How am I gonna hold it together when he gets behind me again? she despaired, rubbing her arm and trying to ignore the unmistakable dampness of her panties.

Adam finished the plank and placed it with the others, and when he turned, something in her expression gave her away. "You okay?"

"Just a little tired, I guess." She forced a smile, which he saw right through. He leaned back against the bench, his gaze steady upon her, and her body reacted to it with an intensity she hadn't expected. Choking back a gasp, she rubbed a hand over her temple and turned away. "I should probably call a cab."

"Guest room's made up, if you want it." The offer sounded offhand, but when she risked another look at him, he was still giving her that same stare.

Another tingle of pleasure left her knees weak, and she bit her lip. "I shouldn't. I have...stuff to do in the morning."

"Oh, you should," Adam said calmly, stepping into her path as she prepared to flee. With a fingertip under her chin, he urged her to meet his eyes, and she trembled, confused and yet completely turned on.

Rather than raise her eyes to his, she closed hers, and his hand dropped away. She heard a footstep, and cracked open an eye in time to see him move over to the technical drawings on his workbench. She took a step toward the stairs, not entirely sure whether she planned to leave or just sit down for a while.

The sensation of a cool finger running down her stomach, beneath her shirt, stopped her in her tracks. The sheer impossibility of it startled a cry from her lips—Adam wasn't near enough to touch her, and his old shirt remained undisturbed, falling to her upper thighs.

Behind her, he asked, "Something wrong, Zoë?"

How could she explain that she was hallucinating his fingers in places they'd never been?