She shook her head, chickening out. The truth was she’d love to, but it was also true that there was too much on the line if she did.

He nodded in response, but it was robotic. Grim. When he opened her door, she stopped him with, “Your jar.”

“Keep them,” he said. “We’ll see if you’re able to keep your hands off me tomorrow night.”

He shut her door behind him and she stared at the pink, blue, white, yellow, and orange gumballs in the jar. He’d just issued a dare of another kind, and against her better sense the challenge sounded just as sweet as the multi-colored candies staring back at her.

…

Joanie had said “nothing fancy.” Hmph.

Lily scanned her closet, scraping hangers left then right, then right then left again. Nothing. She had nothing to wear save for her standard work wardrobe. And why did she care? Certainly not because Marcus would be there. Certainly not because she would be seeing him during the cover of night for the first time since the mansion. Certainly not because he’d dropped as juvenile (and sweat-inducing) a challenge as “bet you can’t keep your hands off me.”

Good lord, he wasn’t that irresistible.

Was he?

Anyway, it wasn’t like she would morph into a sex-crazed monster at the sight of the full moon. She let loose a laugh, but it was an uneasy one. She couldn’t just…have sex with him again. She pulled a delicate, slightly see-through blouse out of her closet and frowned. Could she?

Not without a really good reason.

How about because he makes you see stars when he kisses you?

Yeah, that. Not to mention that watching his shoulders move under his clothes while they were at work had soaked her brain in memories of him shirtless, sliding into her, saying her name…

Oh, Lord. She put the blouse back into her closet and traded it for a less-sheer shirt.

Tonight was such a bad idea.

Lily and Clive’s 1900s home stood on the edge of a sidewalk, old and brick, structurally beautiful. A cherry tree dominated their miniscule front lawn, and a short wrought iron fence looped their property, including the quaint backyard filled with more trees.

As she stepped over the leaves littering the walk, she heard a car pull up to the curb. Nerves jumped like jackrabbits in her stomach. It was six o’clock, but dusk had fallen, giving the neighborhood a spooky fall feeling.

A car door closed. Heavy shoes approached from behind her, crunching leaves beneath their soles. She scaled the porch steps, still not turning, picturing the man embodying those sounds: the wide frame, the girth and length that had settled between her thighs a few days ago, the way his tongue swept her nipples, the rogue glint in his eyes as he admired her nakedness.

Okay, she’d become a little sex obsessed since he’d made her say his name. Sue her.

At the door, she turned, flipped her hair off her shoulder, and locked eyes with Marcus. He was climbing the stairs, wearing a pair of black dress pants and a gray dress shirt. His hair was damp as if he’d just showered, and he smelled…wow. Heavenly. Like fall itself had cloaked him.

“You look hot,” he said, the side of his mouth hitching.

She shook her head and smiled, ran a hand down her simple black skirt. “You have a way with words.”

“I speak the truth.” He tipped his head toward the door. “You knock yet?”

She shook her head.

“We’re early.”

“We are.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“Walk with me.”

She pulled a breath into her lungs and turned away from the door. Dinner didn’t start for an hour.

Taking her silence for acquiescence, he took her hand and pulled her down the steps. The pace casual, they started down the sidewalk as a gentle, cool breeze blew. His fingers laced with hers.

“Talk to me, McIntire,” he said when they’d gotten a few houses away from the Camerons’.

“Um.” She thought for a second then asked, “How’s the speech going?”

He slid her a look. “Talk to me about something else.”

She grinned up at him. “Still nervous about that?”

“Know what I’m nervous about?”

Her heart mule-kicked her chest. Her? Them? Getting her to admit that she missed him more now that they’d slept together? It was as if she hadn’t known what she was missing, and now she did.

Also, she was afraid he would win that bet he’d made yesterday. Technically, she thought as she looked down at their linked fingers, he already had. She couldn’t keep her hands off him.

“Tonight,” he said.

Well. There was no better intro than that. She dropped his hand and walked to the corner. He followed. When they reached the stop sign, she opened her mouth, and then closed it while she waited for a woman walking her dog to pass.

“It’s something, isn’t it? This…what’s between us?” she asked. It wasn’t smart. It wasn’t what she should want, but in the dead of night, in the bright morning, in the days since the mansion where she tried, and failed, to forget what happened between them, she’d realized there was no denying a spark had ignited. And if she couldn’t deny it, she needed to deal with it.

He didn’t laugh her off, change the subject, or shy away. “Yes.”

“At first I thought maybe it was the mansion. Because we were afraid. Adrenaline was up…or something.”

“Or something.” His dark eyes heated. He took a step closer to her and grasped her hips, his nostrils flaring as he took slow inventory of every inch of her face.

“Looks like you’re the one who can’t keep your hands off me,” she said, her heart thundering in her eardrums.

“Looks like.” He kissed her, slow and soft at first, then harder as he slid his tongue into her mouth. Her palm went to the back of his head, and her body molded into his. Nipples erect, she rubbed against him, wanting…gosh. Just wanting him so much it hurt. She’d thought about him all week: in the shower this morning, in her bed, at lunch…

But what she wanted most of all was him inside her.

He tore his mouth from hers, sucking in a breath and twining his fingers in her hair. “Come home with me, McIntire.”

“I…we have the party.” But a certain spot between her legs throbbed the word yes in Morse code.

“After the party.” His eyes grew dark, his tone dropped even lower. “Let me take you to my bed,” he said, moving his hands from her hair and running his fingertips down her neck. She suppressed a shudder. “And I’ll show you all the ways you can come beneath me.” His grip tightened on her hips. “And on top of me.”

She tried to find her voice. Impossible.

He smirked, knowing he was getting to her, that her resolve was eroding the more he talked. “And in front of me, Lily.”

“Okay” was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t say it.

Apparently he didn’t need to hear it, or had read the answer in her eyes, because next he took her hand and walked toward Joanie and Clive’s house once again.

“It’s just cocktails and dessert,” he said. “How long could it last?”

…

An eternity.

Cocktails and dessert could last until the dawn of a new fucking age.

Marcus smiled tightly at Reginald, who’d been blathering on about…God. He had no clue. He’d tuned him out eons ago.

He slipped a look over his shoulder at Lily, who was standing, wineglass in hand, poised with a smile on her face he’d bet was as strained as the one on his. Oh, if Felicia London, who was talking with her hands and flashing what looked like several hundred karats of diamond jewelry, knew what was under that polite façade. Joanie, who stood in that little circle, caught Marcus’s eyes and rolled hers. Yeah, drinks and dessert had gone a little longer than she’d planned, as well.

Clive had managed to avoid Marcus and Reginald both. Because he was smart. And a dick. He knew if he got roped into Reginald’s storytelling he’d be rooted to the same spot for ages. Well. Marcus had been rooted on this same spot and was in desperate need of a break. When Clive walked by on his way to the bar to refill his wine, Marcus tuned into the tail end of what Reginald was saying.