A SURE THING?

by Jacquie D'Allesandro

  "How long were you standing there?"

  "Not long."

  Her eyes narrowed. "What did you hear?"

  "Nothing."

  His blank expression gave nothing away. She prayed he was telling the truth. Otherwise she'd have to move to another state. Possibly another country. "Aren't you supposed to be with Jack now in the bar?"

  "We'd just ordered drinks when I realized I forgot my cell phone. I'm expecting an important call." Pushing off from the door, he walked to the night table and picked up his small phone.

  Her brows shot upward. Personally she would have let her voice mail pick up the call rather than interrupt time with a client as valuable as Jack, and it surprised her—and pricked her curiosity—that Matt wouldn't do the same. Who was he expecting such an important call from?

  "Jack suggested that the three of us have dinner together this evening," Matt said.

  "Oh? When did he say that?"

  "About five minutes ago, in the bar. He told me to extend the invite to you if you were in the room."

  Another embarrassed flush snaked up her back. "So he knows we're sharing a room?"

  "Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that if we're both in room 312—and the chances of there being more than one room 312 are pretty slim—we're roommates. I explained about the reservation mix-up. He thought it was pretty funny."

  "Yeah. It's hysterical." She shot him a narrow-eyed look. "What if I hadn't been in the room?"

  "Jack would have called and left a message."

  "Where and when is dinner?"

  "Six-thirty, in the resort's restaurant."

  "I'll be there," she said, refusing to acknowledge the sudden leap her heart performed—a leap that had nothing to do with the prospect of dining with Jack Witherspoon. "At least we won't have to dodge each other all evening."

  "Right. Listen, as long as you're here, I want to pay my debt of honor." He crossed to the desk and opened his laptop. "I owe you a look at my presentation."

  Her surprise must have shown because he smiled. "Obviously you thought I'd conveniently forget but, if nothing else, I'm a man of my word. Take a look."

  Jilly joined him and peered over his shoulder, watching the clever five-minute PowerPoint slide show which highlighted Matt's slogan. "ARC Software," he said softly as the words appeared on the screen. "Load it, Launch it, Love it."

  Heat suffused her. Whew. The way he murmured his slogan in that husky, suggestive voice made Load it, Launch it, Love it sound like something she'd want to experience with him in the dark. While they were naked.

  And there was nothing wrong with that. Everyone knew sex sold. Damn. She wished she'd hated his presentation, wished it were awful. Wished she could lie and tell him that. Instead she said, "Very nice. I'm impressed."

  "Thank you. I'm glad we're even now."

  "Not exactly even. You still owe me for the snowball fight."

  "I was hoping you'd forget."

  "Not a chance. In fact, maybe I'll ask for another snowball fight."

  "I hope not. I'm apparently not very good at them."

  She smiled. "I know. That's why I like to play with you."

  He laughed. "Well, I anxiously await to hear what you desire so I can pay my debt." Shooting her a snappy salute, he headed toward the door. "I'll see you at six-thirty." With that, he left the room, leaving Jilly to stare at the door through which he'd just departed.

  What I desire? Good grief. She pushed her mental rewind button and cringed at what she'd said to Kate. The thought of Matt knowing that he had her all hot and bothered and that she'd been thinking about having sex with him—yikes.

  Thank God he hadn't overheard any of that.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Sitting at a cozy table tucked in a quiet corner of be Cabernet Bistro, Matt observed Jilly enter the room and stop to speak to the maître d'. With a nod, the tuxedo-clad gentleman led the way toward the table.

  Matt watched her head his way, and everything male in him snapped to attention. Her dark hair was pulled back in her familiar, professional chignon. A plain black, long sleeved, turtleneck dress hugged her body from her chin to just above her knees. Sheer black stockings, ending with strappy, black heels made her shapely legs appear endless. As far as he could tell, her jewelry consisted only of the small diamond studs twinkling on her ear-lobes. She looked understated, classy, and sexy as hell.

  He drew a long, careful breath. How did she manage to look so cool yet so freakin' hot at the same time? And in a damn dress that showed absolutely no skin? But it was the way it showed no skin that had him shifting in his seat to relieve the discomfort in his groin. The dress clung to her just enough to offer a hint of her feminine curves. The sort of hint that made a man want to go exploring. The simplicity of the monochromatic style, her understated chignon, lent her a sophistication that left him aching to run his hands all over her and mess up all that cool perfection with some of the sexual heat scorching him.

  Thanking the maitre d' who held out the chair opposite Matt, she gracefully sat.

  "Hi," she said, offering him a quick smile.

  The fresh scent of clean laundry wafted toward him, befuddling what few brain cells hadn't drained from his head. Damn. When had the smell of newly washed clothes become so sensual? She'd left her glasses behind and highlighted her eyes with some sort of smoky color that made them appear even more huge and alluring than usual. His gaze dipped downward. Instead of emphasizing her full lips with a dark color, her mouth beckoned with nothing more than a glistening sheen of natural-colored gloss.

  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 with sarcasm. It's definitely not because you feel this overwhelming urge to know everything about her. Not because you want—make that need—to know if there's a man in her life.

  "No one steady. How about you—are you involved with anyone?"

  "Define 'involved.'" Uh-oh. Now he was avoiding the question by pretending not to understand. How had she turned this around? Clearly he was a victim of one of those sneaky girl traps that unsuspecting guys fell into, only to find themselves swallowed whole before they knew what hit them.

  "Do you have a steady girlfriend?"

  "No." He debated whether or not to elaborate, but figured what the hell. If he hoped to learn more about her, it was only fair that he throw out a few tidbits himself. "I had a steady girlfriend, but we broke up last Christmas."

  "Why?"

  "I wanted to get married."

  Her brows shot up. "And she didn't?"

  "Oh, she did. But to my best friend."

  Unmistakable sympathy filled her eyes and she set her menu aside. "That had to hurt."

  A sheepish laugh escaped him. "Yeah, it definitely cut the jugular. Lost my girlfriend, my best friend and my job all in one fell swoop."

  "Why your job?"

  Again, he debated whether or not to tell her, but decided why not? He hadn't done anything wrong—except be too trusting. "We all worked together at Cutting Edge Advertising. The same day I discovered their affair, I also found out they'd stolen several of my ideas. Definitely not one of my better days."

  "That's awful. What did you do?"

  "I resigned."

  Her eyes widened. "You didn't fight to get your ideas back?"

  "No. Obviously that surprises you."

  "Frankly, yes."

  "I thought about it, believe me. But it would have amounted to my word against theirs and, at that point, I didn't want to involve myself in anything that would mean prolonged contact with either of them. So I cut my losses and left. After indulging in a week-long pity party, I couldn't stand myself anymore. So I picked myself up, stuck some Band-Aids on my bleeding wounds, and landed the job with Maxximum."

  Jilly stared across the table at him, sympathy tugging on her heart. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and touched his hand. "I'm sorry, Matt. That's a terrible, hurtful thing for anyone to suffer through. Are you … still in love with her?"

  "No." He looked down at her hand resting on his, and she followed his gaze. His skin felt warm and firm under her palm. Alarm bells clanged in her brain at how much she liked the look of her fingers resting against his and at how much she liked hearing that he didn't have a girlfriend.

  Slipping her ha
nd from his, she forced her gaze up and their eyes met. There was no mistaking the awareness that sizzled between them. He broke the spell by shaking his head. "I don't know why I told you all that."

  She forced a smile. "I asked."

  The sommelier appeared with their wine, and no sooner had he served them than the waiter materialized and requested their order. Jilly ordered the endive and Roquefort salad and the wood-smoked salmon entrée. Matt simply handed the waiter his unopened menu and said, "I'll have the same, please."

  When the waiter left, Jilly reached for her wineglass and said, "Well, that explains a lot."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Getting so badly burned and betrayed by your past co-workers certainly explains why you hold everyone at Maxximum at arm's length. And leaving your old job under such circumstances, having to reestablish yourself all over again at a new firm, that certainly lends some perspective to your ambitiousness. I'd hate to be placed in such a difficult situation."

  Silence stretched between them. Her gaze lowered, lingering over his broad chest, and she found herself wishing she were his cashmere sweater. He had pushed up his sleeves several inches, which revealed his strong forearms. A discreet gold watch encircled his wrist. And his hands … he had really nice hands. Long fingered, steady, and strong. They looked like they'd know how to stroke a woman.

  Forcing her gaze back upward, she noted he was studying her in a very distracting way, as if trying to read her mind. Being the object of all that concentrated attention shot heat through her veins, and she suddenly wished she'd opted for a sleeveless dress that would let her skin release some of that heat. He looked about to say something when a series of soft beeps cut the silence.

  She instantly noted how his shoulders tensed. He swiftly withdrew his cell phone from his pocket. After consulting the caller ID readout, he said, "I'm sorry. This is the call I've been expecting. Do you mind if I take it here?"

  "Of course not. Would you like me to give you some privacy?"

  "Not necessary. But thanks." He flipped open the phone and said, "Hi, Mom. Do you have the results?"