Temptation. Sherryl Woods

have to admit it’s more original than saying I’m going to slip into something more comfortable. Women have been saying that for eons.”

      “Maybe the women in your circle. When they’re not at work, my friends are almost always wearing the most comfortable clothes they own.”

      He surveyed her denim cutoffs and oversize T-shirt. “So I’ve noticed. Is that the full extent of your wardrobe?”

      “Actually, I was once one of Bloomingdale’s best customers. I have an entire closet filled with outrageously expensive power suits. However, I almost never wear them when sitting around the house, especially when I am not expecting company,” she added pointedly.

      “Does that mean if I plan to take you to the theater tomorrow night, I should tell you now?”

      “Unless you don’t mind being totally embarrassed by your date’s attire,” she said without thinking. When the implication of his question sank in, she promptly tensed. “Are you asking me to go to the theater?”

      He paused as if to give the matter some thought, then nodded. “Sounded that way to me.”

      “Why?”

      “To see a play?” he suggested, as if he, too, were struggling to understand what had motivated the invitation.

      Callie scowled at him. “I meant, why you and me?”

      “Gee, that’s a tough one,” he taunted. “How about because I have tickets, I don’t have a date and you seem to be presentable enough.”

      Disappointed despite herself by the mundane response, she muttered irritably, “That sort of flattery will win a girl’s heart every time.”

      He grinned unrepentantly. “I told you I was going to play hard to get.”

      Two could play at that game, Callie decided as a matter of self-preservation. Jason Kane clearly had ulterior motives up the wazoo, but there was no point in missing out on the theater because of them. She was confident she could hold her own in any battle of wits with him if she concentrated very hard on not falling prey to his charms.

      “Comedy, drama or musical?” she demanded as if it truly mattered. The truth was, she loved it all. Broadway, off-Broadway, off-off-Broadway. She would have squandered half her income on tickets if she’d had the time to use them. She hadn’t been inside a theater, though, since she’d lost her job.

      He tilted his head consideringly. “You strike me as a musical kind of gal.”

      “Drama,” she retorted, to be perverse.

      He plucked two tickets from his shirt pocket and held them out. They were for the Tony Award−winning drama currently on Broadway.

      “Why did you get tickets for a drama if you thought I was a musical kind of girl?”

      “Maybe I didn’t buy them for you,” he suggested mildly. “Or maybe I just knew you’d be perverse, say drama to spite me and I’d be able to catch you in your own trap.”

      “Has anyone ever suggested to you that you have a devious mind?”

      “Hourly,” he said with a note of pride. “And in most media reports describing my talents.”

      “It’s not something I’d brag about if I were you,” she commented drily.

      “So, do you want to have dinner before the theater or after?”

      “Have I said I was going?”

      “That’s a given. We’re talking about dinner.”

      “After,” she said.

      He grinned.

      “Let me guess. You already have reservations for six.”

      “Wrong. Reservations at Tavern on the Green for ten-thirty.”

      Her expression brightened despite her attempts to control her reaction. “How did you know—”

      “That it’s your favorite?”

      “Never mind. Terry, of course.”

      “In my business, it pays to do research,” he retorted, neither confirming nor denying his source.

      “I thought you dealt with Nielsen and Arbitron, not the FBI.”

      He chuckled. “Does the FBI have a file on your restaurant preferences?”

      “If they’ve met Terry, they probably do,” she grumbled as Jason stood and held out his hand.

      “Come on. Walk me out. I’d better let you get your beauty sleep.”

      “Are you implying it will take eighteen hours or so of rest for me to look decent enough to be seen with you?”

      “Actually, I was offering a polite excuse for my departure, even though I know you’d rather I stay here and ravage your body all night long.”

      Indignation promptly roared through her. “Why you egotistical—”

      “Tsk-tsk, is that any way to talk about the man who’s going to make you a star?”

      “You’re not going to make me anything,” she shot right back in a determined effort to keep the game alive, even though she sensed it was all but over.

      “We’ll see,” he murmured, leaving her still sputtering on the fourth-floor landing.

      She leaned over the railing and shouted after him. “I’m a stockbroker, dammit!”

      “You were a stockbroker,” he called from right outside Terry’s door, which immediately popped open.

      “A lovers’ tiff?” Terry inquired.

      “The first of many, I’m sure,” Jason agreed in a stage whisper designed to be heard in the rafters.

      Callie wondered how much damage one of those many vases of flowers Jason had sent would do if she sent it crashing down on his head. Probably none. His head was clearly made of concrete.

      It was a little late to change her mind and tell him not to bother showing up tomorrow night. Besides, why should she turn down a chance to see a play and to have an outrageously expensive meal at one of her favorite restaurants just to make a point? If he wanted to waste his money trying to bribe her into becoming an actress, so be it. It was probably all on his expense account, anyway. After the turnaround he’d accomplished at TGN, the network could afford it.

      “Callie?”

      At the sound of his voice, she peered over the railing once more. “What?”

      “We’re out the door at seven-fifteen. I really hate to be late when the seats are front row center.”

      “I am never late.”

      “No last-minute primping.”

      “I never primp.”

      He grinned at that. “Can’t blame a man for hoping,” he said.

      She would have grabbed the vase after that, but it was too late. He was already gone.

      “Whew!” Terry murmured, moving into full view in the hall and gazing up at her. “Darling, if he weren’t so blatantly heterosexual, I might fall for him myself.”

      “Maybe you should be ready at seven-fifteen tomorrow night, instead of me.”

      Neil stuck his head out at that. “I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “If Terry spends any more time with people in television, his few remaining brain cells will rot. You go on your own date.”

      “It’s not a date,” Callie declared.

      “It sounded like a date to me,” Terry taunted. “Neil, what did it sound like to you?”

      “Let’s see, you’re getting