“No thanks to you.” She swatted his hand away. As long as he thought she was scared and not melting into a lust-puddle, they’d be good. She pointed at the door. “Out.”

He snorted, clearly unfazed. “As owner of the Hawaii trip, I’m entitled to personally witness your attempt to win it, don’t you think?”

Absolutely not. She opened her mouth to argue.

“Don’t answer that.” He turned his back on her and ambled into the living room as if he had nothing better to do tonight than be a burr up her ass. Propping his hands on his hips, he surveyed her setup. “What do you have to eat around here?”

…

Fifteen minutes later, Marcus lounged on the air mattress while Lily perched on the opposite end, watching him warily.

She’d packed enough food to host a small dinner party. Which was awesome. It’d been hours since he’d eaten, and he was starving. It was an impressive spread. Sushi, brie, grapes, cherry cheesecake…

“Are those Corn Nuts?” He reached for the bag.

She clutched the unopened snack to her chest. “Stop eating my food.” She was adorable. Especially with that little line marring her brow. Lily sat ramrod straight, her legs curled beneath her. Every so often, she’d cast an uneasy glance at the staircase behind him.

He suppressed another smile, deciding not to feel bad for the tape recorder in the upstairs bedroom. Yeah, it was immature, but it was Hawaii. And anyway, if she lost, she had to go with him to the dinner. The prospect of a date with Lily had forced him to new lows. Desperate times.

“May I have a glass of wine?” he asked with exaggerated patience.

She snapped her attention from the stairs to his face, her reddish-blond eyebrows slamming over her nose. “No.”

“What kind of barbarian allows a man to eat brie without a wine chaser?”

His teasing worked. She smiled. Okay, not really smiled, but the corner of her lips twitched. Progress, considering a moment ago she’d been about to dropkick him where he stood. She filled a plastic cup halfway with red wine and handed it over, filling one for herself while she was at it. They sipped in silence.

“This is good,” he told her.

She gave him a slow blink. “You like wine?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“You strike me as a beer-from-the-can kind of guy.”

“I am.”

She rolled her eyes and sipped once more before changing the subject. “I didn’t see your car out there when I was running for my life from a madman.”

He tilted his head at her sarcasm. She smiled prettily for him, and he immediately forgave her. Such a freaking sucker.

“Clive drove me.”

“Well, how do you plan on getting home?” She widened her blue eyes, faking innocence.

He quirked his mouth and laid a pile of innuendo at her feet. “I thought you’d give me a ride.”

She opened and closed her mouth, then frowned. “Well, I think it’s stupid that you had Clive drive you here like you two were on some high-school mission.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to get my car dirty.”

She curled her lip like Billy Idol, which should have been a turnoff but was actually kind of cute. “Are you serious?”

“It’s white. I just washed it.”

Why that infuriated her, he had no idea. Everything about him seemed to infuriate her. Everything she did only made him want her a little bit more. Ah, the cruel irony.

“Well, it doesn’t change the bet.” She reached for her phone to check the time. “Six hours to go.”

Six hours to figure out how to get her to lose. Now that he’d been unmasked, he’d have to rely on the speaker upstairs. Damn, she’d called him on it, too. Smart, his girl.

This girl, he mentally corrected. Not his. Not yet.

“Since you insist on stealing Hawaii from me”—he paused to appreciate her flared nostrils—”you really should throw me a bone for the annual design dinner.”

Her eyebrows jolted. “Is that a sex joke?”

“What?” He thought back to what he’d said and chuckled. “No. That’s funny, though.”

She didn’t smile, but her pressed lips seemed to be slanted at a slightly amused angle. Progress.

“What would it hurt if you went with me?” he asked. “You go every year anyway. You’re obviously not bringing that last guy you dated.”

“Andy? How do you know?” A flash of hurt briefly crossed her features, and he hated seeing it there. Hated knowing that dickhead hurt her.

“Are you?” The answer had better be no. If he ever saw him again, he’d flatten him. He didn’t like the way Andy talked to her—like her very presence irritated him.

“No. I’m not bringing him.” She tossed her wavy strawberry hair and met his eyes. “Who are you bringing? Barbie or Bambi?”

Ah. Back on the clock.

“Neither,” he answered truthfully. The answer seemed to fluster her. She looked away.

“Why do you want to take me, anyway? It’s your big night. The last thing you need is me butting in while you’re bragging about how wonderful you are.”

The barb bounced off him. He’d like to take her because it’d be nice to share the spotlight with someone who knew what she was talking about. Schmoozing with his peers wasn’t on the very short list of things he was good at.

“Believe me, after my speech—” Even the word made him start to sweat. He tugged his flannel off of his arms before grumbling, “I’ll gladly hide behind you.”

Her attention was on him fully, and he got the idea she was working something out in her head. Crap. That made him nervous. He didn’t like being carefully examined by highly intelligent women.

“Marcus Black,” she finally said, her voice lilting gracefully.

Shit. He leaned back some, as if that might help him escape whatever she might say next.

Her pretty lips lifted into a smile. “Are you…nervous?”

Chapter Six

The question was supposed to be teasing, but Marcus didn’t laugh it off or shoot another insult in her direction. Instead, he reached for her iPad and tapped the screen. Avoidance. Interesting.

His head-in-the-sand reaction was a surprise. There was simply no way this confident, talented, alluring man was battling a case of nerves over an acceptance speech. All he had to do was say “thank you” and talk for a few minutes about how he became retail design’s golden boy. She’d have thought he’d lap up that kind of centered attention like a fat cat would cream. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around the idea of him being insecure about addressing his colleagues. Addressing anyone.

Figuring his worry was due to lack of preparedness, she asked, “Do you have your speech memorized?”

“Of course.” He looked up from the tablet, eyebrows drawn, clearly offended.

“Well, let’s hear it.” Practicing aloud always helped her before a big presentation.

The corners of his mouth turned down. He dropped the iPad on the mattress between them and licked his lips, distracting her for a split second. Because really, his mouth was…

Well. She just wasn’t going to think about what it was.

Rather than turn her down, he surprised her with a gruff, “Okay. Fine.” Then he rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and wiped his brow.

“It’s a speech, Marcus. You’re not signaling me to throw a fastball.”

“I’m getting to it.” He scratched the back of his neck, scrubbed his chin, and cleared his throat. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Cameron Designs and my fellow colleagues, I’d like to…” He trailed off and studied her. “What?”

“You’re frowning.”

“No, I’m not.” He marred his brow further.

“Are, too.” She made a peace sign and separated where his eyebrows met over the center of his nose. The moment the pads of her fingers touched his skin, everything changed. She became aware of the heat rolling off him and seeping through her fingertips, of his whiskey-colored gaze meeting her wide-eyed stare. Of the supercharged air between them zapping like a live electric wire.