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This is dangerous. He’s my boss. I’m committing professional suicide here. Caz runs scalding hot and icy-cold, he’s bound to turn on me. Is this what happened with Harper? She got too close and then . . .  “Hey, I tagged you,” I whisper into his hair. “What do you intend to do about it?”


I spin around and stare at him. The candlelight lends everything a witchy, theatrical flair. Figures, after all, it is Halloween. 
His face is a fast moving flurry of emotion: fury, that elusive, unnamed sadness, and could it be—a glimmer of sudden lust? 

My chest fills with waves of unexpected, guilty desire. “Am I close?” I whisper, mirroring his words.

“Close,” he whispers back, his voice thick. He rises and stalks slowly toward me, locking onto his quarry, the inked panther on his neck rising and falling.


“Fun’s over,” he huffs.
I quirk up an eyebrow. “We can always have more.” What’s with me? A second ago I was thinking that we’d never work together. It’s his fault! He’s so adorable even when he’s fuming that I can’t make promises, even to myself.
When he rises and stalks off toward his studio, I know I haven’t softened him. 

“I have work to do,” he announces. “I have a big career.”

My mood slips right back into darkness, to stark, raw reality. Fuck your big career.

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