My eyes snap back up to her face. The answer to that question is yes. For the past several weeks I’ve been dreaming about her nonstop. “You were in my bed the other night.”

She laughs. “Was I now?”

Now it’s my turn to frown. There’s no way I dreamed that. It was far too visceral. A knock at my office door prevents me from asking more questions and verifying that I’m not losing my mind over this woman. Griffin taps his watch through the glass pane. I check the time. Shit. I have a meeting in five minutes. “I have to go.”

“Do I need to feed Francesca?”

“I did it this morning. She just needs playtime.”

“I love playtime.” Her grin is pure sexual evil right before the screen goes blank.

It looks like the video flirting is still on. I have to do some creative rearranging in my pants before I get out of my chair.

I grab my laptop, notepad, and file folder keeping them at waist level. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to shield an issue in my pants.

* * *

I go into the office on Saturday and work from home on Sunday. I get up early, because I’m incapable of sleeping in, and go for a run on the treadmill. By nine I’m showered and there’s still no sign of life from Ruby’s room. The only way I know she’s home is because her shoes are by the door.

I settle in at my computer with a coffee and pull up my research files. The past weeks have been exhausting mentally. I’m beginning to grow accustomed to using my brain for this type of analytic purpose, but it’s been an adjustment. I’m surrounded by pie charts and graphs. Comparative data analysis was never my favorite part of marketing, but I learned how to be good at it.

It’s noon when I hear movement in the kitchen. It’s followed by muttering and the sound of the fridge door opening. I stay where I am, eavesdropping.

I debate whether I should make myself known, when I hear a big yawn and the patter of her feet moving across the floor. “Morning Tiny,” she says, then follows it with, “Morning hotness.”

I think maybe she’s talking to me, but when I swivel in my chair I discover she’s standing in front of the ostentatious picture on my wall of me scoring a goal for last year’s Championship game. That photo was taken about ten minutes before I blew out my knee.

Ruby’s staring up at the image. She takes a sip from her glass. “Why aren’t you shirtless?”

“If I was shirtless no one would know what number I am,” I reply.

Ruby startles with a gasp and the glass slips from her fingers. It hits the floor and shatters at her feet, orange juice and shards forming a dangerous moat around her.

I push out of my chair. “Shit. Sorry. Don’t move.”

Her face is the color of my rugby jersey in the picture, but she does what I ask and stays where she is. I skirt around the mess on the floor and head for the front door, shoving my feet into the first pair of shoes I can find. I return to where Ruby is still standing, a gorgeous, embarrassed jewel in the middle of a glass and orange juice puddle.

“Let’s get you out of the danger zone.” I wrap my hands around her waist and lift her up. She grabs my shoulders, and leans into me, her chest pressing against mine.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” I set her down, but I’m having difficulty letting go.

“I didn’t realize you were here.” She can’t meet my gaze. Her hands slide down my chest and she pushes back. “Let me get a broom and a mop so I can clean that up.”

“I’ll get it. You’re not walking around without shoes.” I finally release her so I can take care of the problem in the middle of the floor. It’s a good thing Francesca is sleeping in her cage. Well, she’s not sleeping anymore, but at least she’s safe.

Ruby seems to realize I’m right and stays put while I grab towels and a garbage can.

“Can you grab my flip-flops, please?”

I pass them to her and we tackle the mess in silence. Once the juice is cleaned up and the bulk of the glass is managed, Ruby gets out the vacuum cleaner, while I get out the mop and fill a bucket with soapy water.

“I’m so sorry about this. I thought I was alone,” she mumbles, still embarrassed as she winds the cord of the vacuum cleaner back up.

“I figured as much when you started talking to my poster like it was going to answer you.”

She grimaces and gives me a dirty look. “Thanks for just letting that go.”

“Would you feel better about my razzing you if I take my shirt off?”

“Ugh. I’m going back to bed.” She turns to leave but I grab her wrist, stopping her. I don’t know what’s happened since I’ve come back from London, but I don’t like the awkwardness between us.

“Wait. Don’t. I’ll stop. Come have something to eat with me.”

“I have to get ready for rehearsal.”

“What time do you have to be there? I can drive you. Come sit with me. You have to eat before you go, right? Let’s have lunch.” Shit. I sound really fucking desperate right now. Maybe because I am. “I haven’t seen you since I got back, Ruby. It’s like you’re avoiding me.”

Her eyes drop.

“Are you?”

She fidgets with her fingers. This isn’t the Ruby I’m used to. “I’ve been working and so have you.”

“Is it because of what happened the other night? You ending up in my bed?”

“I wasn’t really awake.”

“So you admit it.” Thank fucking Christ. I thought I was losing my damn mind.

That gets me an annoyed glare, which I like a lot better than this sudden insecurity. “Are you serious with this?”

“You had me questioning whether or not I was imagining things. I knew it was way too visceral to be a dream.”

Ruby purses her lips. “You’re going to get on me about this now, too? It was an accident.”

“You’re more than welcome to have more accidents like that any time you want.”

Ruby’s mouth drops open. I want to close the space between us. I want to slip my thumb into her mouth and feel her lips close around it. I want to know if she’ll suck or bite, but I have a feeling if I do, I’m going to create more distance rather than less.

“Well it wouldn’t have happened if you’d been smart enough to lock your door!” she fires back.