“How could they have possibly matched us? This proves their computer system is completely inaccurate. All that time I spent on my questionnaire is wasted. You have none of the qualities I listed. You probably signed up to get laid!”

His reputation in college preceded him, but it had been a decade of change. Somehow, knowing Riley still believed he was the same person bothered him. “I’m looking for my soul mate just like everyone else is. Using a well-known, statistically proven agency to help me find her is a smart business move. I don’t like to waste time.” He studied her face and the slight flush to her cheeks. “Why are you using them? Thought you’d have dating all figured out now. Shouldn’t you be settled with a husband making six figures, two kids, eco-friendly house, and a hypoallergenic dog?”

That got her. She treated him to a withering look, as if he was a bug beneath her feet, and they were off to the races.

God, it felt good.

“Your asinine theory is exactly what I would expect from a man who has Peter Pan syndrome and never looked beyond a double-D cup to amuse himself.”

“Darlin’, I never discriminate,” he drawled. “B’s and C’s are just fine.”

“I’m not your darlin’.” She mocked his fake drawl with a syrupy sarcasm he adored. The woman didn’t give him an inch. He loved it.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

She let out an aggravated breath. “I get it. Kate does the hard work trying to find you an actual intelligent woman to be your life partner, while you continue screwing around with your little playboy bunnies. Quite ingenious. You were always good at pawning off the labor to others.”

He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Are you still steaming over the A I received in Marketing 101? A B is perfectly acceptable, Riley. Get over it.”

She shimmered with rage, clenching her fists. Dylan bet she was barely holding back a stomp of her feet. “Everyone knows you got Tyler to do that for you! He had a bad case of hero worship and would’ve done anything you asked. You cheated, I know you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Besides, you were such a teacher’s pet and up their ass all the time, it’s no big secret why the class resented you. Wrecking the curves, volunteering for extra projects—who does that?”

“Not you, that’s for sure! But of course, I had to work for a living. You didn’t give a crap, because you were able to step into your father’s conglomerate with a starting salary of a million frikkin’ dollars because of your last name.”

Ouch. The hit hurt, but he didn’t blame her. That was the way it looked to everyone, and very few knew how hard he had to work for his father’s respect and to eventually get to a top level of decision making. He started at the bottom of McCray Technologies and took years to learn the business and build his reputation. “You’re wrong. I didn’t start making a million. Not until my six-week probation was over.”

The air caught and sparked between them, like a live wire plunged underwater. She literally trembled. With the need to hit him? Or something else? How much fun would it be to put all those delicious emotions to better use?

Like slamming her against the wall and fucking her so thoroughly she had nothing left to say.

There wasn’t a woman alive he couldn’t charm or finagle a favor from. Except Riley Fox. Four years in Cornell and she’d busted his balls every chance she got, as if his very presence on campus irritated her. He never realized how much fun it was to needle her until graduation came and she was out of his life.

He still thought about the kiss.

Dylan was surprised at how the memory would surface late at night, right before he slid into sleep.

It started as a joke. He’d gotten an A on his organization theory presentation along with a standing ovation. She got an A-minus and seemed ready to murder him, especially since he’d admitted he wrote his speech that morning. She began razzing him about his whore-like tendencies, which he denied. He, in turn, needled her about her control-freak ways in and out of the bedroom, which she denied. And suddenly, in that empty corner hallway, he got a crazy-ass impulse.

Steal a kiss and prove his point.

So he had. He pushed her against the wall and kissed her. And yeah, it had done the job all right. Besides shutting her up, the woman lit up like a ball of fire. His tongue sank into pure heaven, and when they finally pulled apart, they both realized something had changed. Even then, he remembered the raw desire, and the horrifying fear of wanting a woman who drove him apeshit. She seemed to echo his thoughts.

The solution?

They ignored it.

Over the years, he’d caught news of her epic rise in business, and the opening of her publishing firm. He’d seen the cover of Fortune magazine and felt sheer pride at her achievement. Many times, he even wondered about contacting her, before he shook off the urge and got back to his life.

But here she was a decade later. He was a different person, and she’d been delivered to him in a blizzard for one reason. This was no coincidence. The whole situation screamed kismet and all that other bullshit.

Because Dylan realized in that moment he wanted her.

She turned up her nose and looked down like a queen to her peasant. “I despise you.”

He waved his hand in the air in dismissal. “Don’t be silly, you’ve always been secretly attracted to me. You’re probably cranky because you’re hungry. Let’s go into the kitchen and eat. I have leftover turkey sandwiches.”

Riley glared, probably caught between hunger and her need to win the argument. After a few moments, she drained her glass and held it up. “Only if there’s more wine. If I’m going to get through an entire evening without hurting you, I need more alcohol.”

“I can manage that.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

She walked out of the living room and down the hallway like she owned the place.

Dylan grabbed the bottle of wine and followed, shaking his head.

This was going to be a hell of a night.

Riley stalked down the carpeted hallway that seemed longer than the Appalachian Trail, trying not to shudder at the huge portraits canvassing the walls. No way. She’d been to the Haunted Mansion at Disney and she refused to catch the eyes moving. She’d never sleep again.

He followed her, probably waiting to laugh when she walked into some gigantic closet or something, but Riley refused to give him the satisfaction by asking where the kitchen was. She’d eventually find it.

She came into a huge foyer, with a curving staircase and stained-glass windows. How did one person possibly live here? Four arched openings were available. She did the eeny meeny miney mo again, knowing she screwed up the first time, and chose the second doorway.

Nope. The library. Wow, the floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases and burgundy Oriental rugs seemed familiar. Hmm, where had she seen something like this before? The room had massive arched windows, and there were leather recliners with afghans draped over the arms and drink tables spaced throughout. And . . . there was another fireplace. Wow.

Dylan’s dry voice echoed behind. “We can eat tomorrow if you want to go through all the rooms. Or you can give up and just ask me where the kitchen is.”

She hated it, but was afraid she’d never find it on her own. And damn, she was hungry. Riley pursed her lips like she sucked on a lemon. “Fine. Where’s the kitchen?”

He treated her to his famous badass grin that always made her stomach do the weird flip-flop thing. “Follow me.”

Back to the foyer, and toward the left. She’d never play eeney meeney miney moe again. She sucked.

“Are you some kind of perverted hermit who wants to hole up in this dusty old place and guard his fortune? Because this is a little weird, dude. Are there servants?”