“Just doing what I can,” he said. “Your waitress friend told me I could make up for my intellectual shortcomings by being good in bed.”

Her eyes popped open. “She didn’t!”

“She did,” Duncan said solemnly.

“Oh, my God.” She covered her face with her hands, and began to laugh. “I can’t believe them. I just can’t believe it.”

“I have to admit, I found it kind of comforting,” he mused. “I figured, maybe there’s hope, you know? Even for a meathead like me.”

“Oh, you just shut up!”

“Good thing you like ’em big and stupid, right?”

She swatted at him. “Stop it! You’re making it worse!”

“Oh, no. Not worse. Better,” he said. “I won’t stop. It feels fucking amazing. Those little fluttery clenches around my dick, every time you laugh. Laugh all you want. I’ll keep you laughing as long as I can.”

She pressed her hand to his mouth, chest hitching, eyes watering with shaky giggles. “Shhh. Really. Please, Duncan, damn it. I’m serious. Stop.”

“Fuck, no.” He pulled her hand down, grinning. “So this guy walks into this bar—”

“Shhh!” She stared into his eyes. “Just don’t get me pregnant,” she said. “Do. Not. Get it? I’ve got enough to feel scared about right now. Is that clear?”

He nodded, and kissed her palm. “I won’t come inside you,” he promised. “I won’t even move. I’ll sit like a statue. Your personal life-sized sex toy. You just squeeze me, ride me, do whatever you want with me until you come. Sound good?”

Oh, boy, did it ever. So good, it stole her breath, her voice.

She did as he offered, squeezing him inside her until her lower body flushed with pleasure, shaking with firecracker jolts.

He kept his promise, though she could tell that it cost him. It took a while to get there, with him so motionless. He trembled, holding her arms in a tight grip, staring at her face as she writhed and whimpered, too lost to pleasure to be self-conscious. It was a long, slow climb, but the outcome was inevitable. He caught her as she arched back and launched into free fall, his growl of satisfaction vibrating through her.

She collapsed over his shoulder, breathless and limp. Blushing and damp with sweat as the aftershocks rippled through her. She could feel his heartbeat in his cockhead, throbbing against her womb, he was wedged so deep inside her. A deep, steady, pulsing rhythm. So close.

She lifted her head and was startled by the look on his face. It was no longer that taut, tense mask of self-control that he’d worn while she was pleasuring herself with his body. It was soft. Almost wistful.

“What are you thinking?” she asked him.

He touched her eyebrow, then her cheekbone, then her lips. “I was just wondering what a baby of ours might look like.”

The feeling that pierced her was indefinable. Joy, terror, fury. That bastard. How dare he. Playing with her emotions.

“You bastard. Don’t say crazy things like that to me,” she forced out, through shaking lips. “It’s not fair. It’s…irresponsible.”

He shrugged. “You asked.”

So she had. Her hands shook. They stared at each other. Both fully clothed, but she had never felt so naked.

She untangled her legs from his, set her feet on the ground, and lifted herself up. They sucked in air in unison at the sweet slide, the delicious friction as his cock caressed her sensitized inner flesh. The cold air that hit them when they were separated.

She stared down at his cock. It stood high and hopeful against his belly. Rigid, pulsing. Gleaming with her own juices.

She had no intention of sinking to her knees. It just happened. She grabbed his thick, pulsing handle, stroking smooth, hot skin, and licked him, tasting herself. It was a classic thousand-dollar-an-hour call-girl scenario. Riding the boss on his swivel chair in the high-rise corner office. On her knees under the desk giving him a blow job. It looked sordid, squalid. Even pornographic, from the outside.

But she wasn’t on the outside. She was so far inside, she was in a new universe, where the rules had changed. She herself was different. Softer, more joyful, more sensual. Fearless. And shameless. Just this desperate desire to give to him flowing out of her, from her chest, her face, her throat, her crotch. All aglow.

Of course. She was miles in love with him.

She let that thought slide away. She didn’t dare examine it, and besides, it took all her concentration to fellate a man as ridiculously well endowed as Duncan Burke. He was hung like the proverbial horse, and she was far from expert. But oh, so motivated.

She petted and stroked, swirled with her tongue around his cockhead, and tried to draw him deeper. Loving the sounds, the shaking grip of his hands in her hair, the shudders that went through him. She was just getting the hang of it and starting to hit her stride when his fingers tightened, and he let out a choked, desperate shout.

His come spurted into her mouth in hard, rhythmic jets.

She got to her feet after a few silent, shaking minutes, holding on to the desk for balance. She wiped her mouth, too shy to look at him.

He grabbed her and dragged her over between his legs, hugged her tightly around the waist, hid his face against her breasts.

Her chest melted, her shyness evaporated, leaving only tenderness. He felt vulnerable, too. And somehow, that made it okay.

They swayed in that clinch for a long time. Finally he looked up. “There’s a private en suite bathroom with a shower, off my office.”

She widened her eyes. “Holy cow, Burke. How luxurious and elitist of you. What, can’t bear to pee with the hoi polloi?”

His teeth flashed in the deepening twilight. “Every now and then I pamper myself,” he admitted. “I like to run to work. And I like to smell good. I keep fresh clothes here. So we can clean up. If you want.”

“You ripped my panties,” she lectured him. “Beast.”

He gave her an exaggeratedly innocent look. “If I’d stopped to peel them all the way down your legs, you’d have wimped out on me.” He caressed her buttocks through her skirt. “I’ll buy you new ones. If we hurry, we have time for dinner before we meet your sisters in Queens.”

“What about the texts that I have to write for the game? I have to have something ready for Bruce tomorrow!”

He shrugged. “You need to eat. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, and dragged her through a door and into a small but luxurious bathroom.

“Hey! Wait,” she said, laughing. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

He flashed his devilish grin in answer, grabbed a fluffy white towel off a pile on a shelf, and dropped it in her arms. “Everything’s relative.”

He shrugged off his suit jacket, and she froze at the sight of the gun strapped onto his shoulder. “Um, Duncan?” she asked, in a small voice. “What on earth are you doing with that, uh, thing?”

He slanted her an “are you kidding” look. “Being careful,” he said. “Those guys were armed. I wasn’t. It was just blind luck and timing that they didn’t kill me and take you, because I wouldn’t have been able to stop them if they’d been better organized. They weren’t expecting any resistance, but they will be the next time they go for you. Don’t worry. I can handle myself with this thing.” He unbuttoned her blouse, peeled her stretch lace chemise off over her head.

She gazed at him through the disarranged mess of curly hair that fell over her face. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I have absolutely no doubts about your ability to handle, um…just about anything.”

He proceeded to live up to her faith in him. To the fullest.

Duncan looked around Malloy’s. Too many people crowded together. Not safe. Good thing he’d had jeans and a polo to change into at the office, because he’d have felt like a fucking clown in his suit.

He’d never been in an Irish pub, and the loud, noodling melody of the Irish tunes played by the table of musicians made his brain pound.