A Sure Thing?

Jilly listened to the bathroom door close behind Matt, then squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a long, fervent sigh of relief.

When she opened her eyes, her gaze fell on the rumpled bed where they'd slept. Together. A humorless sound escaped her. Slept? Ha! Good thing she'd caught some z's before he'd arrived because she hadn't slept a wink the rest of the night. All she could think about was the warm, sexy, almost-naked male body less than three feet away. She'd recalled what that body felt like pressed against her. Wondered what it would look like completely naked… and feel like wrapped around her. Her very unruly hormones were letting her know in no uncertain terms that nine months, three weeks and now nineteen days were their absolute limit.

When the digital clock had finally glowed 6:00 a.m., she'd risen and indulged in a long, steamy shower in an effort to wash the image of Matt Davidson from her mind. Instead, all she'd accomplished was stirring up a maelstrom of fantasies in which she, Matt, the pulsating shower, and a bar of soap figured prominently. Disgusted with herself and this uncharacteristic, unwanted and unacceptable lust, she'd finally managed to set her sensual thoughts on the back burner long enough to formulate a set of ground rules to present to Matt-rules she'd arrived at purely for the purpose of self-preservation. While she had no intention of roaming around undressed in front of him, she wasn't certain how uninhibited he might be regarding nudity, and she absolutely, positively, did not want to see him naked.

Yeah, right, her detestably honest inner voice chimed in. You want to see him naked more than you want to be able to eat unlimited Rocky Road ice cream and not have it permanently adhere to your ass.

Yikes. Since that Rocky Road fantasy was one of her fondest dreams, this was not good. Okay, so she wanted to see him naked. Big deal. Who wouldn't? She was female and possessed a healthy, if somewhat recently starved, libido. But damn, why did it have to be him who had her insides melting to goo? This was like sleeping with the enemy. She glanced again at the rumpled bed, eyeing his still scrunched-up pillow that rested perilously close to hers. This was sleeping with the enemy.

Well, she just needed to remember that that's what he was. The enemy. The only thing standing between her and bringing home the ARC account. She could well imagine that he intended to try to turn this weekend into a 'boys' club' scotch-swilling, cigar-smoking bonding session with Jack Witherspoon. Probably planned to hang out in the men's locker room, and take a steam-or whatever the hell men did in locker rooms. She couldn't compete with that. And she wouldn't let him get away with it, either.

Drawing a resolute breath, she marched over to the closet and mulled over her wardrobe possibilities, finally deciding on her red suit. The color was bright and empowering, and its slim skirt that hit just above her knees provided the perfect combination of professionalism and femininity. As soon as she was dressed, she'd feel more in control. All this bare skin was too distracting. What she needed was a robe-a heavy-duty one-and she made a mental note to visit the gift shop to see if they sold any. In the meanwhile, it was time to forget about Matt and focus her attention on Jack Witherspoon and the ARC account. Fortunately, with her strong work ethic, she knew she'd be able to focus on winning the account. Unfortunately, with everything female in her raising a ruckus, she wasn't so sure she'd be able to forget about Matt Davidson.

* * *

Matt turned the brass knobs to shut off the shower, then reached for one of the thick, white towels. Securing the terry cloth around his waist, he blew out a long breath. The pulsating hot water had refreshed him, cleaned the cobwebs from his brain, and-thankfully-washed his ardor down the drain.

The muffled hum of a hair dryer filtered through the door, indicating Jilly hadn't left yet. No problem. He'd just shave and brush his teeth, and surely by that time she'd be on her way out. Then he'd order up some coffee from room service and go over his presentation for Jack.

Whistling softly under his breath, he wiped off a section of the steamy mirror then pulled his razor from his shaving kit. He'd just finished applying a thick layer of shaving cream to his face and throat when a knock sounded on the door.

'Matt? I'm sorry to bother you, but are you going to be much longer in there?'

His body tensed at the mere sound of her voice. Damn. 'I'm just about to shave. Why?'

'Well, I'm ready to go, but I need to brush my teeth. I can stand the sight of your razor blade if you can stand the sight of my toothbrush. How about sharing the sink?'

He hesitated, then glared at himself in the mirror. Get a hold of yourself, man. It's not as if you've never shared bathroom space with a woman before. Be cool, be casual, and let her be the one thrown off balance.

Drawing a resolute breath, he opened the door. 'Sure, come on… in.'

His words faltered as he took in her appearance. His gaze traveled over her, his brain noting that her fire- engine red suit was tasteful, flattering, and conservative. All his nerve endings, however, noted that it hugged her curves and showcased her legs in a way that made him feel as if someone had set a match to his towel.

His wayward gaze jumped upward. Their eyes met, and his jaw clenched at the unmistakable awareness simmering in her golden-brown depths. Then he noted the dark, silky curtain brushing her shoulders. 'Your hair is down,' he said in a voice ripe with suspicion.

She raised her brows and looked at him as if he'd just escaped from a mental ward. 'What are you-the hair police? Listen, unbound hair may possibly be illegal in certain parts of the world, but here's a news flash-New York isn't one of them.'

'You always wear your hair pulled back.' He should have known better than to trust her. Here she was already breaking their 'play fair' rule. He didn't doubt for a minute that this new look, which was decidedly softer and sexier than her usual severe hairstyle, was an attempt to use her feminine charms to sway Jack Witherspoon. The question was, exactly how many of her feminine charms would she be willing to use to win the account?

'I don't always wear it pulled back. Some days, like today, I just happen to have a good hair day.'

Good hair day? She could say that again. Those thick, glossy raven curls had him fisting his hands to ward off the overwhelming urge to sift his fingers through them.

'And before you cast aspersions on anyone else's coif,' she said, her eyes alight with amusement, 'you might want to check your own. You've got a kind of 'finger-in-the-light socket' look happening right now-' her gaze roamed over his shaving cream-covered face and her lips twitched '-Santa.'

Annoyance snaked through him. 'That's from towel-drying. Not primping.'

She blinked, then laughed. 'Primping? Me? You've got to be kidding. I'm about as low maintenance as you can get. Since we're forced to share space this weekend, you'll be relieved to know I don't take an hour in the bathroom. I do, however, require a minute or two to brush my teeth, which is what I'd like to do now-if you don't mind?'

Decidedly irritated, but not certain if the feeling was directed more at her or at himself, Matt stepped back, out of the doorway, and she breezed in, her shiny black, high-heeled pumps clicking against the white ceramic tile floor. He breathed in and his senses were inundated with the delicate fresh scent of clean laundry.

'Thanks,' she said, reaching for the toothpaste and toothbrush resting in a water glass in the corner. He tried to busy himself with his razor, but found himself immobile as the intimacy of them sharing this small space hit him like a punch in the gut. The sight of her bent over the sink sent his heart into overdrive, and he had to draw a deep, steadying breath-which didn't help at all since it only served to fill his head with her elusive fragrance.

Before he roused himself from his stupor, her toothbrush landed back in the glass with a soft clink, and she patted her mouth dry with the corner of a hand towel. Without so much as glancing at him, she tossed out a breezy 'thanks,' then exited the bathroom. Seconds later she reappeared in the doorway, clutching the handles of a black leather laptop case.

'I'm leaving,' she said. 'I guess I'll see you later.'

'I guess so.'

She hesitated, then said, 'In the spirit of fair competition, especially as this is the holiday season, I wish you luck. May the best man win.'

'Right back at you, Jilly.'