“Maybe I do.”

Ricky holds out his hand, dipping down in almost a bow, and she places her hand in his. They merge onto the dance floor, leaving the three of us standing there, gaping open-mouthed.

“What just happened?” I whisper.

Billy chuckles. “Ricky’s always good with the ladies, and he’s got the hots for Miranda bad. He’s been waiting on her to be ready.”

Huh, who’d have thought my cousin could be so . . . nice?

“Ah, Elle. Pardon me for being cheeky, but you do look rather smashing tonight.” The dark voice comes from behind me, sending a shiver down my spine because only one man speaks like that.

I turn to meet his gaze but instead find his eyes slowly working their way up from my ass. “Colton.” It’s a greeting and a warning all rolled up in one. Billy is standing right here, after all, along with everyone else we work with.

He looks smashing himself, if I do borrow his lingo. He’s got on a blue suit, a bit lighter than he wears to the office, perhaps, and his pocket square and tie are navy blue. We look rather matched, which gives me a zing of a thrill until Tiffany points it out and Billy frowns.

“You do look coordinated. Intentional, Wolfey?” Billy’s sneer is as threatening as ever, but Colton looks entirely unruffled.

“Just a coincidence.” My attempt at reassuring Billy is wasted, though.

“Mr. Stryker, while I appreciate relaxing certain behavior standards in favor of the festivities, Wolfey’s taking it a bit far, if you don’t mind,” Colton interrupts, his voice polite and even cheery, but there’s steel behind his smile.

Great, just great. Colton’s not backing down, but Billy’s not either. And while a battle of wits is a total mismatch, Billy’s smart enough to know when he’s being challenged. Colton, though, isn’t going to swing first, but I’m worried that when or if he does, it’s going to be on like Donkey Kong . . . and I don’t want that.

A waiter interrupts the guys’ staredown, and I take the golden opportunity to make good on Tiffany’s crazy dare. “Oh, thank you! These puff pastries are utterly orgasmic. Mmm-hmm. Can you bring me some more? What’s in them again?”

I shove an entire pastry ball into my mouth as two pairs of eyes turn to me. The waiter and Tiffany were already looking at me, him because he’s a bit choked at my over-the-top performance and Tiffany because she knew the show I was going to put on. But Colton and Billy are staring at me now too. Colton with a knowing smirk and Billy in horror.

The waiter recovers enough to answer, though it’s stumbled and mumbled. “Uhm, the pastries are stuffed with . . . sausage . . . and cream . . . cheese.”

Okay, that’s even worse. Or maybe better, because now I can’t help but laugh. Unfortunately, I nearly choke on the mouthful and Tiffany has to pat me on the back. She’s a little rough, and I spit the snack into a napkin.

“It’s okay, girl. Sometimes, you gotta work past the gag reflex and swallow, swallow, swallow, but it takes time. It’s okay to spit if you need to.”

She says it faux sympathetically, but we all know exactly what she’s talking about.

Billy’s chest is rumbling, but it’s not a purr. It’s more of an animalistic growl, and when he straightens his jacket, it’s a little too forceful, and I think I hear a seam give way.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

He spins on his heel and stalks away. I estimate that I have approximately two to three minutes before he’s back with Dad.

Tiffany gives a quiet golf clap. “Well done, Miss Stryker. Don’t forget part one of the dare.” And with that reminder, she’s off, leaving me alone with Colton.

His lips do that twitchy thing where I think he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “Well done, indeed.” He copies Tiff’s words, but where she made me smile with the praise, Colton makes me want to preen a bit. “I missed you yesterday evening. I had hoped you’d be in my office after my meeting so we could complete our twenty-four hours with a bang.”

“Do you mean that literally?”

Instead of answering, he grabs two flutes of champagne and offers me one. He clinks his to mine. “Here’s to exciting times, Miss Stryker.”

We both sip, eyes looking over the rims so that we don’t lose sight of one another. “Did you wait the entire time then?”

This is important—a testament to his willingness to play, the truthfulness of his word.

He hums. “Unfortunately, I had to wait significantly longer than the time assigned. I had some work to do and wasn’t able to take matters into my own hands until later at home. Alone, which was not nearly as satisfying as what I’d hoped the evening would hold.”

“My evening was lackluster and battery-operated as well.” I speak quietly behind my glass. No one is listening, and I don’t think anyone can read my lips, but it feels naughty to be discussing our night of masturbation at a work party. Actually, it doesn’t just feel wrong. It is wrong. And doesn’t that make those butterflies in my gut dance around like they’re doing the Macarena?

The rest of his words hit me. “What were you working on so late? We had everything on the list completed.”

His smirk worries me, the light in his eyes scary. “You’ll see. I have a surprise for you, one I think you’re going to enjoy.”

It takes me a full two rounds of breath to realize he means something work related because my sex-hungry brain went right back to surprises like him tying me to his bed. I don’t get a chance to ask for clarity, though, because I’m interrupted by Dad, of all people.

“Elle! My goodness, look at you! Billy, thanks for finding Elle. I was caught up chatting with Mr. Fox. Colton, it’s good to see you.”

Dad’s dropping Mr. Fox’s name like bait, hoping to trigger Colton, but Colton offers his hand and Dad shakes, the two of them squeezing maybe a little hard in a test of manhood, but not overly so. They at least look like they’re going to get along, which is good for me. My head’s getting ping-ponged so much since arriving that I’m going to have a migraine, and Tiff doesn’t know how to drive a stick.

Still, even through the muted throb behind my temples, I notice that Dad looks handsome himself in a black suit with a floral tie for the seasonal theme of the party. I’m not the only one who notices, either, as Tiffany reappears from somewhere.

“Daniel, good to see you!” At least she doesn’t call him Daddy to his face.

“You too, Tiffany.” He kisses the air beside her cheek in greeting, perfectly reasonably, but a warning gong goes off in my head. “You’re keeping this one in line, aren’t you?” Dad’s eyes cut to me. He’s teasing like I’m some wild child, but I’m done with it.

Big, brass balls, Tiffany said. Don’t let them push you around.

“You shouldn’t be sending the goon squad after me,” I chide him after Billy excuses himself to find Ricky. “I would have found you, and Colton’s been a perfect gentleman. This isn’t the homecoming dance in high school.”

The reminder is sharp. That dance had been all I’d talked about for weeks, and within an hour of arrival, Billy and Ricky had scared off my date. I’d spent my first real dance, my first real date, sitting sad and alone on the gym bleachers. And it’d been Dad’s fault for siccing the boys on me. He’d apologized, but apparently, that scab hasn’t fully healed for either of us.