Pillow Talk. Kathleen O'Reilly

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      For two years a lonely reality had honed his expectation. He wanted a wife. A family. White-picket fences and apple pie.

      Jessica Barnes—44713—was not potential wife material. Her potential was purely sensual, and he felt it oozing through every inch of her sun-kissed skin.

      “Why don’t you come out to dinner with me this evening?” said the spider to the fly. The words were out of his mouth before he thought.

      “Sorry. I’m tied up.”

      The fly had brains. “Pity. Tomorrow?”

      “Mr. Taylor, I don’t think it’s wise for us to consider anything more than a strictly business relationship.”

      He completely agreed with her logic. In fact, he’d thought of it himself. However, something about her legs made logic impossible. “Ms. Barnes, you work for one company, I work for another. There’s no legal, moral or ethical reason you couldn’t have dinner with me. Unless that’s your choice?”

      She didn’t even hesitate to skewer his ego. “Of course that’s my choice.” She turned to walk away from him, and he nearly dropped his glass. Her entire back was bare. Tan, smooth, with a long, long line that ran down from smooth shoulders and dipped low and lower still.

      He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and traced one wayward finger down the delectable curve. Hands-on usually wasn’t his style: he’d always believed it was only polite to wait until you’re invited to touch.

      But he’d never seen a back like that before.

      She froze.

      “Jessica.”

      She didn’t turn, just stood there, flaunting all that silky skin. His mouth grew dry and his mind kicked in with all sorts of images that involved skin and touching. Mouths. Tangled legs.

      “It’s only going to get worse,” he said, more to himself than to her.

      “What is?”

      “Seeing each other, every day, being polite and completely professional.”

      Then she spun around. Stared up at him, those soulless glasses giving nothing away. “I can handle it.”

      He almost argued with her, saying that he couldn’t. He, the consummate professional. The man who could finesse anything. But he didn’t. Now wasn’t the time.

      A smattering of applause started in the crowd. They both turned to look. Annie and Charles made their way to the main table. “Hope they’re one of the lucky fifty percent,” she murmured.

      “Actually, they only need to be one of the lucky seventy-five percent.”

      The sunglasses came off then, the brown eyes alight. “No, that’s not right. According to the census bureau it’s fifty percent.”

      She was always so passionate about being right, even when she was wrong. Adam had seen her operate in meetings, found himself stepping in when he shouldn’t. All to protect 44713.

      Jessica.

      What was it about her? He shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t going to analyze it, just go with it.

      But he hid his smile because he wasn’t stupid. “No, you can’t say that. I stand by my seventy-five. Seventy-five percent of the married people in this country have never been divorced.”

      She shook her head, brown hair flying. “You’re wrong, Taylor.”

      “Want to bet on that?”

      “What?”

      “You name the stakes. A cup of coffee…money.” He eyed her mouth. “A kiss.”

      She pursed her lips. Today she wore more lipstick than usual. Dark maroon, the color of heart, the color of sin. “No kisses, Taylor. One dollar.”

      What harm could come from a bet? He could almost hear his mother’s lecture about gambling, but he’d think about that later. “We can settle this tomorrow at the office, or if you want, we could leave right now and find the answer.”

      “I don’t trust you.”

      She was smart. People shouldn’t trust him. “Sorry you feel that way.”

      “You’re wearing the black hat, Taylor. That’s the way it is.”

      “So, no dinner for guys in black hats, huh?”

      “Nope.” She rocked back on her heels, looking rather proud of herself.

      He studied her for a long time, wondering about all that pent-up energy, and then finally he shook his head. “Now you’ve done it. You’re an insurmountable challenge, Barnes.”

      For three heartbeats, their gazes locked. He could see it in her eyes, the challenge, the excitement. She loved the game just as much as he did. Eventually she looked away. “Just don’t get any ideas about surmounting, if you get my drift.”

      “You get your mind out of those dark places you don’t want to go to, and I’ll get mine out of there as well.”

      She stared him down, the glasses tapping against her thigh. “You’re no threat to my peace of mind, only to my career ambitions.”

      He laughed softly. “I’ve had enough of this finger food. I’m going to go have dinner, Barnes. You’re welcome to join me.”

      She turned and walked away, a cocky swing in her hips. “In your dreams, Taylor,” she tossed over her shoulder.

      “There, too, Barnes. There, too.”

      2

      ON MONDAY, Jessica arrived at work at 7:00 a.m. sharp. She tried to stay busy, reading over the third-quarter forecast, marking the items that seemed questionable. Better analyzing numbers than staring at her computer and analyzing Saturday’s skin-tickling encounter with Adam.

      Mr. Taylor.

      The Ax-man.

      She needed to keep him in perspective, but he made perspective very difficult.

      Needing a distraction, she read all her e-mail, accepted Mickey’s lunch invitation, and just when she was done, one last message made it through.

      Jessica,

      Do you have the preliminary numbers for the third-quarter forecast? Could you drop it by my office?

      Adam

      She tapped her fingers on the keyboard. Office? Whose office? Last she’d heard, his team would be using the conference room at the corner of the building. She fired off her reply.

      Adam,

      Whose office?

      Jessica

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