Chloe William’s hands shook. A sense of foreboding chilled her skin, which she ignored. She needed her fix. She drummed her fingertips on the desk, the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness on the clock above the office door. Almost time to head into the weekend. Almost time to—

The door banged open, and Chloe nearly slipped off her chair. She regained her composure and glared at Sue, who peered in from the doorway with an expression as eager as an overexcited puppy.

“Hey busy bee, are you game tonight?” Sue asked in a high-pitched voice that grated on her nerves.

“Would you mind opening the door like a sane person?” Chloe said, wishing Sue away.

“Come on, Chloe, half of Accounting is going.”

“Good, then you don’t need me.”

Sue’s smile faltered. “But you never come along. How come you don’t like our girls’ night out?”

She shook her head. “Don’t take it personally.” Part of her was grateful her colleagues still asked if she wanted to join the weekend starter bash, but mostly they annoyed the heck out of her.

“Duh, don’t be such a bore. Why are you always…”

She tuned out. Sue’s taunting and coaxing words floated through the air, and she smiled her way to the end of Sue’s monologue.

“…and there are guys, you know.” Sue wiggled her eyebrows suggestively as she delivered her trump card.

“How very tempting.” Chloe faked a yawn, hoping Sue would get the hint. She directed her attention back to the computer screen on her desk and watched the blinking cursor.

“Suit yourself then.” Sue slammed the door.

Chloe smiled. Girls’ night out? Sue might as well take her on a relaxing walk on the beach when what she really wanted was a rollercoaster ride.

She checked the time again and switched off her computer. Compared to her Friday evening ritual, everything else paled into mediocrity. Adrenaline shot through her veins. Who cared for a couple of cocktails with giggling women or for the pick-up lines from a bunch of drunken morons trying to get laid? Definitely not me. I can have a different kind of thrill.

Pushing the chair back, she stood up from her desk and shouldered her purse. It’s not as if I’m hurting someone. Greater crimes were committed every minute all over the world. A stab of irritation nudged at her mind. Her hand on the door, she turned around once more. Her gaze traveled to the calendar on her desk, and she sucked in her lower lip.

For exactly thirteen weeks, she’d made the mistake of visiting the same place over and over again. And every Friday she went back for another kick, the risk of being caught increased. I could kiss my career goodbye.

Discipline was important. Otherwise, her habit would run out of control. “Just one more time,” she promised herself. As she shut the door behind her, she shut away the qualms messing up her mind.

She went back to see him. Just like a moth drawn to a flame.

* * * * *

Daniel Turner checked his wristwatch. Relax man, he thought, she should be here soon. She was always punctual. But he had a hard time fighting the dread that she wouldn’t turn up this Friday. Today, when he’d finally made up his mind, thought up a plan, and prepared a special surprise. Just for her.

He shook his head and focused on the task at hand, but he didn’t have to think much to wrap a bouquet of roses into cellophane paper. He accepted the money from the teenage boy and handed over the bouquet. Young love. So pure. He watched how the teen carried the roses out the door to press the bunch into the arms of his beaming girlfriend. He wondered if the boy bought the flowers just to get a smile.

He looked up when Hannah came out of the storage room. “Daniel, I would’ve been lost without you in the last months. You’re really my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother, and you wouldn’t have been lost without me. Broke, maybe, but not lost. “Don’t worry about it. I like working here.” His thoughts kept returning to his regular Friday visitor, though, and now he needed to get rid of his sister…fast.

“Don’t pretend,” she said. “I know you’re itching to get back to your studio. It’s the last weekend I need you here. After that, I’m back where I belong.” She swept her hand around. “But I’ve no idea why you want to tackle the new shipment by yourself. Are you sure you don’t need my help?” She scribbled a short note on a clipboard and pressed it into Daniel’s hand.

“Absolutely. Monday is early enough for you to start working again—if you feel you’re up to it,” he said, placing his hand on his sister’s shoulder, shoving her gently, but firmly, toward the door.

She laughed and swirled away from his grasp. “Look at me! I’m as good as new after my little holiday in the hospital.”

He looked at his sister more closely and noticed new lines under her eyes. After a rather nasty accident involving a motorbike, she’d been unable to run her flower shop, and he’d offered to keep her business going until she was back on track.

“Yes, you look fetching, and I love your new accessory.” Daniel gestured toward her legs. She sported a short summer dress, revealing a scar running from knee to ankle. “Scars are the new beauty mark,” he said, planting a hand on her shoulder and pushing her for the door. “So go and show off your legs somewhere else.”

“Uh, don’t waste your charm on me...or are you practicing? I guess you need a huge supply of girls to pose for your filthy art.” Her tone was light. However, he heard the underlying current in her words. He grinned, knowing that his sister disliked his paintings. What she couldn’t argue with was the fact that his last exhibition had sold out.

The resulting financial freedom had been a bit overwhelming. Well, more than a bit. The sudden success had thrown him into a state where the mere thought of facing a blank canvas scared the shit out of him. Three months and counting—he had yet to step back into his studio to paint. Even cleaning a paintbrush would be too much to ask. The pressure to live up to his new standard dragged him down, and it was slowly getting to his nerves.

“My art is a celebration of the female body,” he said, reciting what the critics had written about his work. “My aesthetic brushstrokes explore with truth, beauty, and shamelessness.” He shoved Hannah over the doorstep and slammed the door shut.

“Close call,” he muttered, returning to the counter. He brushed the workbench clean and grabbed a broom to sweep up the leaves and stems littering the floor. The doorbell chimed, and he greeted the older couple stepping inside the shop and hid his disappointment.

“Damn, where are you today?” he said under his breath and checked his watch again. He tossed the broom aside. He couldn’t wait a minute longer. He wanted desperately to see her. It was driving him nuts. Daniel had no idea how many times she’d been in the shop before he’d noticed her. Smiling, he gazed to the vase with tulips. But he damn well remembered the Friday when she’d turned his head.

He had heard her gentle sigh, her face buried in a bunch of red tulips. The sigh had snapped him to attention, and he’d stared at her. The little sound had been so unlike any he’d ever heard from someone inhaling the scent of a flower. No, he’d heard women sigh like that before. In bed. Not during the heavy part of sex, when the breathing became fast and thoughts went blurry. It was the kind of moan during the first tender explorations, light strokes, and whispered promises.

Her sigh had sounded deeply sensual and private. He’d felt like a voyeur.

At first glance, she was plain, her pale, pointed face looking younger than she probably was. Her chin-length brown hair, the decent office clothes—nothing about her spelled sensuality. Yet week after week, he’d anticipated her stepping through the door.

The next time she came in he’d noticed her walk. A slow, sensual strut as her fingers glided over the big leaves of the potted plants and brushing over the delicate petals of the fresh flowers. And most of all, her unabashed pleasure at inhaling the fragrance of the flowers. It was an almost indecent show of affection, and it turned him on.

She was petite, with a too-small waist, and a too-round bottom. Or maybe her ass made her middle seem tiny. His hands itched to close around her waist, to measure more thoroughly.

He’d dreamed about her—he hadn’t seen her face, just her back with the brown bob and tiny waist. He’d closed his hands around her and, with a groan, pushed her skirt up and spread her legs.

Waking up frustrated with a throbbing hard-on had felt like a nightmare. He came after a few fast strokes, but it hadn’t satisfied. He wanted the real deal. He wanted to strip her naked, turn on the heat behind her pale face, and hear her sigh in his arms.

If she enjoyed living on the edge, even just a little bit, fine with him. If she craved excitement, he could give her that, although it would come in a different form than her usual choice.

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