She blinked out of her little alcohol-induced fantasy, a daydream that was not entirely her fault. The man really was too attractive for his own good—that natural bad boy swagger, the defined sinew of his forearms, and his voice, low and gravelly with a hint of humor, as showcased when he spoke next.

“Yeah, right. You wouldn’t last an hour in that place.” He raised one dark eyebrow and added, “What did you do, run up, touch the front door, then run giggling down the driveway?”

She gave him an exaggerated eye roll and hoped it was convincing. The scene he’d described was exactly what her friend Val had done. Lily hadn’t been as brave. A good fifty feet away from the house, her fair skin baking under the bright noonday sun, she’d shouted at Valerie to hurry up before they got caught.

Okay, so maybe she was the rigid good girl. But she’d tried to break the rules once—dating her ex had been against workplace policy—and she’d paid dearly. Following rules was smart. She was one of the best designers of retail spaces large and small. She had guts. She had moxie. She had…freckles. And she felt each one of those scattered dots vanish under her blush of embarrassment at Marcus’s insight.

Of course he noticed. He came closer, his pool cue in one hand. “I knew it.” He tapped her nose with his forefinger, his voice low and sensual. Parts of her leaned closer to him. The parts that shouldn’t.

She straightened purposefully. “I’ll bet you I could.” Her voice was smaller than she would’ve liked, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. Sort of. He grinned and her gaze trickled down to the dimple indenting his left cheek. She stared at it a beat too long, wondering idly how a man with whitened teeth and supple lips could still look rugged and manly.

“All night?” That close to her, his innuendo-loaded, two-word question sent her blood pumping extra fast through her veins and made her briefly entertain a mini-fantasy about what he would be like in bed. It’d been a while since she’d been in bed with anyone other than her vibrator, so what did she know? So, she imagined. Just for fun. Just for a second. She wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find he took his time exploring her body. Or if he laid his tongue on her skin and drew long, slow lines down her limbs just like he did when he set pencil to paper. She’d noticed that when he’d sketched the design for London’s retail store. The way Marcus almost… savored each and every line. The careful way he cradled the lead, the smooth motion of his hand sliding over the paper. The scraping sound as each line formed before her eyes… The way she imagined his stubble would scrape on her neck.

On her bare breasts…

“Your break,” he said.

She snapped her shoulders back.

“You didn’t answer me.”

It was a full five seconds before she recalled what they’d been talking about. Her imagination was snagged between the brambles of the fantasy of his mouth, and the idea that she could use that as fodder for her date with her vibrator. Dragging her eyes from his face, she chalked the end of her cue stick with way, way too much concentration. “Yes. All night.”

“You’re on.” He slid around behind her, his body heat enveloping her, his warm breath fanning her hair and causing her nape to tingle.

Turned on, maybe.

“Hundred bucks.”

She moved away from him, palming her throat to catch her breath. The scratch of his voice, his very presence, threw her majorly off-kilter. She had to regain her focus, get her feet under her again. With a new sense of purpose, she leaned over the racked balls.

Infusing her own voice with confidence, she said, “Come on, Marcus. We just made thousands of bucks from our bonuses on the London account. I think a bet like this one calls for higher stakes.” She cracked the cue ball into the center of the arranged balls. Lame. Her shot did little more than roll the colorful orbs a few inches from their original resting places.

Behind her again, he grasped her hips with wide, warm hands—she assumed to move her to the side. But before he did, he squeezed his fingers into her skirt, just enough to dance along the line of “inappropriate”. Only it didn’t feel inappropriate. She felt like backing her ass into his crotch. Pressing her head into his chest. Maybe rubbing against him a little… Right when she might have done just that, he moved to her left, robbing her of his heat and attention, and positioned himself over the cue ball.

A fine sheen of sweat lingered on her brow and she reached for her drink, unsure if the beer would help or hinder her at this point, and not caring either way.

“Fine.” He paused over the table and shot her a look laced with dark promises. “A thousand.”

She cleared her throat and adjusted her skirt as if she could wipe away the twin heated imprints of his hands on her body, or the look in his eyes that made her wonder for a split second if she might not regret sleeping with him. Even if it only lasted one night. Then she remembered her last workplace tragedy and decided that sex with a coworker was so the worst idea. He leaned over the table, and she appreciated the way his jeans outlined his perfect butt, and the way the snug cotton T-shirt molded over one muscular shoulder as he drew back the pool cue. She couldn’t help it. And she figured as a female it was her duty to notice a specimen this delicious. So long as she kept her clothes on when he was around, no harm, no foul.

Proving his body was for more than just admiring, his shot smacked into the balls and scattered them across the table with a satisfying crack! A solid sank into one corner and another dipped into the side pocket.

But of course.

“You have big ones.” A smile tilted his lips on his stubbled face.

“Excuse me?”

“Stripes,” he said. “They look bigger than the solids.”

“Oh.” She shook her head, pretending frustration, but mainly it was to get her brain back online. Note to self: Tequila makes you attracted to unworthy men.

They’d been discussing something before she’d lost time ogling him…oh, right. The bet. If not money, what? Then she landed on it, digging an idea out of the part of her brain not marinating in Jose Cuervo. “Hawaii.”

His aim slipped, sending the white ball into the corner pocket. He straightened, his smile vanishing as if dry-erased from his face. “I won that trip fair and square.”

“That’s debatable.”

Joanie and Clive had intended the trip as a second honeymoon, until Clive learned he’d be at a work-related conference during the first weekend in December. The Camerons put their trip on the line as a reward to the designer who could win the most accounts in two months. Lily and Marcus were neck and neck the entire contest…until Marcus had won by one account.

“You submitted your drawings to Alan the same day I did,” he said, petulant.

Alan. His cousin. Like she would have had a prayer of winning the bid to redesign the svelte coffee shop’s interior! True, a win was a win for Cameron Designs, and normally they were all on the same team. But her competitive nature had flamed hot during that contest. Losing to Marcus stung.

She wanted Hawaii. Hell, she wanted to win.

On my own. With no one’s help. Yeah, that. Emmett, her ex-boyfriend’s stupid face popped into her mind again. Why was she thinking of him so much lately? Maybe because this was the first time she’d really felt like her spark was back. Marcus had fed that flicker, and now she was alight.

She crossed her arms and refocused on her goal. How to get a do-over from Marcus? “What’s the matter?” she teased, baiting him. “Too scared to put Hawaii on the line?”

Her suggestion shouldn’t have worked. It was immature and childish… But his jaw ticked in challenge, and she found herself tamping down the smile dying to produce itself on her face. Simply say the word “scared” to the man and he’d break his neck trying to prove he wasn’t.