One Good Reason (A Boston Love Story Book 3) by Julie Johnson

it?” he asks, extending his hand into the space between us. When I make no move to return the handshake, he waggles his fingers wildly. “Oh, come on. Humor me.”
    I sigh and, without letting myself think too deeply about what I’m doing, grudgingly reach up to slide my palm against his. The feeling of his callused skin against the soft pads of my fingertips jolts through me like static shock. It takes all my self-control not to react as he squeezes my hand and pumps it slowly up and down, his eyes locked on mine.
    After a few seconds of torture, I yank my hand from his warm grip and spin away. I practically sprint over to the computer sitting on his desk. I feel him following close at my heels and do my best to ignore his presence.
    Just fix the computers, get your flash drive, and get out of here before you do something you regret. Like jump his bones.
    To my great annoyance, when we reach the desk he pulls out the computer chair for me to sit. He may be an ass, but he’s a gentlemanly ass.
    “Milady,” he says with a mocking bow.
    I flip him off and drop into the leather seat, wiggling the mouse to activate the screen.
    “What did you change my password to?” he asks, watching my fingers key in the phrase.
    I smirk. “ Parker West Wets His Pants . One word. All lowercase.”
    “And you accuse me of being immature?”
    “You are immature.”
    “Just fix the damn network.”
    I ignore him and get to work. It only takes a few minutes — blasting a dam apart is a lot easier than building one from scratch — and when I tap out the final sequence of code, I look up to find Parker staring at me incredulously.
    “What?”
    “Who are you?” he mutters, something like awe in his tone. “CIA? NSA? FBI? Some other three-lettered agency whose name is too classified for public consumption?”
    I shrug, push back the chair, and rise to my feet. “I’m the girl who’ll kick your ass if you don’t fork over her flash drive.”
    He grimaces. “Here’s the thing…”
    I go still.
    “…I don’t exactly have it,” he finishes.
    “What?” The word cracks out like a whip. “We had a deal! Don’t fuck with me, playboy, or so help me, I will hack into the FBI database, steal your fingerprints, frame you for murder, and send you to rot in prison for the rest of your days.”
    “That’s rather elaborate,” he says, chuckling. “You’ve really given my demise some thought.”
    “Would you like a cellmate named Diablo or Hulk?” I tilt my head. “Then again, it probably doesn’t matter. I’m sure either of them will be happy to make you their new bitch.”
    “Chill, Piper Chapman. You didn’t let me finish. I don’t have the flash drive with me .” He grins, totally unaffected by my death threats, and reaches out to grab my hand. I’m so stunned by the casual action, I don’t even move to pull away until it’s too late.
    “Where is it?” I ask as he starts walking, tugging me behind him. His fingers are fully intertwined with mine — I feel the soothing stroke of his thumb against the back of my hand when I try to squirm loose.
    “Patience, grasshopper.” He holds the door to his office open for me to step through. “You’ll see.”
    “You expect me to just go along with you without asking any questions?” I stare hard at the spot between his shoulder blades as he leads us down the hallway. “I’m not one of your stupid bimbos. I don’t even know you!”
    He slams to a halt so suddenly, I almost run straight into him. When he turns his head to catch my gaze, there’s something simmering at the back of his eyes. It looks like a challenge.
    “You’re afraid.”
    “Of you ? Hate to break it to you, but no.” My denial is swift. “I could kick your ass.”
    “Doubtful,” he mutters. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”
    I raise my eyebrows.
    “You’re afraid to be alone with me.”
    I snort. “Oh, please .”
    “You’re afraid you won’t be able to control yourself in