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

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.

"How much did you hear?" she finally asked in a small voice.

He touched his fingertips under her chin until she raised her head to look at him. "Enough to know that you want me, which works out well because I sure as hell want you. And enough to know that it's been a while for you, which again works out well because it's been a while for me, too. I've never been so powerfully attracted to a woman in my life. As far as I'm concerned, there isn't a decision to make. So, it's up to you…"

His words, spoken in that low, husky voice, flicked fire over her, extinguishing her embarrassment. He'd served the ball into her court. He wanted her. Now she needed to decide if she was going to return his serve, or pack up her gear and hit the locker rooms-a decision that took all of five seconds. Actually he was right-there wasn't any decision to make. The whispers of common sense were drowned out by the screams of her body telling her to make love with him.