One Night Standards
Cathy Yardley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, Joe, for giving me my son.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

1

IN THE CROWDED AIRPORT car-rental area, Sophie Jones did the only thing she could think of to get out of the jam she was in.

“I have to get to San Antonio!” she yelled.

“Miss, could you please get down from the counter?”

Sophie Jones ignored the car-rental clerk’s plea, holding up a sign that said SAN ANTONIO and shouting as best she could over the din of disgruntled passengers. “I know somebody out there is headed to San Antonio. I’ll pay for gas. I’ll pay the rental fee. But I have to get to San Antonio by tomorrow morning. Anyone? Anyone?”

“I can’t let you stand up here!” The clerk tugged at the hem of Sophie’s skirt.

Sophie scanned the crowd. They were split into two groups: those who had gotten keys to the last of the rental vehicles, and those who, like her, were stranded here in Oklahoma, thanks to the airplane radar error that had grounded all flights in the Southwest. She noticed other people starting to write their own signs, and yelling for their own rides.

The clerk gave a more insistent tug. “I’ll call security if I have to.”

Sophie sighed, clambering down from the counter. “You have to have rented a car to somebody going to San Antonio,” Sophie said, putting on a smile and trying to take the desperate tone out of her voice. “Couldn’t you just point out the person going there, so I can plead my case?”

The clerk, a harried-looking woman in her forties, frowned. “I’ve rented out more cars this afternoon than I have in two months,” she said. “You can’t expect me to remember something like that.”

But there was something in the woman’s voice, and her expression, that suggested that she did remember. Sophie felt a little surge of hope. “I’m in a terrible jam here, you have no idea. It would mean a lot to me,” Sophie wheedled, now increasing the desperation, hoping to play on the woman’s sense of decency. And it wasn’t as if she were lying. She had possibly the most important meeting of her career, maybe of her life, the next morning in San Antonio.

Beg, borrow or steal, she was getting a ride to San Antonio no matter what.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Then she quickly looked over her shoulders. “It means a lot to you, huh?” Her voice was low, and Sophie had to strain to hear her. “How much is ‘a lot’?”

Sophie paused, taken aback. Then she reached into her purse, pulling out a fifty-dollar bill and putting it on the counter.

The woman quickly took the money, tucking it away in a pocket. “See that tall guy, standing in line to get his car?”

Sophie looked over at the chaotic group of people waiting for the few remaining rentals. “Which one?”

The woman smiled. “The gorgeous one. You can’t miss him.”

Sophie suddenly realized who the woman was talking about. Easily six foot two, with slightly wavy blond hair, he had the kind of masculine beauty that reminded her of Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt. “Holy cow,” Sophie whispered.

“He’s going to San Antonio,” the clerk said, with a little smile. “Him, I wouldn’t forget.”

“I can see why,” Sophie agreed. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the clerk said, and Sophie knew it wasn’t a mere pleasantry—the woman didn’t want anyone to know she’d been bribed.

Sophie nodded, then took a deep breath. Gathering her luggage and presentation material, she awkwardly made her way to where the gorgeous guy was waiting patiently in line.

“I understand you’re going to San Antonio,” she said, without preamble. “I need to get there. I was hoping you’d be kind enough to let me share a ride with you.”

The man’s blue-gray eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know where I was going?” His voice had a Southern drawl, sweet and smooth, like aural caramel.

“Does it matter?” Sophie evaded. “That’s where you’re headed, right?”

He looked flustered. “Well, yes.”

“Then what difference does it make if you bring one more person with you?” Sophie asked reasonably, smiling with encouragement.

“Ordinarily, I’d love to help out,” he said. “But I’m getting crammed into a compact car as it is, and I’ve got a lot of luggage. And I’ll be honest with you. I’m coming off of a six-city sales trip, and I’m really in no mood for company.”

Sophie gritted her teeth. She’d been traveling a lot, too, trying to get her family’s fledgling company off the ground. It wasn’t as if she were looking for a new best friend. In fact, the last thing she wanted was to make small talk with a stranger while driving six to ten hours. She kept the pleasant smile fixed on her face.

“I can tell you’re a gentleman,” she countered, deciding to play on his Southern background. “You’d never leave a lady stranded.”

He sighed with irritation. “Like I said, ordinarily—”

“I promise, I won’t make a sound. You won’t even know I’m there,” she said, feeling a wave of despair that she fought to ignore. “It’s incredibly important to me.”

“I’m sure there are other people headed to San Antonio, who would love to help you out,” he said gently. “I’m truly sorry. Really.”

Sophie felt tears sting her eyes.

“Listen, can I tell you a story?” She dragged the luggage, keeping pace with him as the line inched forward. “A few years ago, my mother got fired from her job at a cosmetics company. It wasn’t personal, just business, they said. I was working at a big firm at the time, and I was sick of seeing things that were done in the name of big business. My mother and sister decided to start their own little cosmetics company, and I quit my job to join them. It’s been one of the most important decisions of my life.”

He smiled, the act making him look even more handsome, if possible. “That sounds nice,” he said. “Still, I don’t see…”

“There’s a trade show in San Antonio,” she said. “We’re showing there.”

“I’m sure missing one day won’t mean that much,” he said.

“You don’t understand,” she spat, frustrated. “I’ve got a huge meeting tomorrow morning. It could mean the difference between success and bankruptcy. I have to get to San Antonio.”

He stared at her, and she held the handle of her roller bag in a death grip. “Lots of people are stuck here,” he pointed out. “The radar blackout has been on the news. I’m sure whoever you’re meeting with will understand and reschedule.”

Sophie laughed. “Unfortunately, I get the feeling that this is my one and only chance. You don’t know the person I’m meeting with.”

He got up to the front of the line, and took his keys. “If they’re that unreasonable,” he said, jingling the keys, “maybe you shouldn’t be doing business with them at all.”

Sophie bit her lip. She’d thought the same thing, since the whole point in starting the company was to get away from that kind of corporate cutthroat attitude. Still, their little brand was floundering, and this would be a huge boost.

“They’re one of the biggest retailers in the country,” she said. “High end…I’m sure this doesn’t mean anything to you, but it’s an unbelievable opportunity. Mrs. Marion doesn’t wait for anybody. If I don’t get there, she’s going to think we’re not serious.” She put a hand on his sleeve. “I’ll pay for the rental. I’ll pay you for the ride. I’ll even do all the driving. But please, please…let me share your car.”

He studied her face for a long moment, and she held her breath.

“Shoot. I’m not made out of stone,” he drawled, and she felt relief flood through her system. Impulsively, she hugged him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she breathed, dancing despite her exhaustion. “You are a saint. You’re an angel.”

“My mama would’ve kicked my butt if she found out I’d left a woman stuck somewhere, anyway,” he said, and Sophie laughed. “So, this Mrs. Marion is going to be impressed that you did whatever it took to make your meeting, huh? She sounds sort of…” He paused, as if searching for a word. “High maintenance,” he finished.

Sophie laughed again as they headed for the car. It was tiny, as he’d said. She felt bad for him, having to accordion his tall frame into the small automobile for the next six hours. “She’s that,” Sophie agreed. “But she knows that a deal with Marion & Co. is huge, and the fact that she’s considering us…I can’t even tell you how unbelievable the opportunity is. I really appreciate this.”

“You can put your stuff in the trunk,” he said. “I have to go get the rest of my bags and things.”

“Oh, wait,” she said, stopping him before he turned away. “What’s your name? I don’t even know who I should be thanking.”

“Mark,” he said, holding out a hand and smiling that mind-blowing smile. “Mark McMann.”

She smiled in return. His hand felt warm and firm, and for a second, she forgot all about the trip, and the meeting, and basked in the glow of his attention. “I’m Sophie,” she said. “Sophie Jones.”

He winked at her. “Be right back.”

Sophie quickly packed her luggage and materials into the small compartment, feeling a little guilty at how much room it took up. She’d make it up to Mark, she told herself. The guy was being so nice. Maybe she’d take him out to dinner, thank him properly.

Going out to dinner with a guy that good-looking would hardly be a hardship, she thought with a smile.

Mark returned after a few minutes. “I’ll try to wedge most of my stuff in the back,” he said, rolling a small dolly’s worth of boxes and luggage up to the car.

“Good grief,” Sophie said. No wonder he didn’t want company. They were going to be crammed like sardines in the tiny car. It was going to be an uncomfortable ride. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Again, I wouldn’t want to make a lady do my heavy lifting, either,” he said, with a quicksilver grin. “This’ll only take a minute.”

“I don’t mind…”

Sophie’s voice trailed off as she saw the logo on the boxes. It was distinctive, a set of three Ts in a swirling script.

Trimera. She’d know that logo anywhere.

He saw where she was looking, but didn’t say anything. He simply packed the rest of the boxes in the car.

He works for Trimera, she realized, the relief ebbing away slowly. Trimera, one of the biggest cosmetics companies in the business. The same company, in fact, that had fired her mother.

No wonder he’s going to San Antonio. He’s going to the same trade show. And he’s pretending not to realize we’re competitors!

“Okay, all set,” he said, in that same pleasant voice. “Shall we?”

She nodded, getting in the car.

And of course, he decided to give me a ride…after I told him about the Marion & Co. meeting.

He got in the driver’s seat, smiling at her. “Well, we might as well get to know each other. It’ll be a long trip.”

She nodded, smiling back at him even though the last thing she wanted to do was smile.

“Why don’t you tell me about this company of yours?” he asked, his voice elaborately casual. He didn’t even look at her when he asked, simply concentrated on the road as if his life depended on it. “It sounds great.”

Had she called him an angel? The guy was a devil—a handsome, smooth-talking, sneaky devil.

And for the next six hours, she was stuck with him.

THEY’D BEEN IN THE CAR for an hour, and the highway stretched out in the distance with very few cars besides their own. The sun was setting in a beautiful wash of salmon, rose and orange out on the horizon.

“That’s gorgeous,” Mark said, nodding at the sunset.

“Mmm.”

Mark bit back on a sigh of irritation. He hadn’t wanted to travel with anyone—it was bad enough that he had to drive, instead of catching a few hours of sleep on the plane—but he was being nice enough to offer the woman a ride to San Antonio. And now, since they’d gotten on the road, she’d barely spoken two words to him, and most of his questions had been answered with those one-syllable nonwords. She was so tense, he could practically feel it bouncing around in the interior of the ridiculously compact space they were sharing, threatening to explode. It was like traveling in a grenade.

“Warm enough?” he asked, pointing to the car’s climate control panel.

“Mmm,” she responded. “Thanks.”

He had to get her to open up. Otherwise…Well, not only would the trip be unpleasantly uncomfortable, but the whole point to them sharing a car would be ruined.

She said she had a meeting with Marion & Co. An important meeting.

He might not be credited with having a lot of business savvy by his colleagues, but he’d worked on the Marion & Co. account and knew them well. It was one of the biggest accounts Trimera had. If they were talking to other cosmetics companies, it would be worth a lot to know what they were talking about.

I find out what’s going on, and I might finally get that promotion.

Mark smiled to himself. He’d been working in sales at Trimera for the past five years, patiently biding his time, putting up with the snickers and snide comments about his past. He’d put in his time at night school, getting his MBA. Now, he was looking for his big break to make it up to the next level: director for a big account. He’d been angling for Marion & Co. for over a year. To have Sophie Jones and her information fall into his lap was an incredible stroke of luck.

He glanced over. Sophie’s toffee-colored curls danced around her shoulders, emphasizing the curve of her high cheekbones. Her green eyes scanned the scenery, fringed by long lashes. Her full lips pouted ever so slightly.

Having a woman like this fall into my lap would be incredible luck, no matter what the reason.

His body tightened in response. “Great sunset,” he croaked.

She glanced at him, her expression slightly amused. “You said that already.”

He frowned. “Oh. Right.”

He was attracted to her. That wasn’t all that odd, but the strength of his reaction was. He was used to dealing with women on a daily basis in his line of work—cosmetics execs were usually female. And before that, doing runway work, he’d been surrounded by beautiful women constantly. Comparatively speaking, Sophie wasn’t stunning, like the models and actresses he’d seen. But there was something about her, a spark or something, that he found absolutely irresistible.

“So, you work with your mother and your sister, you said?”

“Mmm.”

“That must be fun,” Mark continued relentlessly. “I couldn’t work with my sister. Or my brother, now that I think of it.” He laughed. “And I wouldn’t want to work with my mother. Too much pressure. If giving her my grades was hard enough, I can’t imagine what it’d be like to give her a sales performance report.”

He was gratified when she chuckled a little at that one. “Older or younger? Your brother and sister,” she asked.

It was an opening, so he took it. “My sister, Dana, is younger by three years. My brother Jeff is older by two.”

“You sound close,” she noted.

“Well, you must be close to your family, if you’re working with them,” he said. “How do you manage without going crazy?”

She smiled. “We do go crazy. Mom’s a bit of an absentminded professor,” she said, and her expression was soft, unguarded. “Lydia’s a creative type. She’s younger by only about ten months…a total ‘oops’ baby. She acts like she’s older, though.”

Mark nodded, encouraging. “And you’re not the creative type?”

“I’m the business type,” she said. “Numbers, strategy, you name it. That’s what I—” She stopped short, as if she realized that they were, indeed, having a conversation about her company. “I must be boring you, with all this talk,” she demurred.

He gritted his teeth. He’d need to try another tack.

She shifted in her seat to face him. “Listen, can I be blunt?”

“Please,” he replied easily, shifting gears. Whatever it took to keep her talking.

“I know who you work for. It’s right there on your product boxes.” She crossed her arms. “You’re my competition. You know that.”

Now he did sigh. He doubted she would have missed that, but he didn’t know that she’d put together that they were competitors. “Well, yeah. But that doesn’t mean we can’t, you know, talk.”

“Actually,” she pointed out, “it does. At least, it means I can’t talk to you, about business.”

“It’s not like we’re even in the same league,” he replied. “No offense intended.”

“None taken,” she said, her words edged in ice.

“I mean, Trimera is huge. Global. From the sounds of it, your company…What’s the name of it, anyway?”

“Diva Nation.”

Good name, he thought absently. “It’s a small start-up. You’re too small for us to be worried about.”

“Really?” she said sweetly. “And I suppose mentioning the Marion & Co. meeting did nothing to cause you concern.”

She had him there.

“You can’t honestly tell me that you’re asking about my company out of the kindness of your heart,” she added. “I mean, you seem nice enough, but you’ve been trying to pump me for information since you got on the road. Don’t kid a kidder. I used to work for a big company, too. Nothing’s too small to be a threat. You’re looking for an angle.” Her voice was bitter. “I remember what it’s like.”

He realized she was right—and her comment made him feel ever so slightly slimy. “It was just business,” he said, knowing it was a lame defense.

She shook her head, her curls twitching in response. “It always is,” she murmured.

“How old are you?” he asked.

She blinked in surprise. “Twenty-nine,” she responded. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I just thought—you’re awfully young to be that jaded.”

She sighed. “You’re right. But I’ve had some bad experiences.”

“Why don’t you tell me about them?”

“What are you, a bartender?”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me about your business now, if you think it’ll compromise you,” he said. “But you could tell me about your old job, right?”

Glancing over, he saw she was staring at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to soften me up?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, and was rewarded when she laughed. “But I am interested.”

“Know thy enemy, huh?”

“We’ve got another five hours ahead of us, at least,” he said. “I don’t want to be stuck feeling like a spy or a criminal just because we happen to work in the same industry.” He winked at her. “Besides…I like you.”

That seemed to catch her by surprise. “Why?”

“You’ve got guts,” he said. “And lord, you’re persistent. I half thought you were going to hit me on the head and steal my car if I didn’t give in!”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” She laughed again, and slowly, he felt the tension in the car recede. “So, what do you want to know?”

He looked at her. “Why don’t you tell me about your old job,” he said, “and we’ll take it from there.”

Sophie revealed her past as an account executive at a cutthroat apparel company, talking about hellish bosses and asinine corporate policies that had finally caused her to quit. The stories, while crazy, were also funny, at least the way she told them. “So that’s why I decided to work for my family,” she said. “What about you? What caused you to work for cosmetics?”

“I used to be—don’t laugh,” he cautioned. “I was a male model.”

She didn’t laugh. “I can see that,” she said instead, and he could’ve sworn that there was a tone of admiration in her voice. Warmth expanded from the pit of his stomach in response, and he focused on her next question to distract himself. “But why cosmetics?”

“I ran into a lot of cosmetics people working,” he said. “They knew a lot of cosmetics sales reps, and I wound up interviewing with one of them when I decided to go into business. It was a friend of a friend. Besides, I understood how the products worked on the women I worked with,” he added. But that sounded defensive. “I figure, it’s been a good experience.”

“Huh. We’re a pair, aren’t we?” She leaned back, stretching, and he got a glimpse of her breasts pressing against the straining cloth of her blouse.

“How do you mean?”

“We’ve both got something to prove,” she said. “I’m trying to prove that you can make it in business without being heartless. You’re trying to prove that you’re more than just a pretty face.”

He stared at the road, momentarily stunned. She’d summed up his life in one sentence, and realized what people he’d been working with for years hadn’t seemed to grasp.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That was blunt, again, wasn’t it?”

“No, it’s fine,” he said.

“I know you’re more than just your looks, though,” she added.

“Really?” He sneaked a quick look at her face. “How can you tell?”

“You heard me talk about my meeting, and you jumped on it,” she said. “You’ve been persuasive, without being a pest. And you listened to my old business stories and asked really good questions. You obviously know your stuff.”

He couldn’t help it. He grinned with pride. “Thanks.”

“You’re going to be a tough competitor to beat.”

He laughed. “Damn, I like you.”

She smiled in response. “I like you, too.”

“Let’s stop talking about business,” he said. “I want to know more about you. The real you.”

She laughed, a bit nervously. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” he said softly. “Everything.”

For a moment, it was as if they were frozen in time. Then she cleared her throat.

“I always wanted to live in Paris.”

He smiled. It might not help him get the promotion, but as he listened to her talk about her dreams and fears, he admitted that he felt better than he ever had, at any sales meeting or business function. And she was, technically, the enemy. After this car ride, they’d probably never see each other again, except the odd mention in a trade bulletin.

Too bad she’s a competitor, he thought, putting his ambition aside for a moment as he listened to her musical voice.

Because I sure would like to get closer to this woman.

“WE’RE FINALLY HERE,” Mark said, his voice sounding slightly disappointed.

Sophie could hardly believe it. It was eleven o’clock when they rolled into the Bedingfield Arms, and yet the hours had flown by. Considering they’d both avoided talking business, she was surprised at how much they did have to talk about. But he’d traveled around the world, to many of the same cities she’d loved. And they liked a lot of the same movies, the same books, the same music. And while she was exhausted, she was sorry that the trip had to end.

“Oh, man, I am dying for a hot shower and a big bed,” he said, in that mint-julep drawl of his.

She sighed. That sounded good. Sounded even better if she could share one or both with Mark, who was arguably one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen. And the past few hours had only made her bizarre crush stronger, because he was different. Good-looking guys with egos the size of a Cadillac, she wanted nothing to do with. But Mark was funny, and versatile, and smart. He knew how to listen, and he knew how to share…. He had some of the wildest stories she’d ever heard. She’d actually wiped tears away from the laughter several of his anecdotes had produced.

If only he could write a decent e-mail and knew how to return a phone call, she’d probably go to bed with him, she thought, then bit her own tongue as she started giggling.

“What? What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” she said, rolling her own head back, trying to stretch the kinks out of her neck. “Just punchy.”

“You are the best, you know that?” he said as they parked the car. “Honestly. I haven’t had this much fun on a road trip since the Parker twins needed a ride to Georgia.”

“Well, I’d love to drink to the Parker twins, and you’ll have to tell me that story sometime,” she said, unfolding herself from the car with a groan. “But looks like our sojourn is over, pal.”

They collected the bags, and she felt a stab of regret. Now that they were at the hotel, he’d undoubtedly go up to his room, she to hers, and never the twain would meet, as it were.

Still, he was funny, he was nice, and she hadn’t spent this much time with a man after the sun had set since she’d started working at Diva Nation. She needed to get out more. She took a quick glance at his physique as he easily lifted the bulky luggage.

Getting out’s not the only thing I need.

She shook her head, clearing it of the thought. Getting any further involved with Mark would be trouble—no matter how much she liked him personally.

Man, it had been a long day, a long drive. A long night.

They checked in with the night clerk, and got their keys. As luck would have it, they had rooms right next to each other. They rode the elevator in companionable silence. Finally, they were each at their respective hotel-room doors.

“Well, I guess this is it.” She held out her hand. “Thank you. For the ride, for being a great conversationalist. For everything.”

His hand was warm and firm in hers. “I feel like we’ve been to war together.”

She laughed, then bit her lip. “Would a hug be totally inappropriate? Because I swear, after that car ride, I feel like I’m leaving my best friend here.”

He laughed, put down the laptops and his duffel bag, and held out his arms. Putting down her purse, she moved into his arms, hugging him tightly. He smelled good and felt like a billion dollars, giving the perfect hug…just enough arm, not too crushing, not at all reluctant.

She was really, really going to miss him. It was ridiculous, after only six hours, but she was going to miss him like crazy.

She was turning to tell him that, she would tell herself later. She wasn’t turning to do anything else when she was still in his arms. She just looked up into those sky-blue-gray eyes of his, smiling when he stroked the side of her face. Smiling back at him.

She was still smiling when he leaned down. The two of them were smiling when their lips met. And for a second, it was absolutely perfect—the end of a perfectly awful day with the most wonderful ending imaginable.

Then something changed. Oh, it was perfect—but there was nothing friendly about it.

She felt him crush the hair at the nape of her neck, very gently, with his broad hand, holding her more tightly to him as she let out a soft moan and pressed herself against him. She opened her mouth and felt his tongue brush against her lips, tickling hers. She tilted her head for better access, and sighed right into him. He felt sinfully delicious and tasted like heaven. She clutched at his shoulders, feeling him press her against the door. She didn’t care. She wanted as much of him as she could get.

She had no idea how long they stood like that out in the hallway, but it was probably far too long…and it wasn’t even long enough. But she heard one of the bags falling over and, startled, she pulled back.

“Wow,” Mark said, his breathing uneven. “Just…wow.” He stared at her. “You okay?”

She took a deep breath. “I think you shorted out my left temporal lobe.”

He laughed, stroking her arms. She took a step back, studying him.

“Do you have any idea how outrageously good you are at that?”

He grinned, tongue in cheek, and leaned against the door frame. “Good manners would say I should be modest right about now,” he said, then he grinned devilishly. “But hell, I’m too tired. Yeah, I knew.”

“Good grief. You should wear a warning label. Be registered as lethal in most states.”

He winked at her. “Just most states?”

“Well…I’m betting you’d probably be okay in Hawaii,” she said. “Thanks again.”

“You make me laugh,” he said, his smile causing her to feel warm all the way down to her toes. “I dig that.”

“Who says dig anymore? What are you, Austin Powers?” She had to escape. If she stayed out here…

“Why?” He winked. “Do I make you randy, baby?”

“You nutcase,” she replied. “I dig ya right back.”

He sighed. “It was the kissing thing, huh?”

She thought about it. “Actually, it was the car ride. I’ve never met anybody who could talk about as many non–work related things as you,” she said. “It takes a man of true distinction to find Andromeda, debate the finer points of A Face in the Crowd and sing all the words to ‘Dead Man’s Party’ in a decent voice.”

His eyes lit up, like a kid at Christmas, and his grin was so happy she wanted to drag him into her room and not let him go, possibly ever.

“You keep smiling like that, Tennessee, and I’m going to do things I regret. So let’s call it a night.” With that—and because she was an utter, stupid glutton for punishment—she gave him one last, quick kiss, then opened the door, dumped her stuff inside and shut the door behind her. Then, she kicked off her shoes and threw herself onto her bed. She heard him hauling his bags into his room next door, and closed her eyes.

Okay, you’re an idiot, she berated herself. Kissing that man was like juggling chain saws. Might seem like a cool idea in theory, but if you didn’t know what you were doing, you were bound to get hurt.

Still…he was pretty amazing. And of course, gorgeous. And really funny.

And damn, that man could kiss.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and she groaned. “Will this day never end?”

She peeked through the peephole…and saw a figure that still managed to look good despite the distortion of the fish-eye lens.

Don’t do it. You’re tired. You’re slap happy. You haven’t had sex in two years, she admonished herself. He works for the enemy. Do. Not. Open. That. Door.

She saw her hand grab the doorknob, twist it and swing the door open.

“Forget something?” she inquired.

His answering smile made her toes curl.

“You know,” he said, “sometimes, regret is healthy for you. Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve done something somebody’s regretted.”

Without another word, she grabbed him by the shirt and shut the door behind him. His lips were on her before the dead bolt even shot the lock.

“We must be crazy,” Sophie muttered breathlessly against Mark’s neck, even as her fingers flew to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them slowly. She wasn’t going slowly out of any inherent sexiness…. Passion and exhaustion had made her fingers clumsy.

She knew her brain was too tired to be thinking rationally. Otherwise, she’d acknowledge just how universally stupid this course of action was. She’d driven six hours to get here, after a full day of traveling, and now she had a complete stranger in her hotel room after midnight when she had one of the biggest meetings of her career at, what, nine o’clock the next morning….

She suddenly pulled back to stare at him. Good God, what was she thinking? Was she a complete and utter moron?

“Mark…”

He smiled, his eyes aglow. Then he leaned down and devoured her mouth. Her fingers twined into the hair at the nape of his neck. She felt his fingertips dig into her hips, pulling her forward, molding her against what felt like a sizable hardness. She opened her mouth, tasting him, cuddling him at the juncture of her thighs as she pressed her breasts against his chest.

Oh, yeah. A complete and utter moron, indeed, was her last coherent thought.

But a happy moron.

He tugged at her until the two of them tumbled onto the queen-size hotel-room bed. For a second, they lay there, kissing softly. It wasn’t clawing, or rushed, or even a mad grappling. It was more like coming home. Yes, that was a cliché, but since she’d never really felt it before, even when she was coming home to someone…

She wasn’t going to think about that now.

He moved from her mouth to her jawline, insistent kisses against her neck. She gasped a little, and her hands went back to his shirt, finally succeeding in getting the last of the buttons undone. She pushed the shirt away from his chest, letting her palms slide over the taut muscles of his torso. He felt hot, and smooth, and perfect. He was kissing her collarbone, and for a second, she forgot how to breathe.

He reached for the hem of her short-sleeved blouse, and pulled away enough for her to wiggle out of it as he pulled it up over her head. He shrugged out of his shirt, and the lace of her bra was the only thing between the heat of their skin. She sighed against him, rolling him onto his back and straddling him. He reached for her belt buckle as she kissed him, over and over.

This was madness. Utter, fantastic madness.

He had her buckle undone and the top button on her linen pants open, unzipping slowly, and she laughed with sheer abandon. “I never do this,” she murmured, wondering if he’d think she was easy. Wondering if it was too late to be wondering about that kind of thing.

Wondering, halfheartedly, if she really cared.

“I never do this, either,” he said instead, and he smiled at her, a sugary kind of smile that had her smiling right back before he started kissing her again, deeply, and moving her over on her back. “You are exceptional in all kinds of ways, Sophie Jones.”

“And you’re wonderful,” she said, and meant it. She barely registered the fact that he’d tugged her pants off, leaving them on the floor. Now she was in her underwear and knee-high socks, and he was still in his trousers. “Come here.”

He slipped off his trousers and socks and then he was just in boxers, striped white and blue, which for no reason she thought was amusing until she saw the erection tenting the front of the material. She suddenly didn’t find anything funny at all. She only felt desire, white-hot and ravenous.

He covered her with his body, kissing her, and she kissed him back passionately. She reveled in the feeling of his fingers combing through her hair, and she clutched at his back.

Then she felt his hand smooth down her shoulder, skim over her rib cage and cup her breast.

“Oh,” she gasped, tearing her mouth away from his as the sensation shot through her. After two years, it was almost more than she could bear, complete sensation overload on a global scale.

His hand paused on her, and she could feel the heat of his palm through the lace of her bra. “All right? Are you okay?”

“More than,” she murmured, arching her back and pressing more firmly into his hand. He was between her legs, only the thin material of her panties and his boxers between them. “This is…Oh, my.”

He pushed once, experimentally, and circled her nipple with his fingers at the same time. She opened her eyes long enough to see him smile, a tender smile, and she almost came undone in his arms.

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she couldn’t help it…. She wrapped her legs around his, feeling herself go damp enough to soak her underwear. He had to feel it, too, because she could feel the muscles at his shoulders bunching and heard him groan against her neck as he pressed a hard kiss against her. “You’re sure?” he whispered.

“More sure than I’ve been about anything,” she said recklessly. “Please. Please, make love to me.”

He pulled back, his blue eyes lit like blowtorches. “I want to, believe me.” He paused. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but…you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you?”

She whimpered. “No. I don’t…. That is…I haven’t had sex in a long time.” And she really, really wanted to rectify that, she thought, staring at the harsh beauty of his face, the absolute perfection of his torso…the feel of him pressing between her thighs.

“Damn it.” He rolled off her, and she felt bereft, trying to follow him, but he kept her at arm’s length.

“What is it?”

“I don’t have a condom, either,” he said, his breathing ragged. “I don’t do this, like I said, and I don’t generally travel with condoms handy.”

She felt frustration claw at her, and couldn’t help but let out a growl of pain. Even so, a little part of her felt a thrill…glad that he didn’t do this all the time. Glad that she wasn’t the only one who was out of her mind because of this whole situation. “I’m sorry,” she said inanely.

“Why?” Despite the wince of frustration as he rolled onto his side, he then sent her a wistful, lopsided smile that made her heart race. “It’s nobody’s fault. And I, for one, don’t regret a minute of it.” He laughed. “Well, okay. I regret not being more prepared.”

She rolled onto her back, wondering how long it would take before her blood cooled down and her heart stopped galloping in her chest. She was also not sure how long it would take before she’d be able to get to sleep. If she was able to sleep at all tonight.

All at once, a wave of exhaustion hit her. It had been an amazingly long day. She felt as if all the aches of the travel, all the craziness and all the stress that had been creeping up on her for far too long, just hit her like a tidal wave. To her intense embarrassment, she felt a tear creep down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away, but not before he saw it.

“Shh…Baby, what’s wrong?”

“It’s been such a crappy day,” she said, trying to blink hard as more tears followed the first. “And I really, really wanted to make love to you.”

To her surprise, he stood up…then pulled the covers back, lifted her and tucked her in, climbing in next to her and spooning with her, his arms wrapped around her comfortingly. She could still feel his erection, nestled against her bottom, and it was all she could do not to whimper and wriggle against him. He had to be hurting with need, as it were, but he spoke to her gently. “Listen, we both wanted it. But it’s probably just as well. You’ve been through a whole lot. I don’t even know you, and I know that.”

That was the thing, she thought, as she let herself cry onto the pillow, her cheek warming with the heat of the tears. He didn’t know her. But damned if he didn’t know exactly how to help her feel better at any particular moment.

“I really like you,” she said, with a slight catch in her voice. “Seriously. And not because of what we were going to do.”

He laughed, and she felt the reverberations through his rib cage. “Sugar, I really like you, too.” He nuzzled the back of her neck, and she pressed against him.

She turned around, hearing him groan again as she inadvertently brushed against him. She faced him, stroking his cheek. Then she kissed him, tenderly, deeply…. A thank you, for being such a wonderful man at a time when she needed someone to lean on. It was a new sensation—having someone rescue her.

“What was that for?” he said, resting his forehead against hers.

“Mark McMann,” she said, in a teasing, singsong voice, “you’re my hero.”

He laughed, so she kissed him again…and things quickly got more serious than she’d intended, as they pressed against each other. So close, so damned close…

She was the one who pulled away this time, gasping for air, gasping against the furious heat of her body. “Maybe the manager would bring up a box,” she said, half-joking.

He spun her around again, pulling her to him. “Go to sleep,” he said, and she could hear the words through the gritting of his teeth.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. I swear to God, if I have to scour all of San Antonio, I’m going to find a condom and tomorrow night, this is all going to be just the world’s longest bout of foreplay. But for right now, I’m holding you until you fall asleep, then I’m going back to my room to dream about all the things I’ll do to you tomorrow night. Your perfume’s going to haunt me, for starters.”

She smiled, letting the warmth of him comfort her. “It’s our brand. The Essential Sensuals line.” She sighed. “I’m glad to know that this particular scent is as sexy as advertised.”

“No work talk,” he muttered, and she smiled.

“No work,” she said, yawning and burrowing slightly into the covers. She felt his arm tighten around her, and she felt the exhaustion and the emotional roller coaster finally start to slide.

“Sophie?”

“Hrmm?” she half enunciated, feeling the edges of sleep closing in on her.

“Nothing.” He kissed her shoulder. “Just go to sleep.”

2

MARK WOKE UP IN A HOTEL BED, not surprisingly. It was early, though—he’d forgotten to shut the shades. He must’ve been more tired than he’d thought.

His hand moved across the pillow, and he heard a startled sigh.

He sat bolt upright.

He wasn’t in his room. He was in her room. In her bed. With the rest of the conference probably filing into this very hotel at any moment.

“Uh-oh,” he muttered.

She sat up slowly, took one look at him, and then he could tell from the horrified expression on her face and the way her mouth was opening that she was about to scream. He quickly did the only thing he could think of…covered her mouth with his hand. Her shriek turned into a muffled squeak.

“Hi, I’m Mark McMann. Any second now, you’re going to remember me from last night. We drove in together last night, laughing, were both tired, we didn’t have a condom….” He smiled without humor as a look of recognition crossed over her face. The look of horror, he noted, redoubled. “Ah, here we go. You remember.”

He removed his hand slowly, and she gasped. “You’re still here. It’s morning, and you’re still here.”

“In my defense, I was exhausted…Hey!”

She jumped out of bed and bolted past him, dashing to the center of the room, looking as if she were trying desperately to get her bearings. He noticed that she was only wearing panties, and she didn’t seem to care in the slightest. “What time is it?”

“Uh…” His brain had shorted out temporarily, seeing that lithe body of hers wearing only a pair of silky-looking bikini-cuts. “Um…”

She looked around at her clothes, then pushed her blouse out of the way of the clock. “Eight o’clock! Crap! Crap!” She glanced back at him. “Focus, Tennessee. Grab your clothes and get back to your room! ASAP!”

He blinked. Of course, that had been his plan, before he’d frozen in the headlights, as it were. He’d seen naked women, although they were usually models. And they weren’t usually shaped like Sophie. For a short girl, she certainly had…

“Mark!” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Not that it isn’t flattering, but you’ve got to wake up, sweetie. Do you really want people to know we spent the night together?”

Those were the magic words. He jumped out of bed, thankful that he was still wearing boxers. He assiduously avoided looking at her and instead did as she said, focusing on grabbing his clothes and pulling them on, tripping back onto the bed as he tugged his pants on both legs at one time.

“Can’t you hurry?” he heard her call from the bathroom. The shower was running…. Man, he needed to jump into the shower. He needed to unpack, for God’s sake. He needed to get moving…. His boss Simone was probably in the hotel by now, and would probably want to call the staff meeting at 10:00 a.m. or something…. Jeez, he needed to look at his PDA, see if he’d gotten any e-mails; she was all about sending those sneaky e-mails to make sure people were plugged in all day.

He buttoned his shirt hastily, noticing that he seemed to be missing a button…and abruptly remembered how he’d lost it. He went slightly hard and quickly headed off any more thoughts in that direction.

It was just a temporary lapse of reason. People were considered innocent for stuff like murder with just that kind of rationale. Besides, it wasn’t as if it were ever going to happen again.

“I’m out of here, I’m really sorry…” he said to the open bathroom door, figuring she was in the shower. “I’ll…er…”

He’d what? Call her later? They hadn’t even had sex, for pity’s sake. And now they weren’t ever going to see each other again. That thought caused a little sting, but he’d get over it. So what else could he say?

“Have a good conference,” he finished lamely and headed for the door. He looked out the peephole and then opened the door, peering out. Nobody in the hallway. He dug around in his pocket, found his room key and then made a break for it. He got in the room quickly and noticed immediately that the hotel-room phone light was blinking. He had a message. He decided to jump in the shower and get dressed first, before dealing with it. Odds were good it was somebody he didn’t want to talk to, anyway…or somebody it would stress him out to know he’d missed. He could just say that he’d slept in or something.

He thought back a minute, thinking of Sophie, naked on the other side of the wall.

Or something.

Finally, in a world’s record of getting cleaned up, he collected the message.

“Mark? This is Simone. I think something might be wrong with your phone. I’ve decided to call an impromptu staff meeting at nine this morning, and I want you there a few minutes early…. I think we need to talk.” A pregnant pause. “Yes. We definitely need to talk.”

Mark winced, then grabbed his briefcase. He wasn’t going to bring his laptop—Simone didn’t approve of them in meetings. He was almost out the door when he suddenly found that his phone was missing. He searched for it frantically, cursing a blue streak when it didn’t show up. He didn’t even have stuff out of his bags, for pity’s sake, where could he have…

He winced.

Sophie.

He took a deep breath, glanced at his watch. Eight-forty. He should leave in five minutes. He prayed that Sophie hadn’t rushed off….

He looked down the hallway again, as furtive as a spy, then knocked softly on her door. Then knocked louder.

“Just a minute!”

She opened the door. She looked…well, wet, to be honest, her toffee-colored waves pulled back in a ponytail that emphasized the classic lines of her face. She was wearing glasses, cute wire-rims. She blinked at him as she put an earring in her ear.

“Hi,” he said, and without waiting for an invitation, he dashed into her room.

“Um, hi. I’m in a hurry….”

“I can’t find my phone,” he explained, looking around. She’d done the same thing as he had—dug into her bags for clothes—but otherwise everything was as is. Except for the clothes she’d stripped off last night, which were still in a trail that led to the bed.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it….

“Listen, about last night,” she said softly.

“No worries,” he interrupted. “Really. We were both tired, we weren’t really thinking, it just seemed like a good idea at the time….”

“That’s not it.”

He looked up, finally. She looked near tears.

He tried not to think about how hot she’d been. How very, very much he’d wanted her. How much he still wanted her, come to that. She was amazing, sweet and sexier than anybody he’d met in a long time.

“It’s not that bad,” he said. “You didn’t…”

Before he could say anything else, she flew at him, and he felt that hot, mobile mouth of hers against his. And whatever strange craziness had come over him last night was back again with a vengeance. It wasn’t a fluke…wasn’t because they were tired, wasn’t because they were punch-drunk and lonely.

She still wanted him.

His hands clutched at the small of her back, dragging her up against him…. Then he pulled away. What was he doing? He had a meeting in minutes, and so did she, and what were they doing?

Besides, you still don’t have a condom.

“I still want you,” she breathed. “I know the timing’s lousy, and it’s probably not anything either of us should do anything about, I mean we’re professionals, and…” She stopped. “I’m babbling.”

“You hate that,” he couldn’t help but point out, with a smile, thinking of last night.

“The thing is, I would still love to make love with you. I just thought you should know that.” She shrugged, the blush on her cheeks owing nothing to cosmetics.

He reached out and kissed her back, hard, gratifying in the sound of her low moan. “You don’t even know how much I still want to make love to you,” he ground out finally. “But you’re right. The timing, the…”

“It’s crazy,” she said with a shrug. “In fact, it’s stupid. But if I didn’t tell you…well. I didn’t want you to think that I regretted it, or that it was a mistake.”

He was torn. It was stupid, potentially career damaging. As one of the few men in a women-dominated profession, it was dangerous. And it was definitely unprofessional. It would get around. Hell, rumors of him sleeping with women, that were completely unfounded, still surfaced from time to time. And with his promotion coming up…

He sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right—we can’t.”

She nodded, looking for a moment completely dejected. “I’ll help you find your phone.”

He saw it suddenly, a silver object, half-hidden by the thrown-back comforter on the bed. “Here it is.” He grabbed it and knew he should be out the door, with his briefcase, finding Simone. But the problem was he didn’t want to go.

“Have a good conference,” she said, echoing his earlier lame goodbye.

He wanted to kiss her…reassure her that neither of them had made a mistake. Or better, tell her to wait for him…that after her meeting and his, after whatever else they had to do today, he’d sneak over and they’d make love till morning, damn the conference, damn everything else.

But he wouldn’t do that. And she wouldn’t, either. And they both knew it.

He held out a hand. She stared at it for a moment, then shook it firmly.

“It was nice meeting you, Sophie Jones,” he said, and regret drowned every word.

Then he turned and headed out the door.

SOPHIE GLANCED AT HER WATCH, then glanced back at the empty stage. After all her fuss to make the morning meeting, she now discovered that the meeting itself had been canceled and replaced with a press conference. Sophie was a bundle of nervous energy, since Mrs. Marion had left a message for Sophie specifically to sit up front at the event.

This could be the announcement we’ve been waiting for.

She was surrounded by tons of people, all sitting at the various tables set up. Marion & Co. had appropriated the second-largest ballroom, and she would’ve wagered that everyone at the regional trade show had abandoned their various booths to hear what was being said. Well, okay, the big companies, anyway. All the trade reporters were milling around. She would be able to tell them apart by the hungry, searching look in their eyes, if not by their press badges. They didn’t get paid much, poor bastards, but they sure did work hard for the money.

She realized she was glancing around to see Mark. Not that you’re at all eager to see him, her mind ruthlessly taunted her. She’d thrown herself at him briefly this morning, when she’d gotten her wits about her. She’d been disconcerted by finding a man in her bed, after all this time—and the first thing on her mind was the Marion meeting.

If only that had been on your mind before you invited him to sleep over last night, you idiot.

It was strange. Normally, she was all business. But she’d taken one look at gorgeous, godlike Mark McMann, and most of her sharp-hewn common sense had taken a flying leap out the window.

She shook her head. It probably wouldn’t hurt her reputation all that much, all things considered, to sleep with a competitor, but obviously it bothered him. Enough for him to rescind his really wonderful, beautiful, sexy offer from the night before.

The offer that she still would’ve loved to take him up on.

She closed her eyes, squinched them shut. No, no, no. Just move on, will you?

She saw Lily Hunter, Mrs. Marion’s second in command, crossing the stage, and sat up. The people who were making all that noise quieted, and they looked up expectantly.

She heard someone approach, turned…and saw Mark, looking out of breath. He smiled at her, and her irritation suddenly melted.

He really is beautiful, she thought. In a purely masculine way. Like a carved fallen angel.

She frowned, then pulled out the little notepad that she always carried in its little leather binder. She jotted down: “Fallen Angel. Maybe a new perfume? Or add to the new line of eye shadows?”

He sat down next to her, looking curiously at her note, then at her.

She simply smiled. They weren’t supposed to know each other, but here they were. And it wasn’t as if they were wearing matching T-shirts that said I Almost Slept With and arrows pointing to each other.

She smiled at the image, and he smiled back, then they both turned to the stage, where Abigail Marion strode, looking like a queen clad in her caramel-colored Yves Saint Laurent suit. She had a smile on her face, the one that seemed to say “I know something you don’t know.”

Sophie glanced at Mark. She wondered if he knew what was going on, but he seemed puzzled…and a bit more annoyed, she noted.

She squelched a smug smile. Not as annoyed as you’re going to be when you find out that a tiny company like mine has poached a huge account from a big company like yours!

Sure, she might be in lust with the guy. But business was business.

“I’m glad that so many of you could make it to this announcement, on such short notice,” Mrs. Marion said, in a rich, cultured voice. “I am also glad that the Southwestern Cosmetics Trade Show management let us have the ballroom so we could make this brief statement.”

You could hear a pin drop. Someone coughed in the back of the room, and Sophie could’ve sworn she felt everyone wince in unison. They were all riveted.

“Marion & Co. has been fortunate enough to have enjoyed significant growth in revenue in the past few years, dealing in exclusive luxury items for the most discerning shoppers,” she said. “We only offer the best products from the absolute, most exclusive providers. We offer several select brands, only the finest. Cosmetics has been one such area.”

Now, Sophie thought she could feel the whole room hold its collective breath. She could barely breathe, herself.

“We would like to partner with a cosmetics company to create a new house cosmetics brand…a partnership brand, if you would. It would still retain the cosmetic company’s name, and have a distinct identity. But it would carry the weight of Marion & Co.’s seal of approval. The distinct sub brand would only be available at Marion & Co…but I don’t need to tell you all what sort of a boost this would be.”

There was a buzz of frenetic chatter after this, as the thrum of commentary followed. It would be more than a boost—it would be an absolute windfall for whatever lucky cosmetics company M&C partnered with.

Sophie felt her heart beating a staccato rhythm in her chest. This is it, she chanted in her mind. This is it, the chance we’ve been waiting for…

“After a private, relatively secret search, we have narrowed the field of competitors to two.”

Sophie’s eyes widened.

Wait a minute.

Two?

Whatever gossipy buzz had been traveling through the room ceased as all ears pricked up.

“First…Trimera International, headquartered in New York.”

Sophie saw Mark sit up a bit straighter, his eyes gleaming avariciously.

“And second…Diva Nation, from California.”

She could hear people muttering “Who?” after Diva Nation was announced. She suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to crow—and an equally powerful urge to make a break for her room before her incognita status disappeared. She got the feeling that by tonight, every single person at the conference would know exactly who she was and who she represented.

’Bout time!

“Congratulations,” Mark murmured to her, and she nodded, accepting it. His eyes weren’t gleaming anymore. Instead, they studied her…appraising, yet wary.

Mrs. Marion smiled at the shock wave she’d sent through the conference. She was obviously a woman who liked to push buttons, and cause a stir. “To these two companies, I am asking for a series of distinct proposal rounds. Your individual headquarters will be receiving the necessary materials by this afternoon. This brand will be rolling out by the end of next year. Thank you, all of you, for your time.”

With that, and with people clamoring out with questions, Sophie felt herself go numb.

“Who the hell is Diva Nation?” a woman next to her asked, sourly. “Mark…heard of them?”

“Yup,” he said, looking at Sophie. “They’re a sort of underground urban cosmetics brand, out of L.A.”

She blinked. She hadn’t told him that. He’d somehow…

Of course he knew. She grimaced, and quickly snatched up her things, grabbing her phone as almost an afterthought.

“Yeah, but who the hell are they?” the woman persisted.

Sophie didn’t wait to hear what his response was. She just made a beeline for the door.

Mark was right behind her, it turned out. She knew because of the cologne he wore…. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was really nice, and suited him to a T. “Wait up,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to get going,” she said quickly. “It’s now going to be a really chaotic conference for me.”

“You pulled off a coup back there,” he said, and admiration was obvious in his voice. “Did you know they were going to give you a chance at the account? When I gave you a ride?”

She glanced around. People were watching them. More to the point, they were watching him. Women couldn’t keep their eyes off him, which was hardly a shock. “I thought we weren’t going to talk business,” she said in a hushed, reprimanding voice.

“That was last night,” he murmured. “I think things have changed since then, don’t you?”

“They have changed,” she said ruefully. “Now, we’re direct competitors, not just rivals in the same industry. And we really, really need to not talk anymore.”

He was still following her as she walked toward the elevator bank. After they waited there in silence, he said, “I’m not stalking you. I’m only trying to get to my room.”

She drowned again for a second, wallowing in memories of last night…of the two of them. Of his earlier promise to make love to her all night tonight. “No problem,” she said, glad her voice managed to sound casual.

The two of them rode the elevator in silence, ignoring the gaggle of sales reps who surrounded them as they managed to get off on earlier floors, all of them commenting bitterly on Trimera getting chosen, and all wondering about Diva Nation. Sophie made sure that her arms covered her name badge. Finally, it was her and Mark alone, on the elevator, headed for the twelfth floor.

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

She glanced at him. “Sorry?”

“Dinner. Tonight.” He sent her a sidelong glance that practically melted her heart. “I was sort of wondering. I mean, you’ve got to eat, I’ve got to eat….”

She stared at him. “Hello. We’re up against each other for this account!” Was the man insane?

He stared at the ceiling of the elevator, contemplatively. “And yet, I still crave food. I imagine at some point, you might feel a little nibbly. So what the hell, we run up the white flag and just have a bite?”

“No, Mark.”

“No, you won’t be hungry?”

“No, I won’t be eating with you!” She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Damn. Either you’ve got a ton of moxie, or…”

She stopped. Or he’d reconsidered his stance on sleeping with her.

Of course. Now that she absolutely could not, in good conscience, sleep with him…he’d changed his mind.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she said bluntly.

Now he smiled back at her, devilishly handsome. “Um…ever?”

She forced herself to keep a straight face. “More than likely. But definitely not as long as we’re both in the running for this account.”

“Somehow,” he said, “I can probably manage to share a meal with you without pushing the dishes aside and just taking you on the table.”

The image that conjured up sent shivers of heat along her body. “Don’t even joke,” she said, hating the breathless edge her voice took on.

“I wasn’t really joking,” he said.

He was dangerous.

“Stay away from me, Mark,” she said. “I really appreciated yesterday…on a couple of levels. And I would’ve loved to become friends with you. But you’ve got to see how this won’t work.”

He took that in silence for a moment, then the two of them headed to their respective rooms. She noticed her hand shaking slightly as she wrested with the card key.

She’d been so close to sleeping with him, she thought, with regret so keen it was painful. Now, she knew that every single ounce of common sense told her that he was off-limits, for good.

He pulled out his wallet, producing a business card that he quickly scrawled something on. “Here,” he said.

She stared at it. “What’s this for?”

“It’s my cell-phone number,” he said. “Just in case you change your mind about dinner.” He paused. “Or anything else.”

She watched as he effortlessly opened his room door and shut it behind him. She finally went into her own room…the card burning a hole in her pocket.

You’re not going to call him, she told herself.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to throw the card away.

“ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS TAKE OUT one puny competitor, and the house brand for Marion & Co is ours,” Simone said, back at the office in New York. “Now—brainstorm. What do we know about Diva Nation, and how can we knock them the hell out?”

Mark looked at his boss, and then at the VP of marketing, Roger, who was sitting in on the meeting. They were both standing at the head of the large conference-room table, looking puzzled. Well, puzzled wasn’t the best way to describe it. Simone looked determined, as always, but also somewhat frazzled. Roger looked gob-smacked. The rest of the Trimera team, seated around the broad expanse of table, was somewhere between the two. Except for the resident pit-bull saleswoman, Carol, who looked as if her solution would involve some kind of violent force.

“I cannot believe this. I cannot…frickin’…believe this,” Roger finally said, anger filtering through his obvious surprise.

Simone sighed. “Roger, we’ve been over this.”

“I don’t think you realize what a slap in the face this is,” he countered, obviously eager to discuss in front of the team what he’d already hashed out with Simone in private. “Marion & Co. has always carried Trimera. We’ve always had a good relationship with them. Now, they’re creating an exclusive house brand, and they’re going to pit us against some nobody brand from California?” He looked at Mark. “I thought sales were doing well in that channel! Could somebody please tell me how the hell this happened?”

Carol cleared her throat before Mark could respond. “Account management has reported some problems with the Marion & Co. account,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. Her eyes looked fiery and triumphant, though.

“That true, Mark?” Roger snapped.

Mark forced himself not to glare at Carol. “Actually, it’s not,” he responded, his voice cool. “At least, we may have lost sales volume, but not market share. We’re doing fine.” He paused. If you’d read my last three reports, you’d know that.

Roger brushed off the comment, as Mark knew he would. “So, if we’re doing fine, who the hell is Deviant Nation, anyway? And why are they even in this?”

“Diva Nation,” Mark corrected. “They’re a small independent brand out of Los Angeles. They’re getting some decent distribution, though, and their products are getting a good deal of buzz. They’re not much now, but if their numbers keep up…”

He drifted off when they all looked at him.

“Is there any pulse you don’t keep your finger on?” Simone asked with admiration.

He didn’t want to think about how many fingers he’d had on the pulse of Diva Nation…or how much closer he would’ve gotten, if she’d let him.

“I keep an eye out,” Mark said elusively.

“Well. This calls for desperate measures,” Roger said in that finicky, snarky tone of his. “Carol—you’re my point person. We’ve got to make sure that this thing runs smoothly.”

Mark felt his blood pressure raise slightly. He was tired of being passed over. And, frankly, this one was too damned important. He really liked Sophie, but business was business—and since business was the one thing that stood between him and Sophie, he figured she’d probably understand more than anyone.

“Roger,” Mark interrupted, before the man could continue barking out his instructions, “Simone said that she was going to give me the next product launch. You agreed to let me be point on the next proposal. I think that this counts.”

The rest of the team was now openly gaping at him. He had to admit, he was a bit surprised, himself.

Nothing ventured, he reminded himself nervously.

“A little crappy product launch is one thing,” Roger said dismissively, although he seemed surprised, as well, that Mark had spoken up. “But after all, you didn’t report the sales information to me, and that would’ve been important.”

Mark gritted his teeth.

“Besides, we’re going to need more than charm on this,” Roger added. “I need somebody who knows product and figures.”

Mark tried not to let the obvious insult get his temper too high. “I know the product, and I know the background. Most of all, I know Marion & Co.”

Roger smiled indulgently. “Not well enough, obviously, to—”

“If you’d read the last report I sent, you’d know exactly why we’re stuck in this mess.”

Now the rest of the team was more than gaping—they looked horrified. Being assertive, or aggressive, was one thing. Committing career suicide in public by challenging one’s extremely temperamental vice president…well, now, that was something else.

Smooth move, McMann.

“I see,” Roger said, in a flat tone of voice that said he was purely pissed off. He glared at Simone, as if it were her fault things had gotten out of hand.

Simone hastily shuffled some papers on the desk, keeping her voice brisk. “You know, I think that a compromise might work. If Carol took the lead, and Mark worked with her, he could bring his competitive knowledge and his familiarity with the account to the table, while she could hone the message and get the product side in line. What do you say?”

Mark sent a silent prayer of thanks that Simone was firmly on his side. She was far more diplomatic, for one thing—and she’d been playing internal politics for years.

“We’ll talk later,” Roger said sharply, “but since you seem so intent…fine. McMann, you’re working with Carol. I’ll expect to see preliminary notes by next week. Pull the meeting together. And don’t screw this up,” he said, with obvious menace in his voice. “I want this one locked down.”

With that, he stalked off. The team let out a sigh of relief as Simone instructed them to go back to their desks. That is, everyone except Carol, who was looking both exceptionally arrogant and irritated.

Gonna have a problem with you, Mark noted.

“Mark,” she said, “I’ll have my assistant pull together the meeting, and I’ll get the notes done, as well. Why don’t you send me any information you have on Diva Nation and Marion & Co. in an e-mail? Or give me any copies of paperwork you have.” She smiled, an echo of Roger’s humoring grin. “I’ll start working on the actual presentation.”

“I’ll work with you, Carol,” he said, keeping his voice smooth. Charm, as Roger had said. “A lot of my knowledge isn’t on paper. I’d rather we just work together.”

She set her face in a frown. She was a slender woman, with red hair cut in a straight bob, and eyebrows so sculpted they looked chiseled onto her face. She’d had a problem with Mark since the day he’d joined the team. “Mark, can I talk to you for a minute?” she said in a low voice.

He nodded, allowing himself to be pulled aside, knowing that Simone was studying them intently. “Yes?”

She took a deep breath. “Look, it’s obvious that Roger doesn’t really want you on this project. So why don’t you let me do the bulk of the work?” Her eyes were like laser beams in their intensity. “No offense, but I know that this stuff—reports, this kind of leg work—isn’t really your strong suit.”

He winced. Remind me again how that’s not supposed to offend me. “I’m curious—what makes you say that?”

“Well, you’ve never done something like this before,” she said, as if it were patently obvious.

“But I’ve worked on lots of projects,” he countered. “Hell, lots of people on the team have asked me for advice. And Simone knows nobody knows competitive info like I do.”

She frowned, as if amazed he was still putting up a fight. “Well, you’re a sales guy. You don’t have the background…”

“I got my MBA two years ago,” he said shortly. “In marketing.”

She sighed. “You don’t know how we work.”

It was like battering up against a concrete slab. He sighed. He wasn’t going to win if he fought her way—supposed rational arguments, business talk. He only had one choice left.

He leaned forward, smiling…his most winning smile. He made sure he focused his gaze on her as if she were the only woman on earth. It was something they’d always talked about on the catwalk, back when he’d modeled.

She swallowed hard, obviously taken off guard.

“I won’t get in your way, Carol,” he said, his voice pitched low, almost intimate. “I know that this is a big deal, and you’ve probably done tons of marketing launches and competitive proposals. I’m only asking for a chance.”

She blinked at him. He’d never turned the full force of his charm on her before—he hadn’t wanted to waste the energy, and frankly, he always felt a little dirty when he used it this deliberately. Still, he knew the minute she started to waver.

He deliberately pulled his drawl out to a ribbon. “Please,” he murmured. “It would mean a lot to me.”

She flushed slightly, and looked away, taking a deep breath before looking back at him. “I…I’ll need to do most of the work, though,” she said, and then cleared her throat so her voice didn’t sound so ragged. “And we’ll need to make sure that I’m the one that does most of the talking.”

“Of course,” he said easily. He didn’t agree, but he’d tackle that later—he had a yes and he wasn’t going to mess with it, just as he’d always learned in sales. “We’ll set up something tomorrow to touch base, would that be all right? Then get all the details ironed out.”

“All right,” she said, although she finally sounded a lot less sure of herself. Then she walked away.

Mark gathered his papers together, and Simone walked up beside him. “You are amazing.”

He paused, picking up his pen. “How’s that?”

“I didn’t think anybody could chill out Warrior Princess Carol,” she responded, with a light chuckle in her voice. “But if anybody could, it would be you, huh?”

He chose to ignore that. Simone was his boss, and sort of a friend, but her sense of business ethics could get somewhat hazy. “Thanks for standing up for me with Roger,” he said instead, focusing on her kindness.

“It’s time. I know you’re smart, Mark,” she said. “You just need a chance, that’s all. So—what else do you know about Diva Nation?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he admitted. “They’re not very big, but their products are amazing—really outside the box.” He smiled slightly, remembering. “I know that they’ve got a perfumed body lotion that is practically hallucinogenic.”

“Really,” she said, her voice ripe with speculation. “I probably don’t want to know how you know that.”

He realized he was letting something slip, and quickly clammed up. “I’ll buy their entire product line before I meet with Carol. And I’ll know a ton more by tomorrow.”

“You know,” Simone said carefully, “I couldn’t help but notice you had a bit of a connection with that Diva Nation woman—Sophie, her name was. Right?”

“She’s a nice woman,” Mark said carefully. “And just because we’re competitors doesn’t mean I need to hate her on sight, does it?”

“I’m merely saying,” Simone continued. “She seemed to like you, too. Maybe you could see what you could find out. I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you on some kind of neutral ground.”

Mark felt it again—that dirty, unethical, icky feeling. “Trust me, she’s not the type.”

“Already tried, huh?” Simone laughed, and in that moment, Mark wished he were anywhere but here. “I might’ve guessed. You’re going to be a great marketing guy, and you’re going to knock this one out of the park. You’ll be one of the best.”

He smiled weakly, then fled. If being one of the best meant using a sweet person like Sophie…

He shook his head. It wasn’t as if he had anything with Sophie, and even if he did…well, he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that, he promised himself. He just wouldn’t.

3

SOPHIE GLANCED AT THE CLOCK by her bed. Ten o’clock. Early, by a lot of people’s standards. Unfortunately, she knew that sleep would evade her for another three hours, at least. She felt wired, even though she’d deliberately only drunk decaf all day. She’d gotten a good chunk of work done: she had most of the slides ready for the Marion & Co. presentation. She was a little nervous, but more excited—the sign that it was going to go very, very well.

But right now, she wasn’t thinking of the presentation. She was thinking, as usual, about Mark McMann.

She pushed her face down into her foam pillow. They’d agreed not to have any contact other than professional—after all, they were in competition, their paths would cross. But they had to be very, very careful, so no one would suspect how close they’d come to…well, getting very, very close. No friendly chats in elevators, no random “bump-into” exchanges in the lobby. Certainly no drinks in the hotel bar.

It also meant she sure as hell shouldn’t call him.

She sighed heavily. Even without the competition, she knew they shouldn’t get involved in any way, shape or form. Men who looked like him did not under normal circumstances go for women who looked like her, for one thing. And while Sophie knew she wasn’t ugly, she wasn’t about to pass for a model any time soon. She also knew that he had plenty of women going after him. He probably had no shortage of willing applicants for the position of bed warmer, and no doubt had spent plenty of time with a variety of them. And that type of man wasn’t her type at all.

She thought about Troy, her last and longest-lasting relationship. He had been tall, geeky, with blond hair and glasses. He was a finance analyst, and a good one. They’d met in the MBA program at the University of California, San Diego. In her case, it had been love at first sight. They’d been friends first, but she’d always known they’d shift over to lovers.

What she had not known was they should’ve stayed friends. She’d nearly smothered in all that comfort and compatibility. And she had to admit, she’d been shocked when he’d said the same thing, just before he’d broken up with her. She’d been the best study-buddy he’d ever had, but he just couldn’t see himself marrying her.

Not that you want to marry Mark.

She flipped over. She ought to get up and do something. Clean something. Maybe do some more work, even though she doubted it would be usable, what with her mind highballing as it was at a million miles an hour. She really ought to start that meditation that Lydia had raved about. She ought to do something.

Flashback to Mark, pressing her into the bed at the hotel…his weight, his strength, the gentleness of him covering her. How there had only been thin layers of cotton between the two of them and one night of what she felt sure would be unforgettable bliss.

She shivered uncontrollably.

You are insane!

She only barely realized she’d picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.

“Mark McMann,” he said, sounding tired.

She stared at her phone, aghast. What are you doing?

“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean…”

“Sophie?”

“Is it too late for me to call?” She winced. “Certainly, it’s too late for me to call. You’re on the East Coast. It’s, what, one o’clock in the morning? Listen, I’ll—”

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