Matt mentally counted to ten, then rose. "Excuse me, please. Men's room." He walked swiftly toward the archway through which Jilly had disappeared. After turning two corners, he reached the rest rooms. She stood outside the ladies' room, hands on hips, shoe tapping against the marble floor, her narrowed eyeballs all but emitting steam.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said, her voice an angry hiss.

He simply stared. "Me?"

"Yes, you. When we agreed that this dinner was strictly business, that didn't mean monkey business."

"Something you might want to recall, Miss I'm Not Wearing Underwear."

"I only said that because you pulled your macho take-charge act in the elevator."

His gaze skimmed over her skirt. "So does that mean you're really wearing underwear?"

Her eyes narrowed further, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "That's not the point right now-"

"No, it's not," he agreed, stepping closer to her. "The point is that for someone who claims she prides herself on playing fair, you've been cheating. I'll play by whatever set of guidelines you want, but the next time you decide to switch rules, I'd appreciate it if you'd deal me in."

"You're a fine one to talk," she said, her eyes glittering with obvious anger. "What, are you pissed because I wouldn't participate in your little game of footsie?"

"You call that not participating? For God's sake, your foot was practically in my crotch." A frown tugged down his brows. "And what do you mean my little game of footsie?"

"What do you mean my foot was practically in your crotch? I didn't touch you."

"Well, I didn't touch you, either."

Her eyes widened. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that wasn't your foot caressing me under the table?"

"Yes. Are you telling me that wasn't your foot snaking up my leg?"

She held her hand over her heart. "Swear." They stared at each other in silence for several seconds, then she said, "It was definitely a man's foot making nice-nice with me. So if it wasn't you, it had to be Jack."

"And the foot making familiar with me was definitely a woman's-so it must have been Carol." He cleared his throat. "Sorry for thinking you'd played foul."

"Apology accepted-and extended back. Sorry." Jilly blew out a breath. "I guess the only question remaining is did they mean to fondle us? Or were they trying to fondle each other and we just got in the way?"

Matt's jaw tightened. "That bastard. He damn well better not have been making a pass at you."

"I agree. I knew Jack wouldn't win any Mr. Charming prizes, but what a lousy thing to do, with his date sitting right there."

"Yeah," Matt agreed, although that wasn't at all what he'd meant. Anger pumped through him that Jack had dared to touch her, an emotion that wasn't calmed at all by the recollection that she might not be wearing panties. "Just how friendly did he manage to get with you?"

"I stood up when he reached my knee." She blew out a breath. "This is no less awkward for you. After all, the date of the man you're trying to impress might be making the moves on you."

"Definitely awkward," Matt agreed.

"Surely they thought they were touching each other."

"I don't know. While I was talking to Carol, I noticed Jack sort of giving you the eye." The bastard.

"Unfortunately I think you might be right. He made a few comments that definitely skidded the line."

"Oh? And how did you respond?"

Her expression cooled to a mask of chilled detachment. "The same way I've responded every time I've been placed in a similar situation. With professional courtesy and nothing more. I told you-I don't play footsie, or any other games, with clients." Lifting her chin, she asked, "So, how do we handle this potential problem?"

"Personally, I think it's time for the meal to end. If they were trying to make the moves on each other, it's time for them to be alone. And if either of them was making a move on either one of us, it's way past time for this meal to end."

"All right. But let's try not to make it a totally obvious getaway. How about I plead a headache and leave, and then you can make your escape about ten minutes later?"

"Fine."

She made to move past him, clearly intent upon returning to the table. Extending a hand, he snagged her arm. She looked at him with that same cool detachment, an expression that filled him with an uncomfortable sense of loss he didn't like one bit.

When he remained silent, she raised her brows. "Did you want something, Matt?"

Yes. I want you to stop looking at me with that dismissive expression, and look at me with that smoky, aroused look I love. Drawing a deep breath, he said, "Yes. I want you to know that I realize you don't play those sort of games with clients, and if you thought I implied otherwise, I'm sorry." He took a step closer to her, inhaling her clean scent, the backs of his fingers brushing against the warm, outer curve of her breast. With his gaze steady on hers, he said, "And I want you to know that if Carol was putting a move on me, I'm definitely not interested."

"Not that it's any of my business, but I think you'd be insane to risk it, what with Jack sitting right there."

"Jack has nothing to do with my disinterest in Carol."

Something indecipherable flashed in her eyes. Good. At least she didn't look quite so impassive anymore. "Anything else?" she asked.

"Yeah. When you return to the room, don't get undressed. I want to discover for myself what you are, or aren't, wearing under that skirt."


* * *

Bumping the door to room 312 closed with her hip, Jilly tossed her clutch purse onto the dresser and paced to the widow. She only had a few minutes before Matt arrived, and she badly needed a precoital pep talk.

Okay, it didn't matter that Carol had most likely known damn well whose leg she was exploring. And it wouldn't have mattered if Matt had taken the blonde up on her offer. He was attractive and single, and after tomorrow, no concern of Jilly's.

Of course, that didn't explain her profound relief that Matt hadn't found Carol attractive, or the unpleasant sting of jealousy that another woman had touched him.

"Argh," she moaned. "Listen, you ding-a-ling," she muttered to herself. "Suck it up and deal with reality. After tomorrow, he's not yours." An ache she couldn't name invaded the area surrounding her heart, and her breath caught.

"All right," she whispered. "But tonight he is mine. And I'm going to make the most of it."

No sooner had the words passed her lips, than the phone rang. Grabbing up the receiver, she said, "Hello?"

"Miss Taylor?" asked a perky, feminine voice.

"Yes."

"This is Maggie at the front desk. We have a delivery for you. Could you please come down to the lobby to sign for it?"

"Delivery? What is it?"

"I couldn't say. It's in a box."

"Can someone bring it up?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Taylor, but deliveries must be signed for by the recipient in the lobby. It's required by the resort's security policy."

"I understand. I'll be right down." Probably some work-related papers from Adam. She scribbled a quick note to Matt, then exited the room. When she arrived at the front desk several minutes later, Maggie greeted her with a smile.

"Your package is in the back room, Miss Taylor. I'll be just a moment."

Jilly waited, and waited, and waited, barely resisting the urge to climb over the counter and storm the Employees Only door through which Maggie had disappeared nearly ten minutes earlier and shout, A very sexy man is waiting for me. Could we please hurry this up a bit?

Snatching up the house phone, she dialed room 312, but Matt didn't answer. Curious. He should have been in the room by now. Her gaze drifted toward the restaurant. Was Matt still in there with Jack and Carol? If so, it was taking him a while to escape. She stilled as a nasty suspicion curled through her. Maybe he wasn't trying to escape at all. Maybe he was in there making the most of his solo time by selling Jack on his ideas for ARC.

"Here you are, Miss Taylor." Maggie's breathless voice yanked her attention back. "I'm so sorry for the delay."

Jilly stared at the long, gold rectangular box Maggie held out to her. "What is this?"

"Your delivery," Maggie said with a laugh.

"It looks like a florist's box," Jilly murmured, taking the package, and admiring the intricate red and green bow.

"It does," Maggie agreed, with an unmistakable envious sigh. "It seems you have an admirer."

Jilly tried to ignore the quickening of her heart, and failed completely. After scribbling her name on the ledger Maggie slid across the desk, Jilly moved to the end of the counter and slowly lifted the lid.

Two dozen pure white roses lay nestled in a bed of red tissue paper. A single sprig of bright green mistletoe sprang from the center of the bouquet. The heady floral scent wafted up to her, and she breathed deeply, her eyes closing with pleasure. She couldn't recall the last time a man had sent her flowers. Her senior prom, maybe?

A small, white envelope rested in a fold of the tissue paper, and she slid it out with hands that weren't quite steady. Pulling out the card, she read: I bought white roses as a memento of things that remind me of you-snowballs and marshmallows. Let's make the most of our last night together. I thought the mistletoe might come in handy. I'm waiting…

Jilly's insides turned to mush, and she heaved out a gushy, feminine sigh. A slap of shame immediately followed on the heels of that sigh for thinking Matt was still in the restaurant schmoozing Jack when he'd been buying her flowers-a sweet, thoughtful, romantic gesture that touched her in ways she didn't dare examine too closely. Because they scared her. And because, as he'd written himself, this was their last night together.