A Sure Thing?

'One phone call can verify that.'

'Yes, it can.' His gaze flicked to the digital clock on the nightstand which glowed 2:43 a.m. 'Do you want to call Adam this late to ask him, or can you take my word for it until a more decent hour?'

She prided herself on reading people fairly well, and as much as she hated to admit it, Matt looked and sounded utterly sincere. If he was telling the truth…

Dread seeped slowly into her veins. 'I'll give you the benefit of the doubt-until morning.' She pushed her tangled hair off her face. 'Besides, sending us both out here to woo the same client-while I don't want to believe Adam would do that to us again-'

'It looks like he's done it to us again.' He blew out a breath. 'Just like last summer, with the Lone Star Steak account. Pitting us against each other certainly insures that one of us will win the ARC account for Maxximum.'

'Right. It worked with Lone Star, and clearly Adam hopes history will repeat itself. Smart tactic.'

'One I would admire much more if I wasn't one of the victims.' Matt muttered. 'Again. And I don't intend to let history repeat itself.'

'Meaning?'

'You won the Lone Star Steak account. I'm going to win this one.'

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. 'Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hey, whatever you need to believe to get you through the day. But your quest for ARC will be difficult to achieve when your weekend is spent explaining to the police why you broke into my room.'

He shot her a glare. 'I'm an ad exec, not a cat burglar. I told you. Registration gave me a key to 312 when I checked in.' He moved to the phone resting on the pale oak desk in the corner. After consulting the directory listed on the phone's cream-colored surface, he lifted the receiver and punched in a number. 'I'm calling the front desk to find out what's going on.'

He turned his back to her and reached across the desk to slide a pad and pen closer to him. His underwear stretched across a taut male butt that deserved to be bronzed and displayed in the Smithsonian. Someone at the front desk must have picked up because Matt said, 'Hello, Maggie. This is Matt Davidson…' He explained the situation, but Jilly only listened with half an ear as all her attention focused on the very distracting view of his backside.

This was not good. The sight of this guy in his Calvins was having an adverse affect on her ability to breathe straight and think right. Er, think straight and breathe right. Jeez, anybody would think she hadn't seen a gloriously masculine, almost naked man before. She had. Just not recently-unless one considered nine months, three weeks and eighteen days recent. And everything feminine in her that had lain dormant for those nine months, three weeks and eighteen days was suddenly bright-eyed and alert and very interested in this new masculine scenery.

Swell. Like she didn't have enough problems, now she had to go and develop a sudden case of the hots for her biggest rival. Why, oh why, did her body have to respond to this guy?

He hung up the phone, then turned to face her. 'Did you catch all that?' he asked.

Heat crept up her neck. With her libido and hormones making so much racket, nothing he'd said had registered. 'Er, not exactly. I was trying to, um, remember where I left my cell phone.' Yup, that was her story and she was stickin' to it. 'Why don't you summarize it for me?'

'You want the good news first or the bad news?'

'Good news.'

'That's unfortunate because there is no good news. At least for you. The bad news is that only two rooms were booked for Maxximum Advertising.'

'Right. One for you and one for me. So what's the problem?' Her bare foot tapped against the carpet.

'Noooo,' he said in a voice one would use with a kindergartner. 'One for Jack Witherspoon and one for me.'

'You?' Anger propelled her forward until less than two feet separated them. At least her anger had shut down her hormones. More or less. Nothing was less attractive than an arrogant, infuriating man. Usually. Jamming her hands on her hips, she jutted out her chin. 'In case it escaped your notice, you came into my room, where I was sleeping in my bed. My clothes are hanging in the closet, and my makeup and toothbrush are in the bathroom. That makes this my room. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.' Reaching down, she yanked up the pile of masculine clothes draped over his luggage and slapped them against his bare chest. 'So I suggest you get dressed and toddle on down to the registration desk, pick up a new key and stake your claim on a vacant room.'

His lips curved into a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. 'I'd be happy to, but that's where the rest of the bad news comes in. There are no more rooms available.'

She looked toward the ceiling and prayed for patience. 'Surely you don't expect me to believe that.'

He shrugged. 'Call the front desk. It's not that difficult to believe. There're only three dozen rooms here-this place is not exactly the size of a Hyatt.'

Easing around him, she stalked to the phone and jabbed in the number for the front desk. A very pleasant young lady named Maggie regretfully confirmed that there were indeed no other rooms available, and no vacancies until the following Wednesday. At Jilly's request she checked the reservations. 'A suite was booked at 8:20 yesterday morning for three nights for Maxximum Advertising by Surety Travel Agency.'

'All right,' Jilly said, nodding. That would be the suite Adam had booked for Jack Witherspoon. 'What else?'

'A room was also booked for Maxximum yesterday,' Maggie said, as Jilly heard computer keys tapping in the background. 'That reservation came in at 9:53 a.m. by Surety Travel Agency, for a single room, for three nights.'

'For just one room?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

The bottom fell out of Jilly's stomach. One room. At 9:53. She thanked Maggie, then hung up. Turning to Matt, she asked, 'When did Adam talk to you about the Witherspoon account?'

'Yesterday morning.'

'What time?'

'Our meeting was at 9:30.'

Oh boy. Her meeting with Adam had started at 9:45. Which meant that at 9:53, when the reservation was called in, she was still in Adam's office. Which meant that the travel agency had booked this room at Matt's request.

'Your meeting was after mine,' he said, still clutching his wrinkled clothes against his chest. Understanding dawned in his eyes. 'I'm guessing this room was booked during the time you were meeting with Adam.'

As much as she wanted to, there was no point in denying it. At least he had the decency not to look smug, which surprised her. 'Obviously the travel agent made an error,' she said. Yeah-like they'd neglected to book her damn room.

'Obviously.'

'That's hardly my fault, Matt.'

'Nor is it mine, Jilly.'

'Well, I'm not leaving.'

'Well, neither am I.'

They stared at each other for several long, silent seconds, like two suspicious dogs circling each other, vying for the same bone. At this moment, the room was the bone. But, ultimately, Jack Witherspoon and the ARC Software account with all its accompanying perks was top prize. It was a huge career jump, winner take all, and Jilly had no intention of losing. Based on the stubborn set of Matt's features, neither did he.

She glanced toward the window and noted the heavy snow falling. Forcing him to leave, in the middle of the night, in the midst of a snowstorm seemed pretty inhumane. But she couldn't very well share the room with him. There was only one bed. And it wasn't even a king-size. No way was she lying in that not-king-size bed next to him and all that male pulchritude-again. Nope. No way. That scenario had disaster tattooed all over it. In Technicolor.