“So, you know.” She averted her gaze. “I just don’t want things to end badly between us. For either of us.”

He nodded. Understandable.

He pocketed his keys and palmed her neck, moving her hair over her shoulder. When he pulled her close, she wrapped her arms around his waist. He liked her holding on to him and wished she’d do it a little more. “You can trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t,” she murmured, resting her cheek against his chest.

He kissed the top of her head.

“I just… I don’t want to try and explain. This is ours. Like the mansion. That’s ours, too. No one would believe what we experienced there. And I don’t want to explain it.” She pulled away from him to look up.

Damn. He got that. Here he’d thought she was ashamed of him. Still… “Fine. But this is a short-term plan. I’ll give you until this weekend, and then you’re going to show up at the RSD dinner, proudly cling to me like…well, like you’re clinging to me now.”

“Marcus.”

“I’m not going to put on a show for the dinner. Make up reasons why I don’t have a date instead of telling everyone the truth—that you’re on my arm. You’re with me.”

She let go of him. “That makes me so nervous.”

“Why?”

She hoisted an eyebrow. “Almost as nervous as you giving a thank-you speech to over three hundred members of the—”

He pressed his fingertips over her mouth, and then replaced them with his lips. She’d successfully changed the subject. Part of the reason his heart rate had escalated was due to imagining three hundred pairs of eyes on him while he bumbled his way through a speech that was supposed to fill fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

That was how much time he’d approximated he’d spent with his head between Lily’s thighs the other night, which proved that time was well and truly relative. It’d flown then, with her sounds of pleasure swirling the air. But this morning when he’d practiced his speech in the mirror—yeah, not so much. His throat had closed off at six minutes, and he’d been sweating and shaky.

Not cool.

And definitely not attractive.

If he wanted to show up at the dinner and claim this amazing woman as his own, he’d better make sure he wasn’t a pansy at the podium.

“We can practice,” she said. “Tonight.”

Sweat beaded on his brow. “I have other plans for tonight.”

“Then we’ll practice after we um…” She seemed to choose the words carefully. “Work out.”

“Work out?”

“Yep.” She unlocked her car and lifted the handle. “I’m counting this as exercise.”

He let her have that…and the fact that she was driving herself. “My place, McIntire.”

“See you there, Black.”

…

He swiped his forehead with his hand, swallowing thickly and feeling like his airway was partially closed. “It’s hot in here.”

“It’s not hot. You’re hot, though.” Lily leaned on a pile of pillows on his slate gray sheets, her naked body covered with a sheet, looking sated and relaxed, her hair a bigger mess than earlier.

He felt like he’d worked out—run a marathon, actually. His muscles were loose and spent, his mind was clear. She was going to regret making this bet.

He stood at the end of the bed and lifted his notecards. “You’re sure you’re ready to lose?”

“I’m not going to lose. You’re going to choke.”

He narrowed his eyes. Competing with Lily at work had always been fun. Competing with her in the bedroom was even more fun. After he’d pulled out of her body, while they lay next to each other on the bed, she had turned that competitive spirit on him. “I’ll bet you can’t get through your speech right now.” Which of course, he’d contested. She didn’t know him. Sex cleared his mind of cobwebs and fuzz.

“I’m not going to choke,” he told her now. “You’d better get your dancing shoes on.”

Because the other side of that bet was that when he won, she’d have to do a little dance to a song of his choosing. Without any clothes on.

“I think you’ll be crawling back in here with your tail between your legs. Clock’s ticking, Black.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Just remember, fifteen minutes is a quarter of an hour.”

And now she was psyching him out. “Playing dirty.”

“I learned from the best.”

That was fair. He tossed his notecards on his dresser and tugged the waistband of his jeans. Yeah, he’d pulled on his jeans. He couldn’t give a speech in the nude, even in the privacy of his bedroom. It was too much like the nightmare he had of showing up naked at the dinner.

“I’m timing you.” She adjusted his nightstand clock so she could see it and he felt his stomach toss.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep, deep breath. Think what you’ll get when you win. Lily dancing naked. As motivations went, having Lily naked was a good one. He opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders. Turned his head to both sides and cracked his neck.

“So, Donald Duck walks into a pants store.” He cleared his throat, waited for the laugh.

Lily pursed her lips. “Was that…was that supposed to be funny?”

“You’re supposed to start with a joke.” He grimaced at her.

She grimaced back. “Don’t start with that joke. Start with something simple.”

Sucking in a breath, he was careful to keep from frowning, like she’d advised him the night he’d practiced at the mansion. He pulled his shoulders back and said evenly, “Ladies and gentlemen…”

…

Crap. She was so going to lose.

She tore her eyes off shirtless, sexy Marcus to eye the clock. He continued his speech with fervor and with his usual cocky air of confidence. If he hadn’t admitted he was nervous, she never could have been able to tell.

“Furthermore…” He held up a finger and smiled. “I’d like to thank Lily McIntire, who will now be forced to shimmy her sweet ass out of my bed and shake her groove thing to the soothing sounds of AC/DC’s ‘Shook Me All Night Long.’”

She reached behind her head and threw a pillow. He caught it.

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

She folded her arms over her chest and pouted. Why had she promised a nude private dance?

“I’m kidding.” Marcus climbed onto the bed and leaned on his fists. Relief relaxed her shoulders until he added, “I won’t make you dance to AC/DC.”

He tore back the sheets and flipped to his back, jostling the bed. “Let’s see your moves, McIntire.”

“Rain check?” she tried.

“Not on your life.”

“What if…what if we do something else instead?” She palmed his crotch and his hips rose to meet her hand. But he still did not break.

“If you’d like to make that your finishing number,” he said with a grin, “fine by me.”

…

Lily slipped out of bed and gave him the stink eye as she crossed the room. Her body was a beautiful sight in the low lamplight. He enjoyed watching her fleshy bottom move across the room, and the way her nipples peaked in the cooler air of his bedroom.

He reached for his iPhone and chose an acoustic song, not overly romantic and cheesy, just something to give her a beat to sway to. And to his surprise and pleasure, she swayed. She rocked her hips, closed her eyes, and rolled those delicate shoulders. By the time she scooped her hair off her neck and piled it behind her head, he was physically unable to lie there and not touch her for another second.

He pushed off the bed, still wearing his jeans and hard as the night was long, and her eyes flew open. Hands on her hips, he pulled her close, pressing the soft globes of her breasts to his bare chest. Her slim fingers swept along his ribs and they danced like that for a few seconds before he took her hand in his and placed the other on his shoulder.

She laughed. “We look ridiculous.”

“Huh-uh.” He turned so she could see them in the mirrored closet doors. “Amazing.” His hand palmed her butt and he watched her eyes follow the movement in their reflection. “Tell me, Ms. McIntire.”