A SURE THING?

by Jacquie D'Allesandro

  Jilly sipped her wine, trying not to listen, but with him sitting less than three feet away, it was impossible not to hear Matt's side of the conversation, even though he kept his voice low. Nor could she fail to notice the tension all but emanating from him, and his white-knuckle grip on the phone.

  "What did the doctor say?" Closing his eyes, he dragged his hand down his face. Then he blew out a long breath as his posture relaxed. After several seconds of silence, he swallowed audibly. "Yeah, Mom, I'm here," he said, his voice rough with clear emotion. "Yes, it sure is great. The news we all wanted." He listened, then laughed. "What, me worried? Nah. I knew it all along… We'll celebrate in style when you and Dad come into the city next weekend. How does the Rainbow Room sound? Stacey, Ray and the Barbie Queen are coming also… We'll have a great time… Yes, we'll definitely see the tree at Rockefeller Center … and all the shop windows along Fifth." He nodded a few times, then chuckled. "It's good to hear you laugh, too. Okay … tell them all I say hi. Yeah, this is going to be a great Christmas. I love you, Mom. Bye."

  He flipped the phone shut with hands she noted weren't quite steady, but there was no mistaking the happy relief in his eyes. So that was the call he'd been expecting. Something unfamiliar squeezed inside Jilly at the realization that he'd obviously been very concerned about his mother. Between that and the story about the betrayal by his former fiancée and best friend, she was seized with the uncomfortable sensation that she'd misjudged this man.

  "I couldn't help overhearing. It seems that was good news."

  "Yes, thank God. A lump showed up on my mom's last mammogram. She's had to undergo a series of tests, and, well, for the last few weeks, suffice it to say, we've all been really worried. But she called to report that all her tests came back negative." His smile could have lit the entire room.

  "That's wonderful. And I know how relieved you're feeling. My mom went through something similar two years ago. Luckily the lump was benign, but that space of time while we waited for the results…" She shuddered. "Awful. And so frightening."

  "Exactly. I've been scared to death inside. My mom is so energetic and vital, the thought that she might have cancer…" He shook his head, then smiled. "But she doesn't." He lifted his glass. "A toast. To my mom—and yours. May they never scare us like that ever again."

  Jilly laughed, then touched the rim of her glass to his. "I'll drink to that." After sipping her wine, she asked, "Your family is celebrating next weekend?"

  "Yes. My parents, and my sister Stacey, her husband Ray, and my niece Rachel."

  "Rachel is the Barbie Queen you mentioned?"

  "She is. She's five and so adorable it's scary. You should see her. All big brown eyes and dark curly hair. And absolutely frighteningly brilliant."

  She smiled. "Not that you're prejudiced."

  "Not a bit. And, man, does she love Barbie. I can't wait to see her face on Christmas morning when she opens the Barbie Dream Mansion I bought her."

  "You bought a Barbie Mansion? C'mon. You had someone else pick it out for you, right?"

  He looked horrified. "And miss a chance to spend a few hours cavorting at the toy store? Are you nuts? I picked that mansion out myself, although if I'd known how much real estate and other goodies Barbie owns, I would have brought a mortgage broker along. That woman has everything. Boats, cars, campers, houses, horses, mansions, private jets, not to mention a very serious shoe fetish. After I was done in her aisle, I felt it was my manly duty to visit G.I. Joe and give him a head's-up as to what the deal was over on aisle ten. I told him, 'Dude, you need to ask this girl out.'"

  She couldn't help but laugh. "Sounds like you and G.I. Joe had quite the bonding experience."

  "Yeah, we're buds. But Rachel's excitement isn't going to come close to the surprise Stacey and I have planned for our folks. A ten-day cruise around the Caribbean. They've wanted to go for years, but have always put it off." His expression turned serious. "The last few weeks have been incredibly hard on all of us, but especially on Mom and Dad. They need and deserve a vacation."

  "That's a great present."

  "They're great parents."

  He smiled, and Jilly smiled back. Something warm and fuzzy and more than a little scary seeped through her. Clearly there was more to Matt Davidson than the arrogant, brash competitor she'd spent the past year viewing him as. He was human. Had a disarming sense of humor. A family he clearly loved. He liked kids. Toy stores. He'd had his heart broken. And had lost his best friend. Liked chocolate-covered marshmallows. And had the sexiest smile she'd ever seen.

  Realization slapped her like a wet towel to the face and her breath caught.

  Oh, hell, she liked him.

  She resisted the urge to thunk herself on the forehead. How stupid could she get, falling in like with the guy? Jeez. With all the technology out there, you'd think somebody could figure out a way to make her dislike him again. Bolstered from her conversation with Kate, she'd come to dinner determined to be cool and in control. But less than a half hour in, she was feeling all melty and warm and flustered.

  "Well, now that you know more about me than you ever wanted to," he said, yanking her out of her reverie, "it's your turn." He leaned forward and lightly brushed his fingertips over the back of her hand, shooting pleasurable shivers up her arm. "How come someone so smart and talented and gorgeous, and who has such incredibly soft skin, doesn't have a boyfriend?"

  She wanted, very much, to maintain her mantle of cool professionalism, but how could she hope to do so when the tingling feel and arousing sight of his fingers brushing over her hand melted her resolve like an ice cube tossed in boiling water? She should pull her hand away, she knew she should, but unable to resist the temptation of his touch, she instead shifted her hand a little closer to his. Unmistakable desire flared in his eyes, and he slowly explored her fingers with his own.

  Forcing her mind to focus on his question, she said, "I don't have a steady boyfriend for several reasons, the biggest one being that I just don't have the time to devote to a relationship. All my energies are focused on my career and establishing myself at Maxximum, and it seems all the men I date grow to resent that—and harbor this annoying tendency to try to take charge of my life. Relationships, I've found, are like houseplants. If you don't give them a lot of time and attention, they wither up and die. Which is why I don't do well with houseplants, either. And besides that, it's simply been a while since I've met a man who genuinely interested me." Hello—what about him? her hormones screamed. We're genuinely interested in him.

  Jilly wasn't sure if it was the wine, or the quiet understanding in his eyes, or the hypnotic brush of his fingers caressing her hand, or the fact that he'd given her some insight into himself and turn around was only fair, but the next thing she knew, she was telling him things she never thought she would. She talked about how her father had died of a heart attack at age thirty-six, leaving behind a sixteen-year-old Jilly and her thirty-five-year-old mother. How Dad's death had left her heartbroken, but had completely incapacitated her mother.

  "She just couldn't cope," Jilly said quietly. "She'd loved him her whole life. They'd married right out of high school, and I came along pretty quickly. Dad was a mechanic—he could rebuild an entire engine with his eyes closed. They weren't rich, but he made a decent living, and my mom took to motherhood like a duck to water. Girl Scout leader, PTA, room mother, soccer mom, cooking, baking, crafts—she was a whiz at all that. But my dad took care of everything else, from the finances to the house maintenance. He always wanted to 'take care of his girls'…"

  An image of her dad's smiling face flashed in her mind, bringing with it the same punch of loss that still hit her whenever she thought of him. "He was so great. So outgoing, and strong, and vital. When he died … God, I can't describe the mind-numbing shock."

  "You don't have to," he said quietly, his gaze resting on hers. He intertwined their fingers and gently squeezed. "I know exactly how it feels to have the rug jerked out from under you t
hat way. In a blink, your whole world changes. Everything's gone. And you just feel … helpless."

  "Exactly." The understanding and sympathy reflected in his serious gaze, the warmth of his hands clasping hers, rushed a heady combination of gratitude and heated awareness through her.

  "What happened after your dad died?" he asked.

  "Everything fell apart. Except for a part-time job waitressing during high school, my mother had never had a job outside the house. She'd never balanced a checkbook, made out the bills, mowed the lawn, changed the oil in the car, filed a tax return. She was the greatest mom on earth, but she was woefully unprepared for life without the safety net my dad had always provided by 'taking care' of us. And she was so bogged down in grief, she just couldn't cope."

  "So you picked up the slack," he said, his gaze filled with dawning comprehension.

  "I had no choice. We were long on bills and short on money. I took a job at a boutique in the mall, and Mom went back to waitressing. I learned how to use—and fix—the lawnmower, maintain the car, repair the plumbing, balance the checkbook—all of it." Jilly drew a deep breath, vividly recalling those lean, depressing, difficult years. "I promised myself I would never be placed in the same untenable position as my mom. I was determined to go to college, build a successful career, and have all the skills and knowledge I needed so that I wasn't dependant on anyone."

  He smiled. "It would appear that you successfully met your goal."

  She paused. Had she? To a certain degree, yes. She certainly didn't need anyone to take care of her. And her career was on the right track. But it suddenly occurred to her that she didn't have a partner to share her successes with. True, Jilly the ad executive was doing fine … but what about Jilly the woman?

  Shoving the disturbing question aside, she said, "I've accomplished a great deal, but not the level of financial security I want. There's always another challenge to reach for."

  "Like winning the ARC account."

  She looked into his eyes and a fissure of understanding and awareness passed between them. "Yes."

  Silence stretched for several seconds, then he asked, "How is your mom doing now?"

  A smile pulled at Jilly's lips. "Great. It was a long, arduous road for her, but my college graduation proved a turning point for her. She enrolled at the local community college six years ago, squeezing in classes between her shifts at the restaurant. She only needs twelve more credits to earn her business degree—then watch out, world! I'm really proud of her."

  "I bet she's proud of you, too."

  "Well, she is my mom—that's her job."

  The waiter arrived with their salads. Matt slowly released her hands, and she instantly missed the intimacy of his warm skin, the feel of his fingers gliding over hers. She blinked, feeling as if she were emerging from a cozy, intimate cocoon where she and Matt had somehow connected, whispering secrets like lovers in the dark.

  The heat simmering in his gaze made the soles of her feet sweat and had her shifting in her seat. She glanced down at the salad the waiter had placed before her. Damn it, she didn't want salad. She wanted him. Naked. Aroused. Hot. Inside her.

  The image barreled into her mind, knocking everything else aside. Fire whooshed through her, hardening her nipples.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "I'm … fine." Damn it, he was looking at her in the most disconcerting way—as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. But he didn't look smug about it. No, his expression appeared to say, Yeah, me too—and what the hell are we going to do about it?

  Since she didn't know the answer to that question, Jilly picked up her fork, stabbed an endive and steered the conversation to the less personal topic of the madhouse Manhattan turned into during the holidays. Matt picked up the conversational life ring she tossed, and she laughed at his story of staggering down Fifth Avenue

  under the weight of a Barbie Dream Mansion housed in a box nearly as big as him.

  During their entrée, Matt revealed he was a die-hard Mets fan, and as Jilly was a die-hard Yankees fan, a lively debate ensued, a friendly dispute that grew more animated over after-dinner cappuccinos when it came to light that Matt's hockey team was the Rangers, while Jilly rooted for the Islanders.

  "Looks like we'll just have to agree to disagree," Jilly finally said with a laugh, setting her empty china cup on its gold-rimmed saucer. "We definitely don't have much in common." Yet be that as it may, she couldn't recall the last time she'd enjoyed a date so much.

  That stopped her like she'd walked into a cement wall. Date? Oh, no. Panic fluttered in her, wiping away her amusement like a wet mop over a dirty floor. This was not a date. This was sharing a meal with a business associate. Big difference.

  Yeah, but it sure felt like a date. She mentally ticked off the signs—romantic setting, soft background music, candlelight, wine, delicious meal, stimulating conversation, sexy man sitting across from her, sexual awareness humming between her and that man. Yup, this had all the earmarks of a date. A really fun, enjoyable date. A really fun, enjoyable date that was about to end, leaving them both bound for room 312.

  Matt studied her for several long seconds over the rim of his own cup before setting it down, and Jilly's heart skipped a beat at the sudden intense, compelling look in his eyes. Leaning forward, he said, "Actually, I think we have quite a bit in common."

  Uh-oh. Somehow, in the last few seconds, the light mood that had pervaded their meal shifted, and all the simmering tension she'd managed—almost—to ignore during dinner smacked her in the face. Striving to appear outwardly calm, she asked, "Quite a bit in common? What makes you say that?"

  For an answer, he reached out and lightly clasped her wrists, shooting heated tingles through her veins. "The fact that your pulse is racing … just like mine. The fact that even though we agreed we would, you can't forget the kiss we shared … just like me. The fact that I'm very attracted to you … as I think you are to me."

  Oh, boy, this conversation had taken a detour. And down a very unsafe road. She couldn't deny she wanted him, but neither could she ignore how foolhardy it would be to give in to that want. She wished she could label his statements arrogant and conceited but, damn it, all she could call them was correct. And she had to give him credit for facing head-on this … whatever it was between them. The coward in her would have voted for avoiding it like a bad rash. In fact, that was an excellent idea.

  Offering what she hoped passed for a carefree smile, she said, "You're a good-looking, personable man. I think it's safe to say that most women would find you attractive."

  "Thank you. But that's not what I meant. There's something more going on here. God knows I don't want to feel this heat that's crackling between us. I've been trying my damnedest to ignore it, but I can't ignore something that's hitting me in the face like an open-handed slap." His serious gaze searched her. "You feel it, too."

  More than anything, she wanted to deny it, but how could she utter such a blatant lie—especially in light of his honesty? Even if she managed to push the words past her lips, an Academy Award winner she was not. He'd know in a heartbeat she was nothing but a big fat liar.

  "I feel it," she admitted. "But I'm not happy about it."

  "You don't see me jumping up and down and calling for the champagne. Question is, what are we going to do about it?"

  "I don't know. What are the choices?"

  "Seems to me there're only two. We can try to ignore it—"

  "Which is definitely the smart choice."

  "Smart, yes. But possible? Not likely."

  Her heart slapped against her ribs so hard, he surely had to hear it. "I'd think that someone who's been so badly burned in the past would run—not walk—away from another interoffice romance."

  "Believe me, it's the last thing I thought I'd ever consider. But that leads me to choice two."

  "Which is…?"

  "Spend the rest of this weekend exploring this spark between us, then going our separate ways."

 
She looked into his serious, dark blue eyes, and her breath caught. "You mean indulge in an affair here at the resort, but come Tuesday back at the office, it's business as usual."

  "Exactly."

  It was so tempting. He was so tempting. Still, her common sense raised its hand and compelled her to ask, "Don't you think the fact that we've known each other in the biblical sense will be distracting and awkward at work?"

  "I'm sure it will be." He reached out and gently ran his fingertip down her cheek. "But between this attraction and only one of us being able to win the ARC account, it's going to be distracting and awkward anyway."

  "In other words, if we're going to feel 99 percent awkward anyway, what's the difference if we feel 99.9 percent awkward?"

  "Right. So why not satisfy our lust this weekend only, then never speak of this 'at the winery' incident again?"

  Something tickled her memory, and a frown pulled down her brows. Those words sounded suspiciously familiar. Before she could think on it further, he lifted her hand and pressed a warm kiss against her palm.

  "I think it's the perfect solution to a mutual attraction neither of us wants, but that neither of us can ignore," he said softly, his warm breath beating against her palm, his gaze steady and intense. "So, whaddaya say? Wanna sleep with me … Rusty?"

  * * *

  Chapter 7

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  Jilly actually felt all the blood drain from her face. Her eyes goggled and she stared at him, horrified, mortified. Oh. My. God.

  Clearly he'd overheard at least the tail end of her conversation with Kate. Snatches of Jilly's words reverberated through her brain … the sort of kiss you'd like to have last for three weeks… I want to do a hell of a lot more than just kiss him … we'll satisfy our lust this weekend only, then never speak of this 'at the winery' incident again … I haven't had sex in so long, you could nickname me Rusty.

  With a moan, she plopped her elbows on the table, then lowered her face into her hands. She didn't know who the Patron Saint of Potholes was, but she offered up a prayer anyway, begging for a large cavity to yawn open in the floor and swallow her.