Her eyes widened and she jumped back. “Trip. What the hell are you thinking?”

Her nipples pebbled under the flimsy fabric of her halter top, and her breaths accentuated her problem. She licked her lips again, giving them a slick sheen. God, he wanted to taste her.

“I said we need to talk.” He rested his hands on the now-empty desk top. “I need a partner.”

“This is sexual harassment or something.” She rolled her eyes and cocked her hip. Her gigantic, gold, hoop earrings glinted in the lamp light. “Seriously, what are you thinking?”

She wanted to know? Fine. Trip stalked around the table, then pinned her between his body and the wall.

“I’m thinking I can’t stand seeing you sashay around my dance club in those tight little shorts and tank tops and not want to bend you over my knee.”

Morgan flattened her palms on his chest, but didn’t shove him away. Her lips opened and closed like she wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

“Sue me or whatever, but I want you.” He situated his knee between her thighs. Morgan slipped down onto his leg and rubbed. Tiny moans erupted from her throat. Just as he’d suspected—she wanted him as much as he needed her.

“We can’t, Trip,” she whispered. “I work for you. We’re friends, and this will go to hell if we screw around.”

“Don’t care.” Rational thought left his mind. No matter the cost, he needed her. Now. Trip buried his face against her neck and breathed in the soft, sandalwood scent of her perfume. “Fuck.”

Morgan shivered beneath him and tipped her head back.

Perfect invitation. “I want you,” he mumbled against her skin. Each taste, each touch made him realize he couldn’t turn back.

“Trip.” She threaded her arms around him. “We can’t do this.”

His ire rose. “Morgan, I mean it.” He caged her face in his hands and rested his forehead on hers. “I dream about you. Crave you. I’ve listened to you and know you better than you think. This feels crazy to you, doesn’t it?

Giving up control and giving me a chance? I’m not just some guy.”

“Prove it.”