Andy headed up the broad staircase to Blake’s office. The doors were open at the end of the hall so she went on in. Only Blake wasn’t there. With a frown she set the files she’d brought on his desk and considered what to do next.

Then she heard some strange noises coming from behind Blake’s desk. Or from the half-open door behind the desk, rather. She’d wondered about that room before, suspecting it was a safe or safe room, but her questions about it had been blown off. Now she couldn’t stop herself from looking. It was open, after all. And she did need to find Blake.

Cautiously, she paused at the open crack and called in. “Blake?” She didn’t want to surprise him in the middle of counting his money or reviewing security tape or something worse. Like, what if it was a private bathroom?

When she had no answer, she pulled the door open. “Blake, are you in here?”

Blake was in there all right. But it was what else was in the room that made her gasp in surprise. “Oh, my God!”

Blake’s head shot up at her exclamation. “Andrea!”

All trepidation lost, Andy walked the rest of the way into the room and took in her surroundings in awe. “This is … this is your playroom?”

“Um.”

Her eyes stopped their exploration and landed on his fretful expression. “It is!” Again she scanned the room. Pinball machines lined all the walls. Twenty-three in total, all of them lit up and chiming with classic pinball sounds meant to lure bystanders into playing. There were many she recognized—Attack from Mars, The Simpsons, the Star Trek Next Generation game she’d beaten in high school. There was even a vintage Captain Fantastic that must have been made in the 1940s.

It was freaking amazing.

She spun to face Blake. “PinballWizard for your network password? That was you.” She took a step toward him and swatted him across his biceps. Hard. “You big jerk.”

“Ow!” Blake rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

“You could have told me you liked pinball. It would look great on your profile.”

He ducked when she tried to hit him a second time. “I don’t need pinball to look great on my profile.”

She scoffed. “You do. Trust me.” Andy turned around the room once more. “This could have made up for a lot.” Finally, something that showed some goddamn personality.

Of course, in her weeks working with Blake she’d discovered many other things that were interesting and endearing about the man. Little things that she could never put on a profile or explain to a potential date, like, how he insisted on drinking a full glass of water before any meal, and how he made funny expressions as he read his emails. This, though, she could have used to sell him. Why on earth had he not told her?

Blake scratched at the back of his neck, something Andy had learned he did when he was nervous. “So, it’s not a big … turnoff? That I’m secretly nerdy?”

“That you have an awesome-ass classic pinball setup in your house?” She couldn’t believe he had to ask. “Hell, no. It’s a big turn-on.” Like, really big.

“Is that right?” Blake’s voice was teasingly low and seductive.

Andy swatted at him again, much lighter this time. “Stop it, you fiend.” She nodded toward one of the machines, a hybrid mechanical pinball-plus-video game called Caveman. “Show me what you got.”

He raised a brow. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Okay.” He started to the game she’d shown interest in.

Andy followed behind. “Oh, I bumped into Ellen as she was leaving. She said dinner’s in the warmer.”

“Thanks.” Blake paused, one hand on the side of the Caveman machine, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking…” He hesitated, as if nervous. “Would you like to join me for dinner? You don’t have other plans, do you?”

Dinner. That was decidedly against their rules. Decidedly intimate, warmer or not. And she hadn’t suggested it—he had. It was happening organically after all. “I don’t have other plans.”

Again Blake scratched the back of his neck. “You can say no, of course. Just, I wouldn’t want the food to get cold while we were fooling around up here.” He swallowed, seeming to realize what he’d said. “I mean, Ellen always makes enough for leftovers. She’s a great cook.”

Andy smiled at the charming way he was selling the idea of a meal together. “I don’t doubt she’s a great cook. I’ve seen you bring her leftover meat loaf to the office for lunch. It smells delish.”

“Oh, she’s wonderful.” He swallowed again. “Then when dinner’s out of the way we can come back up here and beat the ball around.”

It was her turn to raise a brow. “You mean play pinball, right? That’s not a euphemism for anything else, is it?” She winked.

He broke into a smile—a beautiful grin that touched Andy low in her belly. “It’s not a euphemism. I mean play pinball.”

Andy nudged him with her shoulder, mostly because she was yearning to touch him in some fashion and couldn’t stand that she hadn’t yet. “Well, then. Let’s get dining because I can’t wait to play against you.” She began to stroll out of the room then called behind her. “Blake, have I ever mentioned that I won the Beacon Hill Area Pinball Championship when I was in eleventh grade?”

She was glad she peeked over her shoulder or she would have missed his adorably worried expression.

He cocked his head at her. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

She turned to face him head-on and shrugged. “Maybe.” She smiled coyly. “Is it working?”

He leveled his blue eyes at her, his lip ticking up ever so slightly. “Andrea Dawson, there is never a moment that you don’t intimidate me, and it has nothing to do with pinball. But I mean that in the very best way possible.”

Goose bumps scattered down the back of her neck and over the bare skin of her arms. It was a simple statement, but so uncharacteristic of anything Blake had ever said to her that it was impossible for her not to cling to it. If she was making too much of it, so be it. She’d treasure those words for a long, long time.

Blake gestured toward the open door. “Now let’s go down, shall we?”

*   *   *

Dinner was delightful, to say the least. Besides the spectacular meal—Chicken Cordon Bleu and glazed carrots paired with the best white wine Andy had ever tasted—the conversation and company was also very enjoyable. They’d eaten in the kitchen rather than the dining room, which was more casual, but also more intimate. They laughed and chatted, never falling into awkward silence. It was surprising, really. After the feedback she’d heard from Blake’s dates, she expected him to be an impolite conversation hog. Instead, he was gracious and entertaining. Charming, even.

When they finished, Andy helped clear their plates, carrying them to the sink. Then she watched in wonder as he rinsed them and stuck them in the dishwasher.

She knew it was cheeky, but she had to say something. “Blake Donovan does dishes?”

He scowled. “No. I just wash off my dirty plates and put them in the dishwasher. That’s all. They’d get crusty and gross if I left them in the sink for Ellen in the morning.” He started the machine and washed his hands.

Andy folded her arms and leaned against his granite counter. “That’s doing dishes.”

“It’s being sanitary,” he protested as he dried his hands.

“Uh-huh.” She crossed to the kitchen door and looked back over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go upstairs?”

“I am.”

After a brief stop in the bathroom, Andy followed Blake up the stairs. At the top, he turned toward the office, but Andy paused at a strange sound coming from the double doors at the other end of the hall. She strained her ears trying to figure out what it was she was hearing. It sounded like scratching followed by soft whimpering.

“What’s that?”

Blake turned back to look at her. “What’s what?”