morning run. But she’d been in his head all week. Why would this morning be any different? He’d dashed to the florist at lunch to place the order when he should have stayed at EPH and eaten in the company cafeteria with Cade.

“Well … I should go. I just called to … well, thank you.”

He didn’t want to let her go. He reached for the thong, brushing his fingers over the satin. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“What are you doing? Right now.”

He heard a rush of air, as if she’d exhaled into the receiver. “Getting ready for bed.”

“I beat you to it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m in bed.”

“Oh. Oh my God. Are you alone? Did I inter—”

“Aubrey, you didn’t interrupt anything. I’m alone. You?”

“Am I alone? Of course … I mean, yes, I am.”

A smile tugged his lips. “What are you wearing?”

“Liam. You shouldn’t.” Her scandalized voice trailed off.

He’d crossed the line. He wouldn’t be surprised if she slammed the receiver down.

“A white satin nightgown.”

The image instantly filled his head. He bit back a groan. “Short or long?”

“Long.” Another pause stretched between them. “What are you wearing?”

His heart thumped harder. “It’s just me and your thong.” What had possessed him to reveal that?

“You’re wearing my thong!”

He rocketed up in bed, his body hot with embarrassment. “Hell no. I’m holding it. In my hand.”

Her chuckle, low and sexy as hell, marched down his spine. “You had me worried for a minute.”

“That I was a cross-dresser?”

“Yes. Are you?”

Was she yanking his chain? “God, no.”

“Good. Not that it matters, since we’re not seeing each other.”

“No, we’re not.”

“I should go.”

He scrambled for a way to detain her and recalled a comment she’d made at lunch before she knew his identity. “Did you want to run screaming from the building today?”

“You mean work? Yes. I’m having a lot of those days lately.”

Was she lying in bed or seated on the edge? He wanted to ask, but didn’t. “Same here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ditto.” For once Liam wished he had someone to confide in. In the past he’d talked his problems through with his grandfather or Cade, but both were off-limits this time. His grandfather’s plan was the cause of Liam’s stress, and Cade worked for EPH and was, therefore, part of the trouble. Liam felt like a bone in the middle of a pack of starving dogs. Everybody wanted something from him, something he couldn’t deliver. The staff. The advertisers.

He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Aubrey worked for the competition. Not a safe sounding board.