Surrender to Temptation Part IV: Tempted to Entice by Lauren Jameson Page B

with you, so I will stop at that.
    Devon
    I swallowed past the thick lump in my throat as I hesitated, then clicked the Send icon on my screen before I could lose my nerve. My nose prickled and my eyes were damp—it really felt like it was over now.
    The rational part of me knew that it wasn’t normal, feeling this upset over a man that I had known for less than a month. I tried to tell myself that my behavior was obsessive and not a little bit crazy.
    It didn’t matter. I was devastated.
    Looking at the clock yet again, I saw that it was after five. Most of my colleagues had rushed out the door minutes earlier, eager to shed their suit jackets and hit Friday night happy hour at the bar across the street.
    I was going to go home, have a good cry, and then get back to trying to pull myself back together.
    “Good night, Miss Devon Reid.” Startled, I stopped in my tracks momentarily when Mrs. Gallagher’s voice cut through my thoughts. I peered into her office, perplexed, and hoped that my eyes weren’t overly red from unshed tears.
    “Good night, Mrs. Gallagher.” The woman never bid a hello or a farewell to any of her employees, and though her expression was stern as I clutched my worn leather purse to my chest, I was thoroughly unnerved by the gesture.
    “I hope you’re feeling better by Monday morning.” The woman lowered her reading glasses to the tip of her nose and peered at me over the top of them. “This cold that’s going around is brutal. If you’re not well by then, take Monday off. But I will expect you back in shape first thing Tuesday morning.”
    Mrs. Gallagher shoved her glasses back up her nose and looked down at her work, effectively dismissing me. I blinked at her in surprise before hurrying away to the bank of elevators.
    The woman was astute, and knew damn well that I didn’t have a cold. The kind gesture of a long weekend to pull my act together was unexpected and incredibly strange.
    Her underlying message, however, had been perfectly clear: Get over him and get your life back together.
    It was exactly the kick in the pants that I needed, though I suspected she wouldn’t appreciate it if I told her that, for the persona that she demonstrated in the office was not of the warm and fuzzy variety. Sniffling, I straightened my spine, inhaled deeply, and tried to get myself together.
    My life wasn’t entirely occupied by Zachariah St. Brenton. I could be happy without him.
    Maybe if I told myself that enough times, it would be true.
    The elevator pinged and then opened, and I did my best to shove all thoughts of myself bound on its floor during my last encounter with Zach from my mind. Making sure to keep my chin up, I stepped in and turned to press the button for the lobby.
    I choked on my own breath when I saw Zach standing by the control panel, appearing calm and in control. He looked at me and nodded, stepping back to make space for me.
    After a long, flustered moment in which my self-control was shattered, I nodded in return, then faced the elevator door and tried to calm my racing heart.
    This was to be expected. He was my boss. It was a big building, but we were bound to see each other from time to time. If I wanted to stay at this job, it was something that I would have to accept.
    The silence was like a weight on my shoulders as we descended through the building. My mind tormented me with images of our last elevator ride together, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought of it, too. As I chased the mental image of him binding my hands with my own lace underwear, I looked up to see his reflection in the polished chrome of the door, and I scowled to myself. It wasn’t fair that he should look so mouthwatering when I felt—and looked—so ragged. His suit was charcoal today, and beneath it was a pale gray shirt with subtle stripes. He had removed his tie and unbuttoned the top button, and despite all of the lectures to myself, I found that I wanted nothing more than to place my