His breath puffed against her skin. “My own deep, dark secret is…” He paused. “That I…” Another pause. “Want…” Then he sighed. “Your financial statements.”

The words were a dose of cold water.

And she was glad.

Truly.

Kissing Alex would have been a supremely stupid move. Not that she wouldn’t be forced to kiss him at some point during this escapade. But it didn’t have to be in her apartment, while they were alone, while she was half-naked.

What was she thinking?

She pulled determinedly away. “Okay. But then you do have to go.”

He gave her a sharp nod of agreement, blinking away a funny glow that simmered deep in his quick-silver eyes.

She wasn’t going to explore that glow. She wasn’t even going to think about that glow. This was business.

All business, she told herself as she crossed to her computer. She clicked a link to the financial server and brought up the last quarter rollups, hitting the print button.

Alex watched in silence as the printer whirred to life and rapidly spit out twenty pages.

She scooped them from the tray and briskly handed them over.

“Thank you,” he said, as he reached for the doorknob.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, calculating the seconds until he’d be gone.

But then he paused, and his flinty eyes narrowed. His lips parted. “Emma-”

“Good night,” she prompted with finality.

He sucked a breath between his teeth, but he didn’t persist. Instead, he gave a brief nod of resignation. “Good night.”

And then he was gone. She twisted the door lock behind him, her fingers clamping hard on the metal bolt. Okay that-whatever it was-could not happen again.

She’d made a deal with Alex. It was no different than her staffing the front desk in Hawaii or taking a stint as a cocktail waitress in Whistler. Her father had always been proud of Emma’s ability to roll up her sleeves and pitch in.

In this case, maybe she was rolling up her lips. But it was the same thing. She’d kiss Alex eventually, but it would be a business kiss. It would be for show, and it sure wouldn’t happen while they were alone and she was half naked and lusting after his body.

She shivered, stepping back from the door, telling herself she was doing exactly what her father would have done. She was making the best of a bad situation.

When her mother died, and he was left with two bereft little girls, he’d picked himself up and dusted himself off. He’d learned to braid their hair, wallpaper their rooms and bake chocolate chip oatmeal monster cookies. When their Montreal hotel burned to the ground, he’d made the best of that, too. With fearless, unflagging optimism, he’d buried his remorse, swept up the ashes and rallied the troops.

Well, Emma could be fearless. And she could bury whatever knee-jerk hormones were messing with her reaction to Alex. She’d make her father proud or die trying.

Emma was on guard Saturday night.

When they pulled into Tavern on the Green, she waited until Alex stepped out of the limo before she moved across the back seat. Mindful of the reporters waiting on the other side of the red rope line, she smoothed her champagne cocktail dress, and readied herself for a graceful exit.

Next to the open door, Alex turned to face her. He gallantly offered his hand, and she bit back a protest. She didn’t want to touch him at all, definitely not first thing. But there was no way to refuse the invitation.

Surrounded by the tiny white tree lights and the glowing lanterns of the portcullis, she took a breath and reached out. As soon as their fingertips made contact, a warm glow whooshed up her arm. She smiled bravely as cameras flashed in all directions.

Her gaze caught on Alex’s soft, gray eyes. But she quickly blinked her attention away as he played out his role for the cameras. She tried to appear adoring without actually looking at his face-bad enough he was holding her hand. Bad enough she was imagining some cosmic connection between them as they strode the gauntlet of reporters firing questions.

Then Alex wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her to a halt for the photographers. They were pressed together, from knee to shoulder, and she could feel every single breath he took.

“Act like you adore me,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m trying,” she returned, holding a smile, cursing her traitorous body that was cataloguing every nuance of Alex.

“Try harder.” He gave the photographers a final wave, then propelled her toward the entrance.

Emma resisted the pressure of his hand on the small of her back. “Katie and David were right behind us.”

“They can catch up.”

“But-”

“Until you become a better actress, we’re not standing around for the paparazzi.”

“I’m smiling, already.”

“That’s a grimace.”

“That’s because I’m in pain.”

His arm immediately slacked off. “I’m hurting you?”

“Mental anguish.” And that wasn’t a lie.

“Give me a break.” He resumed the pressure on the small of her back as a balding man in a finely cut suit stepped forward to greet them.

“Mr. Garrison,” said the man with obvious enthusiasm. “So very good of you to join us.”

“Good evening, Maxim,” said Alex, reaching out to shake hands. “May I present my um, girlfriend, Emma McKinley.”

His voice softened ever so slightly over her name. Emma’s heart tripped for a split second, while Maxim did a double take.

“Maxim is the chairman of Teddybear Trust,” Alex explained.

The burly man smiled broadly as he reached for Emma’s hand. “And you’re the president of McKinley Inns. We haven’t met. But I’ve heard a good deal about you, Ms. McKinley.”

“Please, call me Emma.” Her smile was genuine now. “I have the utmost respect for the Teddybear Trust.”

The foundation had built a new children’s wing at St. Xavier’s last year, and they’d funded countless pediatric cancer research projects.

“This way,” said Maxim, gesturing through the cut glass doorway to the Tavern on the Green foyer. “Drinks are in the Terrace Room. And might I suggest the Pavilion as a starting point for casino games?”

“Blackjack?” asked Alex, tossing Maxim a wry grin.

Maxim grinned back. “Last year was unfortunate for you.” Then he winked at Emma. “But I know you’ll bring him good luck tonight.”

“I’ll try my best,” she promised Maxim, thinking that karmic forces might not be so quick to reward them for lying to the entire city.

Then Alex recaptured her hand and nodded to the doorman as he placed a quick kiss on her knuckles. Emma struggled to keep her head clear as they crossed into the richly decorated entry. The lobby was festooned with fine crystal and stained glass, while magnificent chandeliers refracted light as they started their way through the winding hallways.

She caught their reflection in a beveled mirror, shivering at the image of Alex, straight and tall, his strong hand resting on the small of her back, only a hair below the plunging V of her sparkling dress.

“Would you care for a drink?” His deep voice rumbled through her.

“A Chablis,” she replied, then cleared her throat against the sultry sound. They were playacting here. He was pretending to be her date for the benefit of the reporters and the other patrons. And she was pretending to like him for exactly the same end.

She dragged her gaze away from the mirror and vowed to ignore every facet of his sex appeal. She needed to get a grip here.

He pointed to a doorway. “Through there, then.”

They entered the Crystal Pavilion, catching the obviously curious glances of other guests.

Did they recognize Alex? Did they recognize her? She craned her neck, looking behind her for her sister’s reassuring face. “We’ve lost Katie and David.”

“We don’t need a chaperone.”

“But-”

“Tonight’s about you and me.” He smiled, nodded and waved a greeting to someone across the room.

They stopped next to the bar, and Alex rested a forearm on the polished top, giving the waiter their order before turning his attention to Emma. “You should try to relax and enjoy yourself.”

Emma couldn’t imagine relaxing under these circumstances. She couldn’t imagine relaxing around Alex at all.

“In a few minutes you get to start spending my money,” he said.

“I’ve never gambled in my life.” She didn’t mean it to sound snippy, but it came out that way.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” He snagged a handful of nuts from a crystal bowl on the bar and tossed them in his mouth.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re way too conservative.”

The waiter set the drinks down on Teddybear Trust coasters.

“I am not,” Emma insisted.

Alex stuffed a bill in the tip snifter and nodded his thanks to the man. “Are too,” he chuckled low to Emma as they walked away.

She huffed out a breath.

“You can prove me wrong, you know.” He handed her the glass of Chablis, gently steering her back to the hallway. “Just belly on up to the blackjack table and make sure everyone knows I’m bankrolling you.”

She took a sip of the crisp wine and let the alcohol ease into her system. “Is that what the modern urban male does for the woman he loves?”

“Since it’s no longer practical to slay you a mastodon. Yeah. That’s what we do.”

She hid an unexpected grin behind another sip of the wine. “What if I want the mastodon instead?”

“Are you going high maintenance on me?”

“Apparently.”

He pointed to another entryway. “Through here to the tables.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know how to play blackjack.”

He shrugged. “It’s easy.”

Beyond the glass wall, lighted gardens spread out before them, lanterns swaying in the breeze as the well-dressed guests mingled from the restaurant to the patio and back again. The dealers, dressed in black jackets and bow ties, chatted with the guests as they doled out the cards.