Ryan's Place by Sherryl Woods

there and looked pathetic, which wouldn’t be all that difficult given the way she was feeling.
    Groaning, she stood up in her stocking feet and walked over, carrying her shoes, coat and purse. She found Ryan behind his desk, jotting figures in a ledger.
    “I’ll be with you in a second,” he said without looking up. “I like to get these numbers entered at night, so the day’s cleared out and I’m ready to start fresh tomorrow.”
    “You’re keeping your records in a ledger?” she asked, staring at the cumbersome book with surprise. She glanced around the office and saw no evidence of a computer.
    “Sure.”
    “Why aren’t you computerized? It would take less time,and you’d have everything you need at your fingertips when tax time comes around.”
    “This works,” he said, dismissing the idea.
    “But—”
    He glanced up with a grin. “You selling computers in your spare time, too?”
    “No, but this is something I know a little bit about. I could set up a system for you in no time. And I noticed tonight that if you reorganized the liquor supply, it would be easier to keep track of what’s running low.”
    “Maggie, I don’t need a system. I already have one,” he explained patiently.
    “An outdated one, but I suppose that’s to be expected,” she said.
    He frowned at that. “Meaning?”
    “You’re pretty much stuck in your ways across the board,” she said.
    For a minute it seemed he might take offense, but then he grinned. “It must seem that way to you, being the kind of modern woman that you are.”
    “It is that way,” she insisted, ignoring the teasing. “But I won’t push you to change tonight. I’m too exhausted to waste the energy.” She grinned back at him. “But, as they say, tomorrow is another day.”
    “I’m not changing the way I do things around here,” he said emphatically.
    “We’ll see,” she said blithely.
    “Maggie!”
    “Don’t worry about it,” she soothed. “I’ll just sit right over here, quiet as a mouse, while you finish up. You won’t even know I’m here.”
    “I doubt that,” he muttered.
    She settled into the easy chair in the corner of his office, curling her feet up under her. Two minutes later she was sound asleep.
     
    Ryan compared his figures one last time, then uttered a sigh of satisfaction. The orderliness of numbers pleased him. There was nothing messy or questionable about totals written down in black and white. Emotions, however, were another matter entirely.
    And speaking of emotions, what was he to do about Maggie? He glanced across the room and found her sound asleep in his easy chair. At some point during the evening, she’d scooped her hair into some sort of ponytail, but there were curls escaping now to feather against her cheeks. Her dark-green sweater had twisted and ridden up to expose a tantalizing inch-wide strip of pale-as-cream skin. His heart hammered a little harder at the sight. If only he had the right to skim a finger along that delicate band of flesh, to slide his hand beneath the sweater to cup softly rounded breasts. His throat went dry at the thought.
    He swallowed hard. He had to get her out of here and safely home before he did something stupid and acted on one of these increasingly frequent impulses of his.
    Crossing the room, he hunkered down beside the chair. Despite his best intentions, he couldn’t seem to resist reaching out to smooth a wayward curl from her cheek, then lingering to feel the way her skin heated at his touch.
    “Maggie?” he whispered, his voice suddenly husky. “Time to wake up.”
    She moaned softly and stirred, but didn’t open her eyes.Ryan bit back a groan as images of her stirring just like that in his bed slammed through him. Visions of tangled sheets falling away from long, bare legs taunted him.
    “Maggie,” he repeated with more urgency. “Time to go home.”
    He said the latter to remind himself that home was where she belonged—her home, not his.
    Another moan.