Jacquie D’Alessandro - A Sure Thing?

Another image of Matt instantly flashed in her brain. Matt, about to drop his pants, a sexy smile on his face, saying in a husky, suggestive voice, It doesn't get any better .

Heat flooded her cheeks and she blinked rapidly to dispel the distracting image. When the slide-show ended, she passed Jack the folder with hands that weren't quite steady. "I… I've worked up some preliminary cost figures along with a revenue analysis, as well as a time frame for the ad placements for six- twelve- and eighteen-month periods."

He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and slid them onto his nose. He fired out a barrage of questions and seemed to approve of her answers, which thankfully, didn't include the word "undressed." Based on the questions he asked, it was obvious that, though he might be lacking in the tact and manners department, he was razor-sharp when it came to business.

While he studied her revenue and market share projections, she took the opportunity to lean back in her chair, draw a much needed cleansing breath and cast a surreptitious glance at her watch. Eight thirty-five. Excellent. She still had a good twenty minutes to wrap things up before Matt appeared.

Since Jack was still engrossed, she looked around the tastefully decorated dining room, her gaze panning over the cream walls, the brass sconces, and the enormous marble fireplace where a cheery fire burned, lending an air of warmth and coziness to the room. She noted the framed paintings doffing the wall, all depicting pastoral vineyard scenes. A row of windows overlooking the snow-covered winery. An antique cherry sideboard. A glass-front cabinet filled with an array of colorful wine bottles. A brightly lit Christmas tree in the corner. Guests enjoying their breakfast.

Matt Davidson watching her from the table directly behind Jack.

When their eyes met, he lifted his coffee cup in salute with one hand and gave her a thumbs-up with the other.

Anger arrowed through her and she pressed her lips together. Damn it, how long had he been sitting there? If it was more than fifteen minutes, from his vantage point he would have witnessed her entire PowerPoint presentation, not to mention her verbal blunder. So much for their truce. It certainly hadn't taken him long to slip into spy mode. She gave herself a hard mental slap for thinking, for even half a second, that someone as ambitious as Matt could be trusted.

Well, this was good. She was glad. She'd needed this wake-up call to prove to her pulsating hormones and traitorous body that, yeah, okay, she really did need to get out and have a social life-and Matt was definitely not the guy to contemplate being social with.

Without giving him the satisfaction of shooting him the "you're scum" glare he so richly deserved, she returned her attention to Jack. He glanced up at her, then slipped off his reading glasses.

"This is very impressive, Jilly. I like your ideas, and the ads you designed are eye-catching and unique. Just the sort of concept I want for Lazer."

She smiled. "I'm glad you like them. Naturally I'd be happy to rework anything you feel needs tweaking."

"Great." He closed the folder, then consulted his watch. "Since you and Matt Davidson are both with Maxximum, I guess you know I'm meeting him at nine."

She somehow resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. "Yes."

"That boss of yours," Jack said with a chuckle, shaking his head, "Adam Terrell, is quite the sly fox, sending you both out here this weekend."

Jilly could easily think of half a dozen things other than sly fox she'd like to call Adam Terrell right now. "Well, you know Adam," she said, praying her smile didn't appear as forced as it felt.

He glanced again at his watch. "Unless there's something else, I'd like to head back up to my room before I meet with Matt. Couple of phone calls I need to make."

"Of course." She closed up her laptop. "I thought you might enjoy a private tour of the winery followed by a wine tasting this afternoon. Is three o'clock convenient for you?"

"Sounds good. I'm having a massage at one, so that works out fine."

"Then I'll meet you in the lobby at three."

He nodded, then left the dining room, never looking in Matt's direction. The instant Jack was out of sight, Jilly pushed back her chair. Before she could rise, Matt slipped into the chair Jack had just vacated.

"Very nice presentation," he said, the chilly edge in his voice matching the ice in his glare.

She flicked her gaze over him as if he were something she'd just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. "Well, I guess you would know, seeing as how you saw fit to spy during my time with Jack."

"I wasn't spying. I was drinking coffee. It's hardly my fault that there aren't soundproof barriers and six-foot walls between the tables here."

"You could have had your coffee in the Bistro, or the bar, or you could have called room service. I should have known better than to trust you."

"Right back at ya, kiddo."

"What does that mean?"

"Why don't you just throw me over your shoulder and burp me, 'cause you obviously think I was born yesterday." His gaze wandered over her from head to toe, then he leaned forward until his face was a mere foot away from hers. There was no mistaking the anger simmering in his dark blue eyes. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing with your sexy skirt and sexy shoes and sexy hair." His gaze settled for several seconds on her mouth. "And sexy red lips."

Jilly stared at him, outrage pumping through her veins. "Not that I owe you any explanations," she said in a low voice that throbbed with anger, "but you should know that just because the 'casting couch' is alive and well in advertising, doesn't mean that everyone lies down on it. I told you I don't play dirty and I meant it. Unfortunately for me, you obviously can't say the same. Just don't judge other people by your own lack of standards. When I'm on the job, I conduct myself in a professional manner, in both my dress and my conduct. Always." She stood, then looked down at him with a scathing glare. "If you think my skirt and shoes and hair and red lips are sexy, then that's your problem."

Picking up her laptop, she turned, and without a backward glance, walked swiftly from the dining room.

Matt stared after her, an uncomfortable feeling invading his chest. A feeling he didn't like one bit. A feeling that suggested he'd just made a big mistake. There was no doubt she was pissed off. Was her outrage genuine, or an act? It certainly seemed real, but if she planned to seduce Jack Witherspoon, she certainly wouldn't admit it. His suspicions lingered, but in all fairness he had to admit there was nothing blatantly sensual about her attire.

If you think my skirt and shoes and hair and red lips are sexy, then that's your problem.

Yeah, well, he did think they were sexy. Sexy as hell. And that definitely was a problem.

The question was, what did he intend to do about it?

Jilly steamed into room 312, annoyed at Matt Davidson, but even more annoyed at herself. After pushing the door closed with a hard hip-check, she kicked off her shoes, set her laptop on the dresser, then plopped onto her back on the freshly made bed, her stockinged feet hanging over the edge of the forest-green, grapevine-embroidered comforter.

What on earth was wrong with her? Never before had her mind veered off course like that during a presentation. And why -despite the fact that her mind knew Matt Davidson was insufferable-was her body not falling in line with the program? His insinuation that she was trying to charm Jack Witherspoon with more than her creative ideas was insulting and infuriating. But what made it even more infuriating was the fact that while ninety-nine percent of her was outraged at his innuendo, there was unfortunately that one percent-some errant feminine chromosome she was beginning to dislike intensely-that quickened at the notion that Matt thought anything about her was sexy.