“That noise.” She took several steps toward the doors. “It sounded like…” She stopped herself, listening again to be sure.

“It’s nothing.” Blake sounded panicked, speaking rapidly. “It’s nobody. Or the maid. She sometimes—has Tourette’s—” He corrected himself quickly. “A mouse, I mean. Mice. Lots of mice. Big mice. Get away from there. I’ll call pest control tomorrow.”

With fists on her hips, she turned and narrowed her eyes at the man behind her. “Blake Donovan, did you keep the puppy?”

“I…” It was that or he did have a Mrs. Rochester in there.

The scratching creature let out a definite all-dog yap.

Without permission, Andy opened the doors in front of her, and out ran the fluffy corgi she’d left with Blake over a month before. “You did!”

She bent to hug the excited creature, who was alternately licking her face and nipping at her hand.

With a sigh, Blake knelt next to her. “I didn’t keep him, exactly. I just haven’t gotten around to taking him back yet.”

“There was a ten-day return policy. You’ve passed that.” As soon as the puppy realized that Blake’s face was within his reach, he abandoned Andy and ran to his master.

“Then I’ll donate him to someone.” Blake rubbed the dog affectionately, nuzzling his cheek to the furball as the puppy licked his ear.

Andy’s chest grew warm. “No you won’t. He loves you. You love him.” If she wasn’t mistaken, the man’s cheeks flushed.

“Absolutely not.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He was definitely blushing.

The heat in Andy’s chest spread downward toward her core. Damn, a man with a dog was hot. She knew she was right about this plan. “What’s his name?” she asked, trying to keep her mind off what was going on between her legs.

“Puppy.”

She laughed. “Of course. Creativity has never been your strong suit.” She petted the dog, her hand accidentally on purpose bumping into Blake’s. At her touch, he looked up and met her stare. His deep-blue eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them. They caught her up. Mesmerized her completely. Eye contact had always been their kryptonite.

“Well, you don’t name things you don’t plan to keep.” Her sister had once had a theory like that with men. It was called “Don’t Name the Puppy,” in fact. She wondered what it meant that he said her name, even the hated nickname, with such tenderness.

When she could speak, she asked, “You are keeping him, though, aren’t you?”

“We’ll see.” But everything about his expression said yes. He stood and reached a hand out to help her up. “Come on.” When she hesitated, his forehead creased in confusion. “What?”

She might be falling in love with him, that’s what. All her jealousy and rage over Jane wasn’t just because she was being petty or possessive. She was falling. And she was done feeling guilty about it because the more she got to know him she more she realized he wasn’t as douchey as he appeared. Actually, he was pretty fantastic.

But even if things were happening between them organically and all, she wasn’t about to admit her feelings and ruin it. “Nothing. You just surprise me; that’s all.”

At his suspicious glance, she added, “Pleasantly.” No point in rubbing this in. She was just chalking it up as a mental win for herself. It didn’t bring her nearly the satisfaction it would have a few days ago. That felt weird, but nice—oh, hell. Everything was surprising her today.

“I’ll have to work on that.” He waved his hand, urging her to take it. “Now come on.”

She laughed, slipping her hand into his. “Eager much?”

But she got it. She was eager, too. Not for the pinball war that was about to take place but for this … thing … that was going on with her and Blake to continue. This surprising, amazing, wonderful … thing.

And for the pinball war. That was going to be fun too.

*   *   *

Blake couldn’t believe how great the evening had been. Better than anything he’d ever done with Andrea, and in the last month, he’d done a lot with her that he’d liked. Liked a lot. And tonight they still had all their clothes on.

In fact, he was having more fun with Andrea, as they laughed and played every pinball machine in his playroom, than he’d had on any date in months. He’d also been more relaxed, more himself, than he could ever remember being.

He didn’t know what to do with that realization, so instead of dwelling on it, he concentrated on putting his all into his game playing. Turned out his employee really was a pro at pinball. She scored well, almost as well as he did. Blake had the distinct feeling that the only thing that kept him in the lead was his familiarity with the games. She was certainly the best opponent he’d had in ages. The perfect match for him.

He watched her now as she expertly batted the flippers on the Bally Williams Doctor Who game, his favorite of all his machines. Damn, she was sexy—her eyes lighting up as they followed the ball around its cage, her mouth oohing and ahhing silently, her breasts bouncing in her T-shirt as she got into her playing. It was a testament to his character that he continued to win with those temptations so close at hand. Hands. His hands. His hands covering her breasts, caressing—

“Oh, no,” Drea exclaimed, bringing him out of his less-than-chaste thoughts. “It’s multiball. I screwed this up royally last time. What am I doing wrong?”

With a chuckle, Blake came up behind her. “You can do this. I’ll help.”

“Okay.” Her voice was almost a whisper, begging him to move closer.

He placed his hands over hers at the buttons on the side of the machine. It felt good to touch her. Too good. His palms burned over the soft touch of her hands. It took all his concentration not to press into her back, not to bring his pelvis up close to cradle her ass.

Focus on the game, man.

He inhaled—ignore the apples—and placed himself in the B-Zone. “Instead of watching where the balls are going,” he said, his face leaning in over her shoulder, “keep focused on the flippers.” With her hand under his, he pressed the button as a ball came toward the exit. The flipper made contact and the ball rolled on to score another thousand points.

“Uh-huh.” But Andy didn’t seem to be watching the game anymore. She was watching him.

Blake tried to keep anchored. “There’s no way you can watch all the movement at once, but you can zoom in on one area.” His voice sounded strained, even to himself. Low, and about to burst. “When anything comes near the flippers, you hit.” Another ball rolled toward the exit. He pressed both of her hands this time, and he heard her breathing pick up.

Her face was still angled toward his. So close to his. Nearly touching. She could tip up and she’d be kissing his jaw. He could turn and he’d be kissing her lips. And, God, wouldn’t that be wonderful? One of his favorite fantasies began like this—spreading a woman across his pinball machine and going down on her, making her scream while the lights and the game went on underneath her.

Okay, maybe that was a ridiculous teenage wet dream, but he could so make it happen. Perhaps without the game going on would be better—just him and the woman and the pinball machine as a table. Just him and Andy.

But the idea felt off. As much as he’d love to do that, as much as he sensed that she would even be a willing participant, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted from her at the moment. After they’d bonded and connected and had this wonderful almost romantic night … she deserved more. They deserved more.

What the hell kind of thinking was that? More? With Andrea Dawson?

Damn if it didn’t feel so right. And that scared him.

So he did nothing. Didn’t fuck her on the pinball machine. Didn’t lead her down the hall to his bedroom. Didn’t even kiss her.

Andrea’s focus turned back to the machine. “Blake? You lost your balls.”