She wanted to ask him what he thought he was doing, acting like he wasn’t afraid of her, but she didn’t get the chance before one of the participants stole his attention to ask a question.

Naomi went to push in the empty chairs.

She wanted to set a good example for these people. And if that meant showing a little restraint for once in her life? Well, surely she could hold out longer than Josh and Clara.

Chapter Six

NAOMI DROPPED BY the synagogue on her way home from work and found Ethan bleeding blue ink. She held herself in the doorway while he stood behind his desk glaring at his assailant, a ballpoint that seemed to have exploded in the pocket of his oxford shirt.

She rapped her knuckles against the inside of the wooden door frame to draw his attention.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

He threw the leaking pen away from him, uttering a little yip, and they both watched as it skidded across several stacks of important-looking documents.

Ethan closed his eyes for a long moment before giving his head a shake and gesturing for her to come in.

“No, I’m good. I’ve just been dealing with some unexpected appointments, and then there was a . . .” His eyes dropped forlornly to the Rorschach test on his front. “. . . pen situation.”

“Looks dire.” She pinned her lips together to stifle her amusement. Her life would be a lot easier if Ethan Cohen could find a way to be less endearing.

He wiped at the ink uselessly with a handful of tissues, spreading the stain around. The button-down was nice: crisp and white and soft-looking, like he was one of those rare men who actually use fabric softener. It didn’t deserve this extended abuse.

“Don’t move.” She walked over and removed his hand from where it had paused, midswipe, on his chest. “Were you trying to make it worse?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up, revealing a flash of full upper lip, normally hidden by his beard.

Naomi forced her eyes away and grabbed her purse, hunting for the promotional flask she’d gotten that morning from some cheesy vendor trying to get her to sell ad space on Shameless. Once it was uncapped, she tipped the flask’s contents carefully onto the handful of tissues, having commandeered them from his fist.

Ethan nodded his chin at the flask, his frozen body still obeying her earlier command.

“Is that vodka?”

As if she’d settle for clear liquor.

“It’s water.” Naomi didn’t know shit about skin care, but she’d determined that if she hydrated until she pretty much constantly had to pee, her face remained a viable tool for negotiation and influence.

She paused for a moment, the damp material dripping in her palm, weighing her next move. There was a way to attack the blooming ink that minimized the potential embarrassment of both parties, and then there was the way that might actually work.

“Do you mind if I . . .” Naomi brought her empty hand to the hem of his shirt and pulled the fabric slightly away from the T-shirt he wore underneath. She didn’t even let herself enjoy the fact that her fingers were now inches from the button of his pants.

“It’ll work better if I can press on the fabric from both sides.”

Ethan swallowed hard enough that his whole jaw flexed. “Oh. Sure.”

Naomi ignored the flare of heat in her body at the way his voice seemed to have dropped an octave.

She made an effort not to make eye contact. Minimizing her charm, which she supposed was a demure way of saying sex appeal, went against every instinct, but she had no choice.

Flirting with Ethan was bad enough, but now, standing so close she could see the thin white scar that rested just above his brow, she was flirting with his boundaries.

It was . . . bad. Naomi had made a habit of testing how much she could get away with. Proximity to Ethan was one big game of chicken, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to win or lose—only that she didn’t know how to stop playing, even if it was in the best interests of both of them.

Fueling and fulfilling desire was her domain. Her signature. She was comfortable when everyone else was shocked and stuttering. The real danger came when she surprised herself.

Naomi took extra care not to let her knuckles brush against his stomach as she worked her hand up to the stain just below his left pectoral, but the shirt was fitted, and it was a near miss by millimeters. She’d bet good money that he was holding his breath.

“Maybe you should unbutton it,” she offered, a little breathy.

“Right. Of course.” His fingers worked the buttons quickly. Naomi’s mouth watered at the sight of his wrists flexing. The fabric fell open. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” she said, lying.

Even without touching, Naomi could feel the warmth of Ethan’s body through the thin layer of cotton separating their skin. She brought the wet tissues back to the stain and tried to work quickly.

When she moved to adjust her grip, bending her knees and lowering her head so she could examine the stain, Ethan winced.

Uh-oh. None of this should hurt. “Wait, did the pen actually puncture you?”

“No. Sorry,” he said, sheepish. “The water’s cold.”

Naomi swore under her breath before she could stop herself. The entire time she’d been pressing, water had sluiced off the tissue to drip down his belly. Imagining the trajectory of the droplets was alarmingly carnal.