His brows rise as he reads Tiffany’s last text. “First, explain pineapples to me. Is that an American idiom I’m unaware of?”

Oh, I thought I was blushing with embarrassment. But nope, this right here . . . this is embarrassment. I’m not shy about sex or anything, but this conversation is about to go seriously haywire.

I lick my lips, searching for the safest way to say this. “It’s an old wives’ tale. If you eat a lot of pineapple, it makes you sweeter.” I gesture vaguely to his crotch, hoping he catches the drift.

“Sweeter?” he says, but his lips are twitching again.

Motherfucker. He’s playing me again. Well, fine fucking dandy. Two can play this game. I lose the shyness and go straight for the jugular. I plaster a big, fake customer service smile on my face and explain crisply.

“If you eat pineapple, it’ll make your jizz sweeter so women don’t mind swallowing when you fuck their face and come down their throat. In return, if a woman eats it, her juices are tastier too. Encourages reciprocal oral sex. If there’s nothing else, sir, perhaps I could get back to work? If you’d like to actually give me any? I could order fresh cut pineapple to be delivered to your home, if you’d like?”

That’s it. He’s going to call HR in 3, 2, 1 . . .

His face goes blank and then his brows lift in surprise before they slam back down and heat takes over. He growls, his voice deep and rough. “Yes, order me a pineapple, Miss Stryker.”

Well hell, I didn’t expect that reaction to my outburst. I nibble my lip, knowing it’s a bad habit but feeling like I need to stop my mouth from running. I can feel the chaos churning through me. Or maybe that’s desire, hot and wild?

“And as for the dare?” He’s taunting me.

I stand straighter, smoothing my skirt with both hands now that he’s let them go. “I would like to stay busy and be of use—on the HQ2 project,” I add hastily and pointedly. “Put my skills and talents, as you so politely called them, to work.”

Dare done.

And we both know it. There’s a little extra fizz in the bubbles shooting through my veins right now, that familiar feeling of success and accomplishment, and he’s looking at me with what seems to be pride in his smile.

“Very well. I’ll send you a list of bullet points momentarily.” He lifts his chin, gesturing for me to return to my desk.

I’ll freely admit that I add an extra swoosh to my saunter across the room and that I take special delight in crossing my legs, knowing that though he’s looking at his computer screen, he’s all too aware of me.

Not just a dare done, but utter victory.

Ding.

My email chimes, and I look over his to-do list, but I feel his gaze and glance his way to find him eyeing my legs. Oh, yeah, Big Bad Wolfe, two can play this game and I’m a fucking winner. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on this,” I virtually purr.

I swear I hear the tiniest, quietest groan as he goes back to work, and I take that as a sign that he’s conceded this round. I get to work on the bulleted list.

The first item is actually to order a pineapple, and I jealously wonder who’s going to be swallowing him down, but then Colton has me running from one thing to another. Whether it’s going downstairs to retrieve a report, on my own computer doing research, sending emails, making copies, or more, it gives me time to think.

My computer clock ticks over to five o’clock, but Colton looks like he could go another eight hours fresh as a daisy except for his sexy, grizzled jawline.

Meanwhile, the only thing I want to do right now is get some Epsom salts and the big bucket under my sink and soak my feet. These heels are gorgeous and make my ass look fantastic, but they’re more ‘entrance’ shoes. As in, make your entrance and then sit your ass down.

They’d look sweet up in the air while you’re getting plowed, too, that devil on my shoulder says. Damn, Tiffany is such a horndog. Okay, maybe I am too, but I’ve been sniffing Colton’s pheromones all day.

In so many ways, he reminds me of Dad. Driven, hard-working, professional, all traits I admire. In a lot of ways, working with him today has made me ashamed of my antics with Tiffany downstairs. How could I think I was doing a good job when people like Colton are up here making me look like the class clown in the back of the room?

But then isn’t that one of the reasons he wanted me up here? To add a little bit of that crazy lightness to his day?

“Excuse me, Mr. Wolfe?” I ask as I set the latest report on his desk. “Will that be all?”

“Yes,” Colton says, not even looking up from the papers he’s reading. “Thank you.”

Deflated, I go to my desk and collect my things. Great . . . I didn’t do anything to note. Give me three weeks, and I’ll be back on the front desk—if I’m lucky to last that long.

“Miss Stryker . . . I spoke too soon,” Colton says, causing me to turn around. “What I meant was that your office work is done for the day.”

“Sir?”

Colton flashes that full-dimple grin, the one that says he knows he’s the shit and is also well aware that I know. “We’re having dinner tonight. Go home, relax, and change if you’d like. I’ll send a car around eight.”

“What?” The shout is not pretty or dainty in the least. It’d be enough to get Helen in here in she hadn’t already left for the day.

Colton’s left eyebrow, dark and inky, lifts. “I dare you . . . to have dinner with me. Let’s have some fun.”

The words rush through me, leaving heat in their wake. He’s got me and he damn well knows it.

“No car. If we’re going out for fun, I dare you . . . to give me a ride in that gorgeous Lotus, or no deal.” He knows I’m going with him regardless, but I can make some rules of my own.

“You like cars?” he asks, seeming surprised.

“I like speed and barely controlled horsepower under my foot, just waiting for me to let it run wild. You’re lucky I’m not daring you to let me drive that machine, which I’m barely holding myself back from because I do know my own limits, especially those of my insurance. They’d shit a brick if I dented that monster. So Lotus at eight or I’m going back inside, putting on my least sexy pajamas, drinking a glass or two of wine, and watching Friends reruns.”

“I’ll take that dare. Eight, my Lotus, no not-sexy pajamas.”

He holds out his hand for us to shake on it, but when I place mine in his, he turns our grip, placing a gentlemanly kiss on the back of my hand. It’s old-fashioned and not especially intimate at all, but I can feel the brand of his lips on my skin.

“See you at eight . . . Elle.”

I turn and leave, my mind in a daze. All day long, I’ve been Miss Stryker to him.

Now I’m Elle?

I float down the hall toward the elevator, only to run into interference in the form of Billy. He waves a finger in the air, telling me to turn around. I knew it was too good to be true. There’s no way I was getting out of here today without this conversation with Dad, even though I’d hoped and wished and begged fate.

I steel my back and let Billy march me down the hall. It doesn’t escape my notice that this is the opposite of yesterday when I’d come up to talk to Dad and then been dragged into Colton’s office. Let’s just hope there’s not another dare in this conversation. I’m all for them, but at this point, I need to make sure I can keep everything straight.