being disgustingly obvious."
Standing abruptly, he walked to the window. "I've been trying not to think about that," he muttered over his shoulder. "Because that only makes things more complicated."
"Why? I should think that makes everything simpler. I like you and you like me," she said in confusion. She hadn't consciously thought of having a close relationship with Ben, but now that he had vetoed the idea, she knew that something inside her would have welcomed it. "I can't see the problem."
Walking back to the couch, he leaned down to pick up her left hand. "Now can you see the problem?"
She followed his gaze to the pale strip of flesh on her left hand. "Oh . . . that," she muttered disagreeably. "I thought we agreed not to talk about that?"
"We didn't agree to anything. You refused to discuss it or even think about it. But dammit, Sunny, that doesn't make it go away. And it doesn't change the fact that you are in all likelihood one very married lady."
"Don't say that!" she gasped. Jumping up, she brushed by him, wrapping her arms around her waist as her eyes darted around the room in nervous agitation. "You have no way of knowing that. People do wear rings other than wedding rings on that finger," she added hopefully.
"Yes, you're right," he conceded, his quiet voice soothing to her fragile nerves. "But there is always a chance that you are"—he paused when she glared at him—"that you have someone waiting for you. And as long as there is a chance, then we have to ignore what happened in the bedroom."
"Nothing happened," she said, her jaw set in stubborn lines. "So there's really no need for all this fuss."
"You know better than, that," he chided softly. "Like you said, it wasn't a unilateral thing."
"I didn't say that," she replied irritably. "I didn't say unilateral. In fact, I bet I never say unilateral. It's a pompous word. A bank-president word." He simply gazed at her, smiling without comment until she had to shake her head and laugh.
"Okay. You win. I still don't believe I'm married, but I agree it would be thoughtless to ignore the possibility. So if we're not going to have an affair, how do we handle the situation?" She curled a lock of her hair around her index finger, glancing at him from beneath her lashes. "It could get very sticky around here."
Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and she watched in fascination as his chest expanded beneath the blue shirt, subtly outlining taut muscles. Then, slowly and noisily, he exhaled and opened his eyes to stare at her in frustration.
"The first thing you've got to do is learn to curb your tongue," he said drily. "Since—as you so aptly put it—things could get sticky, don't make it worse by being provocative."
She batted her lashes at him. "Is that what I'm doing?"
"Don't give me that innocent look," he said, chuckling. "You know damn well what you're doing." Easing his large frame down onto the couch, he stared at her with solemn eyes. "Can we talk seriously now?"
She turned away from him and shrugged in casual unconcern. "Sure. Why not?"
"Sunny, I'm going to need your help if we're going to make this work," he said softly, his voice almost pleading.
What was she doing? Why was she trying to make things more difficult for him? "I'm sorry." She turned back and sat down beside him. "I'm a thankless wretch, aren't I? Why are you bothering with me? You should chuck me out on the street and say good riddance."
"Yes, I should." He laughed. "But since I rarely do what I should, I guess I'll keep you. Now, are you ready to discuss some rules?"
"Rules?" she asked, her brow wrinkling in bewilderment. "What kind of rules?"
"Oh, things like remaining clothed at all times. No, don't interrupt," he said as she opened her mouth to protest. "I don't mean when you bathe so don't you dare say anything."
"I wasn't going to say that. I probably would have if I'd thought of it, but it didn't occur to me," she added with an honest grin. "I was going to say I
Standing abruptly, he walked to the window. "I've been trying not to think about that," he muttered over his shoulder. "Because that only makes things more complicated."
"Why? I should think that makes everything simpler. I like you and you like me," she said in confusion. She hadn't consciously thought of having a close relationship with Ben, but now that he had vetoed the idea, she knew that something inside her would have welcomed it. "I can't see the problem."
Walking back to the couch, he leaned down to pick up her left hand. "Now can you see the problem?"
She followed his gaze to the pale strip of flesh on her left hand. "Oh . . . that," she muttered disagreeably. "I thought we agreed not to talk about that?"
"We didn't agree to anything. You refused to discuss it or even think about it. But dammit, Sunny, that doesn't make it go away. And it doesn't change the fact that you are in all likelihood one very married lady."
"Don't say that!" she gasped. Jumping up, she brushed by him, wrapping her arms around her waist as her eyes darted around the room in nervous agitation. "You have no way of knowing that. People do wear rings other than wedding rings on that finger," she added hopefully.
"Yes, you're right," he conceded, his quiet voice soothing to her fragile nerves. "But there is always a chance that you are"—he paused when she glared at him—"that you have someone waiting for you. And as long as there is a chance, then we have to ignore what happened in the bedroom."
"Nothing happened," she said, her jaw set in stubborn lines. "So there's really no need for all this fuss."
"You know better than, that," he chided softly. "Like you said, it wasn't a unilateral thing."
"I didn't say that," she replied irritably. "I didn't say unilateral. In fact, I bet I never say unilateral. It's a pompous word. A bank-president word." He simply gazed at her, smiling without comment until she had to shake her head and laugh.
"Okay. You win. I still don't believe I'm married, but I agree it would be thoughtless to ignore the possibility. So if we're not going to have an affair, how do we handle the situation?" She curled a lock of her hair around her index finger, glancing at him from beneath her lashes. "It could get very sticky around here."
Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and she watched in fascination as his chest expanded beneath the blue shirt, subtly outlining taut muscles. Then, slowly and noisily, he exhaled and opened his eyes to stare at her in frustration.
"The first thing you've got to do is learn to curb your tongue," he said drily. "Since—as you so aptly put it—things could get sticky, don't make it worse by being provocative."
She batted her lashes at him. "Is that what I'm doing?"
"Don't give me that innocent look," he said, chuckling. "You know damn well what you're doing." Easing his large frame down onto the couch, he stared at her with solemn eyes. "Can we talk seriously now?"
She turned away from him and shrugged in casual unconcern. "Sure. Why not?"
"Sunny, I'm going to need your help if we're going to make this work," he said softly, his voice almost pleading.
What was she doing? Why was she trying to make things more difficult for him? "I'm sorry." She turned back and sat down beside him. "I'm a thankless wretch, aren't I? Why are you bothering with me? You should chuck me out on the street and say good riddance."
"Yes, I should." He laughed. "But since I rarely do what I should, I guess I'll keep you. Now, are you ready to discuss some rules?"
"Rules?" she asked, her brow wrinkling in bewilderment. "What kind of rules?"
"Oh, things like remaining clothed at all times. No, don't interrupt," he said as she opened her mouth to protest. "I don't mean when you bathe so don't you dare say anything."
"I wasn't going to say that. I probably would have if I'd thought of it, but it didn't occur to me," she added with an honest grin. "I was going to say I
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