Pillow Talk. Kathleen O'Reilly

harm could come from a bet? He could almost hear his mother’s lecture about gambling, but he’d think about that later. “We can settle this tomorrow at the office, or if you want, we could leave right now and find the answer.”

      “I don’t trust you.”

      She was smart. People shouldn’t trust him. “Sorry you feel that way.”

      “You’re wearing the black hat, Taylor. That’s the way it is.”

      “So, no dinner for guys in black hats, huh?”

      “Nope.” She rocked back on her heels, looking rather proud of herself.

      He studied her for a long time, wondering about all that pent-up energy, and then finally he shook his head. “Now you’ve done it. You’re an insurmountable challenge, Barnes.”

      For three heartbeats, their gazes locked. He could see it in her eyes, the challenge, the excitement. She loved the game just as much as he did. Eventually she looked away. “Just don’t get any ideas about surmounting, if you get my drift.”

      “You get your mind out of those dark places you don’t want to go to, and I’ll get mine out of there as well.”

      She stared him down, the glasses tapping against her thigh. “You’re no threat to my peace of mind, only to my career ambitions.”

      He laughed softly. “I’ve had enough of this finger food. I’m going to go have dinner, Barnes. You’re welcome to join me.”

      She turned and walked away, a cocky swing in her hips. “In your dreams, Taylor,” she tossed over her shoulder.

      “There, too, Barnes. There, too.”

      2

      ON MONDAY, Jessica arrived at work at 7:00 a.m. sharp. She tried to stay busy, reading over the third-quarter forecast, marking the items that seemed questionable. Better analyzing numbers than staring at her computer and analyzing Saturday’s skin-tickling encounter with Adam.

      Mr. Taylor.

      The Ax-man.

      She needed to keep him in perspective, but he made perspective very difficult.

      Needing a distraction, she read all her e-mail, accepted Mickey’s lunch invitation, and just when she was done, one last message made it through.

      Jessica,

      Do you have the preliminary numbers for the third-quarter forecast? Could you drop it by my office?

      Adam

      She tapped her fingers on the keyboard. Office? Whose office? Last she’d heard, his team would be using the conference room at the corner of the building. She fired off her reply.

      Adam,

      Whose office?

      Jessica

      In a few seconds, she heard the incoming e-mail chime.

      Jessica,

      Look out your window.

      Adam

      Nooo.

      She turned and stared out her window that faced into the interior of the building. Sure enough, across the atrium, directly in her line of vision, stood Adam. Without a jacket. Looking wonderfully awake and full of pep. He waved at her.

      She waved back. With all the enthusiasm of a turkey in November.

      He wanted the preliminary third-quarter figures? Fine. She printed out a copy of the spreadsheet that she’d put together, took a cup of coffee and made her way to his office.

      His door was open, so she didn’t bother to knock. She noted that he had been given one of the bigger offices, bigger than hers. Petty, very petty, but still it ticked her off. Jessica put the paper down on his desk and turned to leave.

      “Miss Barnes, just a minute. I have some questions,” he said, the hint of some genteel Southern up-bringing in his voice.

      Of course he had questions. Jessica pulled up a chair and took a sip of hot coffee. That improved her mood significantly. She hadn’t been sleeping well recently. Mostly worrying about her job, but every now and then those steamy dreams reared their prurient heads. Those were the ones that made her nervous.

      She slid an inch away from him. Not that it helped. She could still smell his cologne, could still feel his warmth, even from where she sat. Just to be safe, she slid an inch farther.

      As if he knew her thoughts, Adam turned his head and looked at her.

      She smiled in return, a smile that wasn’t going to reach her eyes, but she was determined to make the effort. Be professional.

      Then he fired off his questions. How comfortable was she with the European prospects? Did they consider the number from the telecommunications sector viable? Each time he asked, she answered, confident of the data.

      At long last, he leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied. “You do a great job.”

      She nodded her head, acknowledging the compliment. She had worked her rear off to get where she was. At last she had found a place where she belonged, a place where she could do something good. It was easy to do a great job now. “I’ve been at Hard-Wire since the early days of the product plan. I don’t want anything to happen to this company.”

      Her nose began to tickle and she held up a finger, before eventually the sneeze erupted. He handed her a tissue.

      “Like the possible acquisition.” It wasn’t a question.

      She stuffed the tissue in her pocket, stalling more than anything. There was a time for honesty and a time for tact. Carefully she studied his face, his cool eyes expressionless. Eventually she shrugged. Honesty was her style. “Yes. JCN is too big and cumbersome. Hard-Wire will lose its competitive edge. The speed to market.”

      “But JCN can give you the brand name and stable image you need.”

      Jessica stiffened her spine. She had heard the rationale. “We shouldn’t be having this discussion.”

      “Probably not, but I’m interested in why you’re so opposed. Everyone else is walking around with a satisfied smile, planning for that new car they’re hoping to buy.” He took a pen and tapped it on the desk, the sound carrying in the quiet room. “Sounds like a disconnect to me. Maybe you see something that JCN doesn’t.”

      Jessica stood, coffee in hand. Retreat was the best solution. “I’ll leave now.”

      “Before you go, I’ve got one more thing.”

      “What?”

      “Our bet.” He pulled out a thick, leather-bound volume. “I’m assuming you’ll believe the U.S. government?”

      She hedged, staring at the defeat he held in his hand. “Not always.”

      “There.” He opened the book to the bookmark and ran one finger down to the middle of the page. She edged behind him, trying to ignore his cologne, trying to pretend she wasn’t studying the thick dark waves that settled so nicely against his neck. “Seventy-five percent of those people who are married have never been divorced. People who’ve been divorced tend to get divorced again. It’s a common misinterpretation of the actual facts.”

      When he turned in his chair, she realized she was closer than comfort demanded. His arm brushed against her leg, just a touch, probably an accident. An accident that nearly spilled her coffee. She took a long, steadying breath. Easy, girl.

      “I owe you a dollar. I don’t have one with me, but I’ll make sure you’re paid before the end of the day.”

      His smile turned sly. “You can owe me.”

      She wanted to be offended. She wanted to step back and play the outraged female. But her nerve endings had plans of their