Hard Deal. Stefanie London

women in the office. Tiffany from accounts. Stella from payroll.” She ticked the names off with her fingers. “Bethany from the assistant pool. She was a temp, but I’m still counting it.”

      “I had no idea you were keeping track.” That pleased him greatly. “Are you aware they all said yes?”

      “I am. Seems nobody turns you down.”

      “Except you.”

      “I haven’t turned you down.” She clicked her nails against the metal shelf behind her. “Yet.”

      “Yet.”

      “You’re too busy beating around the bush to ask.”

      “But you would turn me down?” He rifled through another box, acutely aware that he was being watched. “And stop staring at my ass.”

      “Excuse me,” she spluttered. “I am not staring at your ass.”

      She totally was. He could see her in the reflection off the thick poles that stabilised the shelves. “I should have HR write you up for that.”

      “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.” She threw her hands up in the air. “You’re all talk, no action. Face it, I could unbutton my shirt right now and you wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

      Ka-ching! “Try me.”

      He turned and leaned against the shelving unit, mimicking her pose. The crappy florescent lighting of the archive room did nothing to hide the delicious flush in Imogen’s cheeks. The colour spread all the way down her neck, and he imagined farther past the modest neckline of her shirt.

      “It’s an expression,” she muttered.

      “Now who’s all talk?”

      She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I’m a chicken?”

      “Free range, obviously. Possibly organic.” He grinned. “Definitely one hundred percent chicken.”

      She licked her lips. Stalling. “There are cameras in here.”

      “So turn the light off. Dad’s big on security but he’s too tight to spring for infrared.” He waited for her to back down. “No one will know.”

      “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the exercise?”

      Exercise. Like they were talking about a bloody fire drill. “I can see with my hands.”

      She sucked in a quick breath. “You’re so full of it.”

      “Think that honour goes to you, Miss Hargrove.” He laughed. “You talk a big game, but the second I try to pull the trigger you’re coming up with excuse after excuse. Don’t worry. I’m disappointed but I’ll live.”

      Her nostrils flared. This was how things always were between them—simultaneously wary and oh so interested. Truth was he hadn’t ever asked her out. Because he knew what the answer would be. But today she’d decided to play his game. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to question it.

      “Ugh, I’m sick of men acting interested and then backing off the second any conversation happens.” She stalked over to the door and Caleb was sure she was about to leave. But then the light went off. “Am I really that boring?”

      Holy shit. Was this happening? The sound of fabric rustling in the dark got him hard as stone in an instant. He blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the dark. But the archive room was like an underground cell. Not even a crack of light slipped in from the hallway outside.

      “Stay by the door,” he said. He walked around the perimeter of the room, his hands trailing along the edge of the shelves so he knew where he was. “And don’t turn that light back on.”

      Silence. For a second there was nothing. Then his hands brushed something warm. Bare skin.

      “Found you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “My, my. The Prim Miss Hargrove knows how to play a game of truth or dare.”

      “Just dare,” she said. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her bare skin again. The area felt flat, possibly her stomach. God, he wanted to touch all of her. “And I play to win.”

      She stayed stock still as his hand travelled up. There was a curve, something hard beneath her soft skin. Rib cage. Then his fingertips brushed over something soft and textured. Lace. The swell of her breast filled his palm perfectly—firm and round. His thumb grazed over a hard nipple and his cock shifted in response.

      Imogen made a soft, strangled sound and it was like an arrow of excitement straight through him. How many times had he thought about doing this with her? How many times had he wondered what her soft, curvy body would feel like under his hungry grasp? It would be so easy to back her up against the door and lift her leg over his hip.

      “See,” she said, though her voice trembled as his thumb brushed her nipple again. “Told you I’m not all talk.”

      Caleb opened his mouth to respond when a loud knock came down on the other side of the door. The thud was so hard it seemed to rattle the door in its hinges. “Hello? This is Jim from security. Everything okay in there? We saw the lights go out on the security monitor.”

      Fuck. He hadn’t thought anyone would be watching them.

      “We’re fine!” Imogen’s shrill voice made Caleb wince. Then she shoved him away from her with one hand. “Just testing some new glow-in-the-dark promo items.”

      A second later the light flicked back on and Imogen was buttoned up as if their game had never taken place. She yanked the door open and gave the security guard a charming smile. “Sorry, we should have warned you. We needed to test that the items glowed properly and the rooms upstairs don’t get dark enough.”

      The security guard raised a brow as though he didn’t really believe the story, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask any more questions before marching out of the room, leaving both Caleb and the security guard in her dust.

      * * *

      Caleb pulled into the sweeping driveway of his parents’ Albert Park mansion with his head still spinning from the incident in the archive room. He needed to put it out of his mind, though, because it was family dinner night. And that meant being on his A-game.

      It looked as though Jason had already arrived, since his brother’s black BMW was parked out front. It sat next to his mother’s gunmetal Mercedes and his father’s silver Audi. God, it was like someone had done a photo shoot of the world’s most boring vehicles.

      He pulled his candy-apple-red Alfa Romeo into the empty spot next to the Merc. Like most things about Caleb’s life, it didn’t fit in with the rest of his family. In his world, he wasn’t the black sheep. More like lime green with purple polka dots.

      “About time,” his brother called from the front door. “I thought we’d have to start without you.”

      “That would make a change. Since when am I the last to arrive?”

      Caleb and his mother often jokingly made bets about who would be later to dinner—Gerald or Jason. They were two peas in a pod, unable to tear themselves away from work even with the promise of a home-cooked meal. Well, a meal cooked in their home, anyway. No one had cooked in that house but their personal chef, Luis, since they moved in a decade ago.

      “I went to the finance town hall and it finished up a little early. So, I stayed for a drink and then came straight over.” His brother slapped Caleb on the back as he entered the house. “Thought it might be nice not to hold up the show, for once.”

      “And Dad’s here already?” They walked through the foyer and into the open-plan dining and living room. His parents were already seated, a bottle of wine open between them.

      “Yeah, the negotiations turned out fine.”

      Of course they