Another assumption blown to crap. How was this possible? “But you never studied in college! You never cared about impressing teachers, or acing exams. Partying was your real major. I saw you!”

“Did you?” He dropped his voice. “Maybe you weren’t looking too hard.”

“I never had to look, Dylan. You made it obvious to the entire campus you weren’t interested in academics.”

“Yet I got the same GPA as you.”

She clenched her wineglass and took another slug. The fact always pissed her off. “I never understood how you managed that.”

“I intended to enjoy myself at Cornell, because I knew once I stepped into the business the real partying was over. But I was as serious about my grades as you. I just hid it better.”

“How?” she demanded.

His lips twitched. “I don’t need much sleep—never have. Four hours is my maximum, I’m just built that way. I studied at night. I also have a photographic memory, so remembering facts and figures is easy. Lucky, I know, but I used it to my advantage.”

She wanted to challenge him but he told the truth. She could tell. He’d always been smart, but had she really thought he’d be able to pull off a 4.0 by doing nothing? From one executive to another, she grudgingly had to admit he built his success on his own. Would his father really let him inherit his company if he didn’t trust Dylan to run it? Probably not. And she bet he deserved it by working his ass off.

Just like her.

Ah, crap. She’d been kind of a bitch. Riley placed her glass down and met his gaze. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I never knew. You hid it so well.”

She waited for his sarcastic retort, but instead he dipped his head, as if bestowing his forgiveness. A stray white-blond strand fell over his brow. His lips curved in a smile. “Apology accepted. I did love my man whore, party animal reputation.”

She smiled back. Warmth traveled from between her thighs, up her belly, and flushed her neck. Damn, the fire was getting hot. How was the man able to steal the oxygen in a room just by his sexiness?

They stared at one another for a few moments until finally, he bit into his pickle with straight white teeth. She imagined those teeth nibbling on parts of her body, so she had to down more wine.

“Now that we solved that issue, what other things don’t we have in common?” he asked.

She shrugged. “We fight, of course. Fighting is definitely not in my box. I want my spouse to respect my opinions, be calm in all situations, and have patience to think things through a logical sequence before making a decision.” She was quite proud of her speech, so when he burst into laughter she wanted to climb over the table and hit him.

“Couples fight, Riley. Life would be pretty dull and boring if no one stood up for their opinions, or completely succumbed to their partner.”

“Oh, please. Have you ever been trapped at dinner with a couple who fights? They pick at everything the other does, and you’re so uncomfortable you want to die. Last time that happened I had to skip dessert, and I never skip dessert. I don’t want that type of tension in my marriage.”

“We’re talking about a different type of fighting. Take us, for example.”

“What about us? We fight all the time.”

He reached for his wine and swirled it around, as if contemplating the burgundy liquid gave him all the answers. “It’s different,” he said again. “You challenged me in school. Forced me to defend my beliefs. Made me reach deeper to really examine things, whether it be a business solution or an ethical issue or an opinion. You also pushed me to do better. I have respect for you. I enjoy the fighting, because there’s something going on beneath it. Make sense?”

Wow. The words brought a warm glow, but she shook her head. “I disagree. Can you imagine if we were together and had a difference of opinion on everything? That’s exhausting and detrimental to a healthy relationship.”

“After one of our fights, did you ever feel damaged by my words? Disrespected? Undermined?”

“No. Just majorly pissed off.”

He grinned. “Me, too. I’m just saying there’s different levels of fighting, and ours is more of a part of communicating. Sure, we each got in a jibe now and then, but I never wanted to hurt you.”

Riley went over the endless incidents, battles, and arguments that made up her years at Cornell. Funny, she never really thought of it like that. But when she stormed off, she was more aggravated he wouldn’t do what she wanted. He never took potshots, or bullied, or ever made her cry. Huh. Weird. In a way, it was almost like . . .

Foreplay.

Her eyes widened.

She couldn’t stop looking at those lips, wondering if they’d feel the same or she’d be in for a huge disappointment. After all, it was a decade ago, and she’d changed. So had he. Innocence and illusions were gone. The kiss had probably been blown up in her memory as something untouchable. Right?

“Do you believe me, Riley?” His voice caressed her name in a low, deep rumble. Her breath hitched, and suddenly she was burning up in her chair, desperate to touch him.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Those beastly erotic eyes burned across the table and held her captive. “You know a lot of fighting is well documented to be an indicator of repressed sexual attraction.”

Usually she’d treat him to a withering remark, or a derisive snort. Instead, her tongue remained glued to the roof of her mouth. She sat helplessly still in her chair, unable to move.

Because he was right.

There was some type of attraction between them. Maybe lust. He may not be suited to be her husband, or fit in her box, but Dylan McCray made her want. Bad things. Dirty things.

They were stuck together overnight, while a blizzard raged outside. She was a bit tipsy from the wine. They dined in a gorgeous room with a cozy fire. All the pieces slid together, and in that one blinding instant, she wanted to give herself this one night. If she offered, would he take her up on it? Was every step of banter up to now leading to this?

One night of reckless passion and abandonment. Her skin tingled from the thought. Did she dare? Her mind spun with the possibilities, caught on the precipice of impulse and reasoning, and then the final, irrevocable element locked in her decision.

The lights went out.

Something was happening.

The lights snuffed out and Dylan was left in the dark, sporting a mental fog and a massive erection. She completely entranced him with her quick-witted dialogue, more intoxicating than whiskey and more of a turn-on than a Sports Illustrated cover model.

The memory of her as a young girl was a faint shimmer of the woman she’d become. Magnificent. How many dates had he been on and been disappointed? Too many to count. Always needing more . . . wanting more . . . yet not able to figure out what the elusive element was.

Until now.

Riley was spit and vinegar, smart and sassy, and he wanted her. Under him. Over him. In his house, and his bed.

Tonight.

Dylan finally managed to speak. “Guess those candles were a good idea after all.”

Her husky laugh stroked his ears and other places. Shadows fell on the wall and played. Her silhouette from the fire and candlelight illuminated her in a fiery glow. The thoughts of what he wanted to do with her, to her, made his gut clench and his dick stretch uncomfortably against his jeans. Now he just had to convince her to play.

Dylan rose, taking one of the candelabras to the other end of the table. “Are you okay?”

She tilted her head. God, she was beautiful. The burgundy in her hair, the soft violet of her eyes, the redness of her lips. The deep V neck of her sweater tempted him to taste the tender flesh there, pull down her sweater to bare her breasts. Suck and bite her nipples until she grabbed his shoulders and cried out his name.