I round the corner of her statuesque mahogany desk and snatch her hand that still holds the baseball. “Play time’s over, Grumpy,” I tell her as I steal the ball and put it back onto its holder. “You probably won’t be so hungry once you have some meat in you.”

Stacey chokes down a giggle to which Tori sends death rays at her.

“Don’t kill her,” I chuckle. “I tend to influence those around me and cause trouble.”

“You don’t influence me,” she pouts, but bends to pick her purse up from the floor.

“Not yet, beautiful. Not yet.”

Stacey regards us with a shit eating grin on her face. I wink at her as I drag my date out of her office. Tori attempts to jerk her hand free from mine as I haul her past the desks and other offices, but I grip her tighter. I’m met with many shocked stares along the way.

Ice Queen needs a little thawing it would seem.

I can imagine the entire office would agree with me.

When we finally make it into the elevators and the doors close, she yanks her hand away and unleashes her fury.

“You’re an asshole, Chase,” she huffs. “You know that? You can’t just manhandle me whenever you want.”

She’s glaring at me with her tiny hands on her small waist, her purse hanging from her shoulder. The pencil skirt is tight and sexy as hell. I want to hold her hips too. Encroaching on her, I step until I’m in her space and watch with smug satisfaction as she retreats—right into the fucking wall. Once she’s trapped, I slip my hands to her waist and cover her hands with mine.

“I think you like being manhandled.”

Her eyes widen in shock and for a moment, the vicious divorce lawyer has nothing to say. A strand of hair is stuck to her suckable lips so I lift a hand to her face. Her breath catches and I inspect her features. The warring behind her eyes—whether or not to push me away or pull me to her. The way her lips pop open and closed like a cute little fish.

I give her a small smile as I drag my thumb along her soft cheek and tug the hair from her mouth. She exhales the breath she was holding and I smell peppermint on her lips. When I tuck the strand back behind her ear, her eyes flutter closed. Not one to miss an opportunity, I gently kiss the corner of her cheek where it meets her mouth.

“You smell good,” I tell her as I step away, as if I didn’t just kiss the sexy vixen—no matter how innocent it was.

She’s still faltering from our exchange when the elevator doors open to the lobby.

“Ready for an adventure?”

Her head is curtly shaking back and forth in protest, but I snatch her hand and guide her out of the elevator and through the lobby. When we step outside of the building, I’m glad to see my baby—sitting right out front like I left her.

“This is your car?” she questions in surprise, but I don’t miss her impressed tone.

“My baby,” I correct. “She’s been with me since Christmas.”

I hand the male valet the ticket and a tip which earns me an appreciative nod.

“After you,” I tell her as I open the door for her.

She gapes at me as if she’s never dated a gentleman before. Jealousy knifes its way through my chest from the thought of her dating anyone. I want to be the one to open her up and discover the true self she hides deep inside. Nobody else would handle her the way she needs to be handled.

Not with kid gloves.

But instead with bare, naked, strong hands.

She slides into the car as if she was born to do so and I close the door behind her. Once I get in and settled behind the wheel, I flash her a grin.

“I hope you like barbecue.”

I don’t give her time to argue before I pull away from the building. The engine craves to be tested and abused. But, I never drive more than the posted speed limits. Oftentimes, the tiger beneath the hood bucks and jumps against her cage with the desire to peel out or haul ass down the highway.

I never give in to the beast.

“Why are you driving so slowly?” she questions in horror as I travel down Whacker Drive going thirty miles per hour.

“Because that’s the speed limit, babe.”

She huffs and I’m not sure if it’s from the pet name or my refusal to go any faster. I let her stew in silence as we drive toward the place where I’d like her help. When I pull into the parking lot of the home improvement store, she jerks her head toward me.

“Why are we here?”

The smoke from the cooker out front, boasting Billy’s Bada$$ BBQ, blurs the air within the parking lot. As soon as I park the car, the heavenly aromas waft their way into the car.

“That,” I say and point at the barbecue stand, “is why we’re here.”

Her stomach growls again and I chuckle. “And,” I tell her, reaching for my paint swatch in the backseat, “We’re here because I need to pick out some paint. You’re a girl and girls are good at that shit.”

Not waiting for her to respond with some feminist remark, I climb out of the car and make my way over to her side where she’s already scrambling out.

“I can’t waste my entire day traipsing around with you, Chase,” she barks. But, I don’t miss the way her eyes cut a sideways glance to the barbecue that is making my mouth water and no doubt hers too.

“An hour, Tori. That’s all I ask of you.”

Moments later, we’re parked at a dirty picnic table which buzzes with annoying flies, but neither of us are deterred from devouring our chopped brisket sandwiches that are dripping with the best-flavored sauce this side of the Mississippi.

“Oh my God,” she whines after polishing off her sandwich and picks at her fries. “You’re going to make me fat.”

I bellow with laughter. “Hate to break it to you, Grumpy, but your ass needs some meat on it.”

She scrunches her nose at me and she’s cute as fuck doing it. “There’s nothing wrong with my ass.”

My lips draw up in a crooked grin. “No, babe, there is certainly nothing wrong with that ass. But, I could inspect it further, just in case.”

A giggle—so damn sweet—rings out in the air and she tosses her rolled up napkin at me. “Why am I here with you again?” she mutters in faux annoyance.

The truth is, though, she’s having fun. Much to her apparent disbelief.

Good, I’ll make sure she continues having more fun moments in her life.

“Come on, time is money, Tori,” I chide as I stand and hold my hand out to her. “Someone wise once told me that.”

She rolls her eyes but meets my hand with hers, not an ounce of hesitation in her movement. My heart fist pumps the air at breaking her down little by little. I’m telling her about a few more places that have great food as we enter the store and make our way to the paint department.

When Cliff, a full-time worker who I know by name, sees me, he pretends that he hasn’t and mutters to the other gal that he’s taking his break. I frown, but push it away the moment I stand in front of “Darla,” according to her name tag.

“Can I help you?” she questions in a flat, bored tone.

Not releasing Tori’s hand, I slap the swatch down on the counter. “I need a gallon of the expensive indoor paint, eggshell, in this color.”

She nods and snatches it from the counter. But, before she leaves me, I stop her. “And,” I say with a tight voice, “it has to match exactly. Pay close attention to the numbers you enter. We’ll need to open it after so I can be sure.”

Tori’s hand sweats in mine and I risk a glance at her. She’s watching me with a frown, not her usual frown, though. A concerned one. And while I love the new expression on her face, embarrassment slinks down my spine and I can feel it heat my cheeks.

“Sure, whatever.” Darla smirks before turning away to her task.

The moment she’s gone, Tori speaks, “Why is this paint color so important?”

Dropping my gaze to the countertop that is speckled with many different paint colors, I shrug my shoulders at her. “It just is.”