LITMIR.BIZ

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settled in the quiet of the car. “Get comfortable,” he said. “It’s three hours.”

      “I could run up and get my bunny slippers.”

      “Or I could pour you a cocktail.”

      “Bunny slippers are highly overrated.”

      The limo was well stocked, and after a moment of concentration, Tess decided on an apple martini. Dash got the shaker, the ice and the vodka, but he almost dumped the whole thing in his lap. Inattention. She’d leaned back, taken a deep breath, and he was all thumbs. It wasn’t like him. He disconcerted women, not the other way around. Pulling himself together, he poured her drink, fixed himself a scotch and water, then leaned back next to her. Not close enough.

      She sipped, moaned with pleasure, then sighed. He felt inordinately pleased.

      “I can see why Mary asked you those questions,” she said softly.

      It took him a moment to remember. “About being happy?”

      Tess nodded. “It’s tricky when you only see a public image. I don’t know you at all.”

      “Why don’t we fix that.”

      “Right. Three hours.”

      “Ask ’em if you’ve got ’em. If, that is, I get to ask you questions in return.”

      “My life’s an open book. I wish I had skeletons in the closet, but so far, it’s only dust bunnies.”

      “I see a motif shaping up here. Did you have bunnies as a child? Did you have an issue with a bunny?”

      She laughed, throaty, rich. “Nary a bunny crossed my path. It’s Mary’s influence, I’m convinced. Being around her too long would make anyone a little nuts, and she’s my best friend.”

      “I’ll wager you have lots of friends.”

      She sipped her drink, then put the glass down between them on the leather seat. “I have enough. I grew up in a very small town, and so I had a gang there. Mostly out of self-defense. The boredom factor was daunting. One movie theater. No mall. It wasn’t pretty.”

      “And now?”

      “New York isn’t exactly the easiest place to make friends, but I have a few. Mary. The woman who brought me into the plant business. My online girlfriends, of course. And Tate.” At the name, her face softened.

      “And who would Tate be?”

      “He’s a wonderful man who takes me to the theater.”

      “Oh?”

      “No, it’s not like that. He’d old enough to be my father. He’s someone special, though. I’m glad I know him.”

      “What makes him special?”

      She shrugged her shoulders, reminding him again of her proximity and his hormones. “He’s incredibly passionate about what he loves, and he shares that with me. There are no compromises in Tate.”

      “It’s a lucky man who doesn’t have to compromise.”

      “I’m not sure it’s about luck. I think, in his case, he simply was prepared to pay the price.”

      Dash brought his glass up to his lips and savored the aged scotch as it heated a trail down his throat. Some compromises were harder than others, that’s all. She didn’t know that yet. She was so young.

      Tess felt the change in him, although she had no idea what had caused it. One moment she was dizzy in the focus of Dash’s scrutiny, and then she’d lost him. She’d only been talking about Tate…

      Oh, God. Maybe that was it. He’d assumed she’d told him about Tate so he would know the coast was clear. But this wasn’t a real date, and he wasn’t really interested, just polite.

      Maybe, if she could pretend to be as smooth and confident as she sounded, she wouldn’t feel like throwing up. She’d had the gift always. No one ever saw her sweat or shake or fumble for words. Which didn’t mean she wasn’t quaking inside.

      The black stretch limo, complete with uniformed chauffer, the red dress, Dash…who wouldn’t be a complete wreck? God, but he was gorgeous. The tuxedo was something out of a James Bond movie, and Dash was made to wear it. He was the ultimate playboy, the elegant scoundrel who broke hearts as easily as she broke her nails.

      At the thought, she looked down at her hands. The press-on nails were still attached, shiny with red polish to match her dress. No one would guess she really had gardener’s fingernails, so short they didn’t even reach the tip of her fingers.

      Her gaze went back to Dash, to his expression. The frown line between his brows had gone, and he looked back at her with real interest. “What?”

      “I was just thinking,” he said.

      “About?”

      “Your business proposal.”

      Her stomach clenched and she almost dropped her drink. “Thanks a lot. I’d managed to put that terror on hold for a while.”

      “Sorry, although I don’t see what you have to be afraid of. Cullen is going to love you.”

      “From your lips…”

      He grinned, and she felt it down to her toes. Perfect teeth, that bottom lip. Oh, my.

      “Don’t sweat it. I mean it. What had me puzzled was why you didn’t approach me.”

      “For what?”

      “For the funding.”

      “Why would I do that?”

      “For the same reason every other entrepreneur in the city does. Because I could help.”

      “I work for you. This is separate.”

      “It never occurred to you?”

      “No. Don’t look at me that way. I’m serious.”

      “I believe you.”

      “Okay, then.” She finished off her martini, then handed him the empty glass. “I did want to say again how much this means to me. It’s way over and above the call of duty. You’re helping me big time.”

      “No thanks necessary. I’m getting as much out of this as you are.”

      “Which is something I don’t fully understand.”

      “Not much to understand. I get to escort a beautiful lady to a party.”

      “Yeah, uh-huh.”

      His grin turned a little sheepish. “Okay, so there’s a bit more. All those pictures you see of me smiling? That’s work. And it’s not easy work. Not that I’m complaining. I know I’m the luckiest sonofabitch in the world, but still. It’s not easy to be happy twenty-four-seven.”

      “So you don’t have to work tonight?”

      “Not in the same way. If I was with, say, an actress or a model, there would be speculation, constant photos, questions, innuendoes. With you, they’ll be curious, of course, but not rabid.”

      “So I’m not going to appear on the cover of People?”

      “Most likely not,” he said. “Are you disappointed?”

      “Crushed.”

      His grin faded. “I—”

      She touched his arm. “I was kidding. I’m very happy to be whatever you need me to be tonight. Honestly.”

      His gaze moved down to his arm, where her hand touched his sleeve.

      She knew she should take it back, let him go, but she felt frozen. It was absurd, but she could swear she felt his heat. Impossible through shirt and coat. It hadn’t started out as an intimate gesture, but it had turned into one. Stoked by his

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