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Still, I wanted to make a crack. For once, I didn’t. I was too wary of her in this mood.

She wasn’t done. “You would have gotten the tattoo on a lark. Tell me, would you carry the marry me bit that far? Is even that utterly meaningless to you?”

I knew I was in trouble because I chose my words carefully. And I wasn’t completely honest. “What, are you offended on behalf of the institution of marriage?” I tried, saw her face, then tried again. “It was just a joke. Marriage is not meaningless to me. I won’t joke about it anymore if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“That’s not the point. You can joke about anything with me, but sometimes you need to see where the joke ends. Does that make sense to you?”

I studied her, wondering if I should tell the truth.

“Tell me that makes sense to you,” she said, this time making it an order.

I obliged now that she’d made it clear what she wanted from me. Lip service I could do. “That makes sense to me.”

Thank God she dropped it after that.

I got my word count in that day. Of course I did. I’d never been so motivated in my life.

And even so, she didn’t even try to make it easy on me, the pint-sized despot.

I was in my own office, being responsible, staying on task, when she brought me an afternoon shot of espresso.

“You’re an angel,” I told her, taking it. “A saint.”

But she wasn’t done. Without a word, she moved behind my desk, behind me.

She bit my earlobe very softly.

I rocked back, letting my broad shoulders brush into her, getting nice full contact with her pillowy tits against my back. I made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr. It was the briefest contact, but it felt impossibly illicit.

The barest foreplay with Ro was more satisfying than completion with anyone else.

But she was in an ornery mood, and I suffered for it.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she spoke with her phone sex voice into my ear.

My heart plummeted. “You can’t do that. That’s mean.”

“I’m talking about your word count, you big baby. It’s doubled for the day if you want me in your bed tonight.”

“You’re mad with power. Tripping on it like a petty tyrant.” A thought struck. “Hey! You’re the tyrant! How can you live with yourself?”

She laughed and moved away.

“I hate you,” I said to her retreating back.

“Liar,” she said, sublimely unconcerned. “I’m all that’s keeping you going at this point. You can’t live without me.”

I hoped that she was joking, that she didn’t know that was becoming painfully close to the truth.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IT WAS A long day, for obvious reasons. And for all of the torture it was still quite fun. Ro in a nutshell.

It was nearing dinnertime before I realized that my dad and Ida weren’t back yet.

I was still writing, doubling my word count had me on the ropes, when Ro walked past my office and I called her in. “Any idea where my dad and Ida are? Are they still at the spa?”

She smiled conspiratorially at me, and I knew whatever she was about to say was designed to make me smile. In fact, I was already smiling before she said it. “I made them more reservations on the strip to keep them out of your hair tonight.”