A Sure Thing?

He swallowed. Hard. Yeah, she'd looked incredible walking toward him, but sitting across from him, close enough to touch, she made him forget his own damn name. It took a few seconds, but finally his inner voice chimed in, Matt. Your name is Matt. I think. Now say hello before she thinks you belong in an institution.

'Hi.'

Looking around, she asked, 'Where's Jack?'

'He canceled.'

'Oh? Nothing's wrong, I hope.'

'Wrong as in family emergency, or wrong as in did I screw up and scare him off?' The question came out harsher than he'd intended but, damn it, she had him completely off-center. And the fact that he appeared to be the only one unsettled irked him more than he cared to admit.

She shot him a look that clearly indicated she thought he was a pain in the ass. Well, good. If she thought that, maybe it would help cool some of the heat incinerating him.

'I meant family emergency, but since you're so prickly, maybe you did scare him off.'

'No family emergency, nor did I scare him off. Apparently he met a woman at the indoor pool today, and they hit it off. While I was retrieving my cell phone earlier, the lady came into the bar. By the time I returned, Jack had decided that room service with her in his suite sounded better than dinner with us in the restaurant.' He shrugged. 'On the down side, it gives us less face time with him, but on the up side, it looks like he's having himself one hell of a good time this weekend, which can only reflect well on Maxximum.'

She nodded. 'I suppose you're right.' Her gaze panned over the white linen-covered table, the gleaming crystal stemware, gold-rimmed china place setting, polished silverware, and crystal bowl filled with floating candles and red and white roses. Her gaze then shifted to the strings of tiny white holiday lights decorating the marble mantel and the low-burning fire, which cast the room in a subtle, golden glow, while soft music drifted down from unseen speakers. She was clearly observing what he'd already noticed-that the setting reflected romance and intimacy.

Their eyes met, and he was struck by how expressive those velvety, golden brown depths appeared. A man could easily get lost in those warm, intelligent, brandy-colored eyes. Her gaze searched his as if seeking the answer to some unanswered question. Was she wondering if he was thinking about the kiss they'd shared earlier? God knows he'd wondered if she'd been thinking about it. Much to his annoyance, he'd replayed that kiss in his mind about two hundred times already.

His gaze skimmed over her and he couldn't hold back the words. 'You look gorgeous.'

She blinked, then her lips twitched. 'Why, thank you. But here's a little hint for future reference-that compliment would be so much more complimentary if you didn't sound so shocked when you said it.'

Before he could assure her he was sincere, she asked, 'Do you still want to have dinner? Just us?'

Hell, yes. He forced a nonchalant shrug in total contrast to the fire racing through him. 'Might as well. We have to eat, and with Le Cabernet Bistro being a five-star restaurant, I'm guessing the food is reasonably decent.'

'All right. Of course, I hope you're not too hungry. I recently found out that 'bistro' is French for 'a tiny, yet tasty portion that costs a lot more.'' She smiled and picked up her menu.

His heart thumped ridiculously at that smile. 'You've also got chocolate-covered marshmallows-in case we're still hungry.'

One eloquent brow hiked up. 'What makes you think I'll share?'

'Because sharing is our lesson for today, and I'm certain you're an excellent student.'

'Hmmm. That's odd. I thought our lesson for today was 'don't count your chocolate-covered marshmallows before they're hatched' and that you'd already learned it.'

He winced. 'Ouch. That hurt almost as much as that snowball to the chin I took.' He gingerly moved his jaw back and forth.

She peered at his chin, then her eyes widened. 'It does look a little red right here…' Reaching out, she brushed her fingertip over the spot with a feathery touch that stilled him. 'I'm sorry. My aim was off.'

'Really? What were you trying to hit-my eye?'

She laughed and pulled her hand away. 'Of course not. Does it hurt?'

'Only when I inhale.'

'I really am sorry.'

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, surprised and more than a little annoyed to note that his hand wasn't quite steady. Damn it, his strong reaction to her bordered on the ridiculous. 'Don't worry about it.' He shot her a pointed stare. 'You don't seem any worse for the wear from our altercation.'

She smiled broadly. 'Didn't get hit nearly as many times as you did.'

The sommelier arrived at their table, saving Matt from thinking of a reply, which was just as well as it appeared that some valve had opened up in his neck, draining all the blood from his brain. And he knew exactly where all that blood had ended up-in his freakin' groin. Maybe having dinner alone with her hadn't been such a brilliant idea, but he couldn't back out now. And damn it, he didn't want to. He wanted to sit here. Wanted to look at her. Breathe in her unique scent. Study her fascinating eyes. And lips. Talk to her. Get to know her. Find out more about this woman who presented such an intriguing dichotomy of cool professionalism and heated sensuality-made all the more alluring because her sexiness was refreshingly understated. But he sure as hell wished he didn't want to do all those things. Nothing good could come of it. Yet he couldn't stop himself.

Following a brief discussion and consultation of the wine list, they ordered a Fontaine Vineyards chardonnay. After the sommelier left them, Jilly said, 'This is great. We can sit here and drink wine until we really like each other. A couple dozen bottles ought to do it.' Gracing him with a quick grin, she returned her attention to the menu.

Irritation slithered through Matt. Couple dozen bottles? Ha ha. Had he just thought her alluring? Fascinating? Surely he'd meant that she was a smartass and a thorn in his side. And how come she didn't appear to be having any problem at all ignoring him, while he felt hot and aroused and uncharacteristically flustered? And grumpier by the minute?

He'd always thought of himself as cool, detached, and in control. And he had been-until he'd found her in room 312 wearing her damn black satin lingerie. Until she'd loaned him her damn laptop. And fed him one of her damn chocolates. And kissed him in the damn snow. And worn a damn dress that fit her like smooth, black water poured on her curves.

Well, the hell with this. Sexual frustration definitely loved company, and he was tired of suffering alone. She couldn't possibly be as calm and collected as she clearly wanted him to believe. Yes, he was finished with her having the upper hand.

And it was about time he did something about it.

'I don't need to drink copious amounts of wine,' he said softly. 'I already like you.' But I sure as hell don't want to.

Her gaze snapped up to his, and he noted with satisfaction that she appeared startled. And wary. A good start to toppling her from her aloof perch.

'And how much have you had to drink already?' she asked in a dry, skeptical voice.

'One beer.' She'd taken the bait, now it was time to reel her in a bit. Not giving her time to question him further or regroup, he said, 'So, tell me… are you attached?'

'Attached to what?'

Ah-ha! Avoiding the question by pretending not to understand. Excellent. 'A man. Do you have a boyfriend?' No way could she pretend not to understand that. And based on her expression, the question clearly threw her off balance. Secure that he was once again strapped in the driver's seat, he leaned back and smiled.

But instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. 'Why do you want to know if I have a boyfriend?'

He shrugged. 'Just making conversation.' Oh, sure, his inner voice piped in, dripping