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 hand 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.