A Sure Thing?

'Sounds good. I'm having a massage at one, so that works out fine.'

'Then I'll meet you in the lobby at three.'

He nodded, then left the dining room, never looking in Matt's direction. The instant Jack was out of sight, Jilly pushed back her chair. Before she could rise, Matt slipped into the chair Jack had just vacated.

'Very nice presentation,' he said, the chilly edge in his voice matching the ice in his glare.

She flicked her gaze over him as if he were something she'd just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. 'Well, I guess you would know, seeing as how you saw fit to spy during my time with Jack.'

'I wasn't spying. I was drinking coffee. It's hardly my fault that there aren't soundproof barriers and six-foot walls between the tables here.'

'You could have had your coffee in the Bistro, or the bar, or you could have called room service. I should have known better than to trust you.'

'Right back at ya, kiddo.'

'What does that mean?'

'Why don't you just throw me over your shoulder and burp me, 'cause you obviously think I was born yesterday.' His gaze wandered over her from head to toe, then he leaned forward until his face was a mere foot away from hers. There was no mistaking the anger simmering in his dark blue eyes. 'Don't think I don't know what you're doing with your sexy skirt and sexy shoes and sexy hair.' His gaze settled for several seconds on her mouth. 'And sexy red lips.'

Jilly stared at him, outrage pumping through her veins. 'Not that I owe you any explanations,' she said in a low voice that throbbed with anger, 'but you should know that just because the 'casting couch' is alive and well in advertising, doesn't mean that everyone lies down on it. I told you I don't play dirty and I meant it. Unfortunately for me, you obviously can't say the same. Just don't judge other people by your own lack of standards. When I'm on the job, I conduct myself in a professional manner, in both my dress and my conduct. Always.' She stood, then looked down at him with a scathing glare. 'If you think my skirt and shoes and hair and red lips are sexy, then that's your problem.'

Picking up her laptop, she turned, and without a backward glance, walked swiftly from the dining room.

Matt stared after her, an uncomfortable feeling invading his chest. A feeling he didn't like one bit. A feeling that suggested he'd just made a big mistake. There was no doubt she was pissed off. Was her outrage genuine, or an act? It certainly seemed real, but if she planned to seduce Jack Witherspoon, she certainly wouldn't admit it. His suspicions lingered, but in all fairness he had to admit there was nothing blatantly sensual about her attire.

If you think my skirt and shoes and hair and red lips are sexy, then that's your problem.

Yeah, well, he did think they were sexy. Sexy as hell. And that definitely was a problem.

The question was, what did he intend to do about it?

Chapter 4

Jilly steamed into room 312, annoyed at Matt Davidson, but even more annoyed at herself. After pushing the door closed with a hard hip-check, she kicked off her shoes, set her laptop on the dresser, then plopped onto her back on the freshly made bed, her stockinged feet hanging over the edge of the forest-green, grapevine-embroidered comforter.

What on earth was wrong with her? Never before had her mind veered off course like that during a presentation. And why-despite the fact that her mind knew Matt Davidson was insufferable-was her body not falling in line with the program? His insinuation that she was trying to charm Jack Witherspoon with more than her creative ideas was insulting and infuriating. But what made it even more infuriating was the fact that while ninety-nine percent of her was outraged at his innuendo, there was unfortunately that one percent-some errant feminine chromosome she was beginning to dislike intensely-that quickened at the notion that Matt thought anything about her was sexy.

'Augh!' She plunged her fingers into her hair-her loose, sexy hair-and fisted her hands. She squeezed her eyes tight, hoping to ward off the sound of her excruciatingly honest inner voice, but it tapped her on the shoulder.

Hey, Jilly, her inner voice said. Let's be honest here, okay?

You did wear a skirt and heels and your hair down and red lips with the thought of enticing a man-but that man wasn't Jack Witherspoon.

She blew out a long sigh filled with resignation and frustration. As much as she'd like to lie to herself, what was the point? While she wouldn't compromise herself by dressing sexy for a client, deep down she knew she'd tried to look more alluring than she normally would, hoping that Matt would notice. And obviously he had. And obviously he thought she was playing the sexy card to win Jack's favor.

And yes, while that was insulting, she couldn't really blame him. After all, he didn't know her. He had no way of knowing that she would never stoop to something like that. That her sense of fair play and her integrity balked at such underhanded tactics. That she'd rather lose fairly than win unfairly. All he really knew about her through their frequent head-butting was that she was highly competitive, extremely ambitious, and wanted very much to land the ARC account. That, coupled with the fact that many women-and men-in their industry did use sex to get ahead… well, it really wasn't unreasonable or unthinkable that such an assumption would cross his mind. If their situations were reversed, she would have thought the same thing.

She rose and paced to the window. The thick green drapes were pushed back, allowing daylight to flood the room. Drawing aside the sheer, cream curtain panel, she looked out at the snow-covered vineyards. Row upon row of bare vines, held in place by thick wooden stakes and a trio of horizontal cables, stood at attention like a battalion of soldiers. With the harvest season over, the vines resembled thick stems with gnarled fingers pointing upward toward the gray, snow-leaden sky.

Fat white snowflakes drifted downward, beckoning Jilly to come out and play in the winter wonderland. Since she wasn't meeting Jack until three, and she had no desire to remain in this room where the tantalizing fragrance of Matt's musky cologne still lingered, she gave in to the beckoning. She crossed to the closet and pulled out her favorite pair of jeans and a thick, cable-knit sweater, ignoring how disturbingly intimate Matt's clothes looked hung next to hers.

She changed in quick order, slipped her suit onto a hanger, and was just preparing to lace up her sturdy snow boots when she heard the door lock click. She looked up just as Matt, laptop case in hand, strode into the room.

He halted at the sight of her, and for several seconds silence swelled as they stared at each other. Annoyance at his earlier assumption mingled with a tingling awareness of his dark good looks and masculinity. Whew. He might be a pain in the butt, but there was no getting away from the fact that he was a damn fine-looking pain in the butt.

Finally she glanced pointedly at her watch. 'It's barely nine-fifteen. Your breakfast meeting didn't take very long.'

'Jack sent a message that he was delayed and rescheduled our appointment for ten. Thought I'd come back up here where it's quiet and review my presentation.'

She raised her brows. 'Are you sure you didn't come back up here to check on my whereabouts? To see if maybe I was what had delayed Jack?'

He hesitated a moment, then said, 'I have to admit, I'm relieved to discover you here.'

A humorless laugh escaped her. 'Don't you mean surprised?'

'No. I mean relieved.' He shrugged. 'With maybe a little surprise thrown in.'

Humph. For an answer, she returned her attention to lacing up her boots. 'I'll be out of here in just a minute.'

'Fine.' Without another word, he crossed to the desk, set his laptop on the polished oak surface, then flicked the On button. Peeking at him from under her lashes, she watched him settle himself in the chintz-covered wing chair, then pull a disk from his laptop case and insert it into the computer. Seconds later a frown pulled down his