For a moment I forgot where I was and who I was. Who I was to him. My eyes dropped to his mouth. It was right there. Right there.

Arousal shot through me and I glanced up quickly, afraid he’d catch sight of my desire, but to my surprise I found his eyes trained on my lips.

They parted under his stare.

Caine’s gaze returned to mine. The tingling between my legs increased at the heat in his.

“Don’t do it again,” he said softly, his voice hoarse.

“New bully tactics, Caine?”

Caine jerked away from me at the interruption and I sucked in some much-needed air.

Standing beyond us was Henry Lexington. He looked back and forth between us, smirking.

“Henry.” Caine nodded at him, seeming perfectly composed.

I was not.

I crossed my legs, willing the heat in my body away. I just knew if I touched my cheeks I’d burn my knuckles.

“I thought we had lunch plans,” Henry mused, and his eyes darted past Caine to me.

“We do. Let me just grab my jacket.” He disappeared into his office and Henry approached my desk.

He grinned down at me. “We meet again.”

I smiled, still trying to shake off the intense moment with Caine. “I think technically I have you to thank for the job. If you hadn’t gotten me in to see Mr. Carraway, I wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s right.” Henry’s blue eyes twinkled with good humor as he leaned on my desk with flirtation written all over him. “So in a way you owe me. I do so like to have a beautiful woman in my debt.”

“Do you have a lot of those?”

“Only one of them is interesting.” He cocked his head, curious. “You are a mystery. Caine won’t tell me where you came from or how he knows you. Naturally I’m intrigued.”

I was sure he was, and I was also sure the last thing I’d ever do was reveal a part of Caine’s tragic history, and frankly I was tied up in that in a way that depressed me. “We met in Hollywood.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Hollywood?”

“Mmm-hmm. Boulevard.” I sighed in exaggeration, leaning my chin on my palm in dreamy retrospection. “Oh, those were the days. I was a lowly hooker looking for a white knight, and he was a rich billionaire who didn’t know how to drive a stick. I showed him how and the rest is history.”

Henry frowned. “What?”

“It’s the plot to Pretty Woman,” Caine said dryly. He leaned against the door to his office with something akin to amusement on his face. He pushed off the jamb and gestured to Henry to follow him. “Did I mention my new PA is a smart-ass?”

Henry chuckled and I couldn’t help grinning at him as he took my good-natured teasing on the chin. He shot me an appreciative look over his shoulder as they walked away. “Until we meet again.”

I nodded and gave him a little wave, a gesture Caine caught as he looked back at me.

He scowled. “Remember what I said. No meddling.”

Just like that, the positive vibe of the moment evaporated. “Of course.” I threw him what I hoped seemed like a genuine smile, but it still made him shake his head in annoyance.

“How do you know the plot to Pretty Woman?” I heard Henry ask in amusement.

“Remember Sarah Byrne?” Caine replied.

“The record-breaking five-month relationship. Of course.”

“She had a thing for Richard Gere. I paid the price.”

They disappeared around the corner as Henry laughed. I was smiling right along with him. Sometimes, when Caine remembered to be a normal guy, he was more attractive than ever.

“Carraway Financial Holdings, Mr. Carraway’s Office,” I answered, hopefully for the last time that day. It was almost five thirty. Caine didn’t usually let me leave until seven, but I was hoping since it was Friday and he had a dinner reservation that I’d get to haul my ass out of there early.

“Oh, good, I caught someone,” a pleasant voice said down the line. “I’m Barbara Kenilworth of the O’Keefe Foundation. I’m calling for Mr. Carraway.”

“Mr. Carraway is unavailable at the moment,” I said, which was what I was supposed to say to everyone unless Caine told me he was expecting a call from someone specific. “May I take a message?”

“Oh. Well, yes. I wanted to make Mr. Carraway aware that a few ladies on other charity committees, myself included, have noted his generosity and have nominated him for an award at the Boston Philanthropic Society Gala that takes place this coming fall.” Her voice lowered as if she was confessing something to me. “Two of my friends and I were at lunch a few weeks ago and, well, we discovered quite by chance just how generous Mr. Carraway has been, and he’s never asked for any acknowledgment. Well, we think such humanitarian efforts should be brought to light.”

“Indeed,” I murmured, absolutely spinning at this news.

Caine was that generous to charity organizations?

“So you’ll inform him for me?”

“I will.”

“Oh, you’re such a dear. Ta-ta.”

I hung up, confused. I hadn’t read anywhere that Caine was a philanthropist. What was that all about?

I rang his office.

“Yes?” he answered almost immediately.

“Do you have a minute?”

“Is it important?”

“I think so.”

“Then by all means interrupt me when I’m busy over an ‘I think so.’ ” He hung up and I hurried into his office despite the unwelcoming go-ahead.