Page 40 of Sizzling Desire

She snorts. “Yeah, and I’m a virgin.”

That makes me look up. “Really, Kate?”

She grins, completely unbothered, and gestures toward the bouquet sitting obnoxiously in the center of my desk like a damn siren call. “So. You wanna talk aboutthose?”

“Nope.”

“Oh,come on,” she groans, crossing her legs and settling in like she’s here for a full-blown therapy session. “I walk in, and you’re staring at those flowers like they personally insulted you.”

“Theyhavepersonally insulted me,” I grumble.

Kate leans in, her expression downright gleeful. “Lemme guess. Tall, dark, and aggravating?”

I roll my eyes. “They’re from Kane.Obviously.”

Her grinwidens. “Oh my god, he sent youroses? Youhaveto be sleeping with him.”

I nearly choke. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t even try to play innocent. Kane Mitchell doesnotsend flowers for no reason. That man barely remembersto replace his own underwear, and yet he’s out here ordering roses? Yeah. You twodid something.”

I clench my jaw, shoving my hands under my desk before she can see howdamn shakythey are. “Wedid not.”

Kate narrows her eyes, studying me like she can see every single thought scrambling through my brain. She probably can.

She’s my best friend. It’sobnoxious.

“You like him,” she says, voice laced withwaytoo much confidence.

I snort. “Not even a little.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, leaning forward like she’s about to break me open with a single sentence. “You’re not evenlying well.”

I open my mouth to argue, to deny, to shut thisentire conversation down, but Kate just lifts a single perfectly manicured finger.

“Before you try to feed me some bullshit about how much youhatehim,” she says, voice dangerously close to laughter, “just answer one thing.”

I scowl. “What?”

Her lips curl into a smirk. “Did your stomach do thatstupid little flipwhen you saw his name on that card?”

I freeze.

Because the answer is yes.

Aloud,unavoidable,earth-shatteringyes.

My traitorous,patheticstomach did, in fact,fliplike I was some lovesick idiot in a rom-com.

Kate sees the hesitation. Smells the blood in the water.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, delighted. “You’re so screwed.”

I shove a stack of papers at her. “Get out.”

She cackles, standing. “It’s fine, babe. Just let me know when you’re ready to admit that you’re one smoldering stare away from climbing him like a tree.”

I throw a pen at her head.

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