“Not at all,” he replies. He takes my hand from his weapon, but instead of releasing it, he keeps his grip. “I’m surprised you didn’t reach for your own gun.”

“And tell you where it is? I’m no amateur, Drake.”

“And still, I underestimate you.”

“Rightly so.” I remove my hand from his and reach up my skirt. Then I pull my favorite Tiffany-blue Glock from my thigh holster. The muzzle presses against his upper thigh, but to his credit, he doesn’t even flinch at the contact.

“I underestimate you,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing my waist. “But I don’t take you for stupid. You won’t pull that trigger. Not there. It’s too close to the part of me you like.”

“You assume far too much, Detective.” I drop the gun anyway and dart around him, strolling to my desk and setting it down softly on top of my latest case folder.

Drake comes up behind me, reaches around me, and rests his hands next to mine on the desk. I briefly close my eyes as his hard body melds against mine, because the man has one fine fucking body. I can feel it now—all muscle and tone and pure, hard strength. His biceps brush mine, except his are way more…bicep…than mine. Like, seriously, how does he fit those into that hot-as-hell white shirt?

This is what happens when he touches me. I go all giggly schoolgirl. Sweet Jesus though. It’s hard not to.

I know what that body looks like and feels like and acts like, and those memories can’t be erased. I can’t erase the memory of his body, slick with sweat, tensed with determined pleasure, moving against mine as I took everything he had to give me.

I take a deep breath, but despite my efforts to inhale slowly, it fills my lungs in a rush that jolts me. Drake feels it, because he drops his face to the curve of my neck exposed by my sleek topknot. Every part of me wishes I could unravel the hairbands and pins, but still, his lips against my collarbone… Oh, hell. They feel so good. So sweet and hot.

“This is highly unprofessional,” I manage, unwillingly tilting my head to the side and exposing my neck to him. “For your official business, I mean.”

He trails his lips up to my ear, where they brush the lobe, curving into a smile. “You are my official business, Ms. Bond.”

“Are you trying to seduce me into that date?”

“Is it working?”

Yes. “No.”

“Okay.” He straightens, the quick blast of cold air between us sending a shiver across my body. Just as quickly, though, he grabs me and turns me so my butt is perched on the desk and he’s right in front of me.

Oh, hell no. The last time we were in this position, cock-in-pussy and hell-yes-Drake-right-there-more-please happened.

I squeeze my legs shut although the chances of him parting my legs in this skirt are questionable. Mind you, I did have a gun successfully hidden up there…

Instead of parting them, he shoves them to the side so he’s coming at me side on, but his arm around me ensures that my breasts are still planted against his chest.

“Trying,” he says in a low voice. “Cute. Real cute.”

“Sure are, ain’t ya?”

He covers my mouth for a second before lowering his hand so only his thumb is pressed against my lips. “You should know by now that, if I’m tryna seduce you, cupcake, I’m gonna fuckin’ well do it. Right now, no, I’m not, but by the looks of your pretty little red cheeks, it wouldn’t be hard. What I am doin’ is collectin’ on the debt you owe me. And you owe me a date—so a date you’re gonna give me, whether you damn well like it or not.”

“Nonna called you, didn’t she?” I groan.

“I didn’t answer.” His eyes sparkle with laughter. “But since I’ve tried to get you for two weeks and you’ve been hidin’ in your bathroom to avoid me, I figured I’d force my way in.”

“You lied to me.”

“You lied to me,” he counters.

Damn, I hate it when he’s right. I huff.

“So. That date?” He smiles.

“Really? You’re gonna barge in here all alpha and start demanding things?”

“In case it escaped your notice, sweetheart, I am an alpha, and I’m not fuckin’ afraid to take your tight little ass over my knee and prove that.”

I want to glare at him, but instead, I clench my legs together.

This better be Mother Nature messing with my hormones.

“Fine!” I snap. “As long as Detective Alpha knows he’s takin’ Ms. Alpha P.I. on a date.”

He leans in, and his grin is evident as he touches his mouth to mine. It’s a simple sweeping brush across my lips that somehow seems to send a thousand lightning bolts through my body.

“Noted, ma’am.”

“And no ma’ams. I’ll ma’am your testicles.”

“Noted, Ms. Bond,” he corrects himself, his hand curving around my hip and pulling me against him despite my legs still being to the side. “I’m off the day after tomorrow. Is that good for you?”

“Umm.” I hesitate.

He laughs, stepping back. “Call Grecia.”

Am I that predictable?

I pick my phone up, staring at him in frustration, and dial her extension again. “Am I busy the day after tomorrow?”

“You have an interview at three,” she replies.

“I have an interview at three,” I repeat.

Drake snatches the phone out of my hand and lifts it to his ear, his eyes focused on me the whole time, the icy blue cutting through me. “Ms. Bond is otherwise preoccupied on Thursday and will be indisposed all day. Please rearrange all her appointments for another day. Thank you, Grecia.” He hangs up without waiting for a response, I’m guessing.

“I… You… Did you…” I sputter, staring at him in disbelief. I’ll be “indisposed?” “Otherwise preoccupied?” What the hell is wrong with him? “Did you seriously just do that?”

Drake grabs my hands and forces me to stand, his arms easily going around me as my hands press against his chest. One of his hands finds its way from my back to my butt, and he pulls me into him there, too.

“Yes. Indisposed, all day. Completely and utterly preoccupied. You owe me a date, Noelle, and I’m collectin’ in approximately thirty-six hours.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Agreed. But I want to see if we can last more than two hours without a fight.”

“I’m going into this passionately, so that’s unlikely.”

“You mean pissed off.”

I scowl. “Passionate. I’m part Italian. I get passionate, not pissed off.”

He dips his face, grinning. “Sure. Passionate. I can think of plenty of other emotions for you to apply your ‘passionate’ to, but whatever.”

“I swear to God, I will—”

Do absolutely nothing, because he kisses me to shut me up. And fuck, he kisses me. It’s nothing more than a point-prover and a point-scorer, because it’s hard and hot and his lips move across me with such speed that I can barely comprehend where his kiss starts and mine ends.

My fingers are curled into his formerly crisp, white shirt, and his are digging into me in an almost desperate yet sinfully hot grasp that has goose-bump-filled shivers steaming across my skin until every hair is standing on end.

He releases me, leaving me gasping for air, angry, pissed, high on his formidable kiss. “Ten a.m. Thursday morning. Be ready, Noelle.”

“Like I have a choice,” I murmur as he releases me with a light tap to the ass and opens my office door. “Asshole,” I add more loudly.

He stops, turns. That smirk is back, and his eyebrow is curved upward in his amusement. “Bitch,” he counters. “Bring that on Thursday. It’s kind of hot.”

I reach for the nearest item—a hot-pink Sharpie—and launch at him seconds before he shuts the door. The loud laugh reassures me that I’ve hit him, and I allow myself a second of smugness before the silence envelopes me and reality hits.

I really have to do this—a date with Drake.

Jesus.

I need a miracle.

Dates on Thursday are bad. And not because Thursday is tomorrow, but because it’s the day before freakin’ family dinner.