Dylan breaks into a laugh.

But Tim snaps to attention and hurries over to grab me by the arm.

“That’s enough,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Dylan stands up. “Tim, let her go,” he says in a lethal tone before he turns back to Mike. “This interview’s over, sir. Sorry to cut it short.”

But I’m not finished. “Do you seriously think he’s dumb as rocks just because he’s a professional athlete?” I say to Mike. “You’re the stupid one.”

“I think that would be you, sweetheart.” Mike gathers up his stuff and puts it safely away in his bag.

“What do you mean by that?” I say.

Dylan shakes his head at Mike. “You just made a big mistake. I might have let the things you said to me slide, but you don’t talk to her that way. Tell your editor to expect a call later.”

Shit. I messed this whole thing up. My stomach churns as I follow Dylan and Tim out of the room.

As soon as we get into the hallway, Tim spins on me. “That was really fucking stupid; you know that?” he shouts in my face.

“Tim!” Dylan steps in between us. “Get yourself under control. It’s not her fault the guy’s a prick!”

“It’s her fault that she cares,” Tim says. “Dylan, you’ve got trouble on your hands. You know you can’t have crazy things written about you because of a dumb chick.”

“I’ve got a this-close-to-being-fired agent on my hands is what I have,” Dylan snaps. “I mean it, Tim. Apologize to Jasalie now, and then go cool off.”

“I’m sorry, Jasalie,” Tim says, his flat expression telling me he doesn’t mean it at all.

I nod at him and look down.

Then he sighs. “The thing is you could be good for Dylan’s image. Real good. But if you don’t learn to keep your temper in check…”

“I apologize,” I say quickly. “I understand my behavior can negatively affect Dylan’s brand. I don’t want to jeopardize his charity or business.”

“You’re not, Jasalie,” Dylan says quickly. “Don’t blame yourself. Please.”

Tim looks between Dylan and me. “You know what? You two work together. In fact, I think a quick kiss could sweep what happened last night and today under the carpet…what do you say?”

“Absolutely not.” Dylan’s eyes are daggers as he directs his angry gaze at Tim. “Jasalie didn’t agree to a public kiss. For Christ’s sake, Tim, this isn’t some reality show.”

But Tim doesn’t appear to be listening. “I’ll call the media, let them know where you’ll be. It will be a public place, somewhere in the middle of Tucson. All you need to do is kiss each other quickly but on the lips. Okay? Jasalie, what do you say?”

“Um…” I tap my foot on the floor. “How far away will the cameramen be?”

“Too far away to speak to you at all,” Tim promises. “They won’t be allowed to approach you. You’ll step out of a car, kiss on the sidewalk, step back into the car, and drive off. It will help cement the idea that your behavior last night was you being protective of Dylan.”

“That was me being protective of Dylan!” I say. “I wasn’t acting.”

“People are stupid,” Tim says with a broad-based sweep of his arm as if including the entire world. “They need proof. A kiss…that’s the proof.”

I throw up my hands. “Sure. One kiss. Why not?”

Tim smiles. “I’ll set it up.”

“Jasalie, no.” Dylan shakes his head firmly. “This wasn’t part of our deal. You know that as well as I do.”

“Dylan, you know why I’m suggesting this.” Tim turns to leave. “And, Jasalie, no more outbursts in public.” He waves good-bye and walks off.

Once Tim’s gone, Dylan grips the short strands of his hair with both hands and turns his back to me. “Freaking Tim,” he mutters. I stare at his muscled back moving as he takes three deep breaths. When he turns around to face me again, his eyes are warm. “We’re not doing the kiss. I’m vetoing it. I’ll call Tim later.”

“But your charity…”

“Isn’t worth that,” he says firmly. “That’s taking it too far. I won’t change my mind on this.” He steps into my space and with his nose nearly touching mine, says hotly, “Jasalie, I promise you—if I kiss you, it will be because I want to, not because my damn agent thought he could get some good PR mileage out of it.”

I catch my breath and stare into his dark eyes.

“Okay.” I nod. “I understand. And you’re right. It’s a slippery slope once you start doing things like that.”

“It’s a free fall down to having no private life at all is what it is,” Dylan says. His tone is fierce, and his expression tells me there’s no room for argument.

“Agreed.”

He lowers his head to make direct eye contact with me. “And backing up to what happened in there”—he gestures to the room we just walked out of—“you don’t need to defend me you know.”

“I know,” I say awkwardly.

He takes my arm. “Let’s stop in my room for a minute so we can talk in private.”

We begin walking down the hall.

“Obviously you can take care of yourself,” I say quietly. “I just didn’t see you doing it.”

“I can’t take on every journalist who doesn’t get me, Jasalie. Do you know how many times a week I’d be in a fight?”

“I just don’t understand. Why would you do interviews with people who are so awful? How is that possibly worth it to you?”

Dylan sighs and puts his keycard into the slot. “I don’t know,” he says as he lets us into his room. “I guess I don’t really feel I have a lot of control over the whole thing. Tim usually just tells me where and when.”

“I think you should tell Tim he wouldn’t have so much money if it weren’t for you,” I say. “Plus, it’s what you do on the football field that matters, not what you say in a magazine interview.”

Dylan flops down on his back onto the bed. “Come here.” He pats the spot next to him.

I take a seat on the very edge of the bed and wave my arms. “That guy didn’t respect you, period. That’s not right. It doesn’t matter who you are. It’s not okay.”

“I like how animated you are right now.” Dylan’s eyes sparkle as he imitates my arm movements. “Very hot.”

I make a face at him. “Ha. Obviously you don’t agree with my point.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not that I don’t agree. I appreciate your point. And I have to admit I was really surprised when you stood up and said something in my defense like that. I didn’t know you cared so much.”

My face goes hot. “It’s no big deal.”

“I think it’s a big deal.” Dylan puts his hand on my thigh. “So, does this mean you like me a little bit maybe?”

He says it in a teasing tone, but his cheeks flush.

“Maybe a little,” I mumble.

His eyes light up.

“But don’t start getting a big head about it,” I warn him. “Because then I won’t like you anymore.”

“Okay. Got it.” Dylan puts his hands on my waist and pulls me further onto the bed until I’m practically lying on top of him.

His eyes hook mine. “You’re remarkable,” he says in nearly a whisper. “You blow me away, Jasalie.”

The heat of his body presses against mine, and I lean my head on his shoulder. His heart’s beating as fast as mine is, but I try to relax into the rhythm of his chest moving in and out as he breathes.

But when I feel his breathing get shallower and faster, my stomach clenches and my mouth goes dry.

Dylan reaches over and strokes my hair gently. Then his hand moves to my shoulder. He rubs it before moving to my arm. And then my hip.

Stop him. Stop him.

By the time he reaches my leg, I’m biting down on a gasp. I close my eyes and let him touch me.

His breathing gets louder as he brushes his fingers across my thigh and then over the front of my jeans.

His thumb runs down the inside of my leg and back up, and a stifled cry escapes my lips. I try so hard to muffle the sound, but it comes out anyway.

And Dylan hears it.

“Jasalie.” His voice is so low above my head I barely hear him.

His hand stills.

Shit. He’s waiting for me. To tell him what I want.

When I don’t move, he lifts his hand off my leg and rests it on his chest.

But I’ve stopped thinking straight.

The ache between my legs is so intense I’m trembling.

I grab his hand and return it to my leg, but this time, to the inside of my hip, right next to my jeans zipper.

Dylan sucks in a breath.

He shifts onto his side, making sure to keep me tucked in next to him.

Then he runs his hand over the waistband of my jeans.

When he slips his finger just inside, his callused pad touches the soft skin of my stomach, and I nearly come apart.

I clutch his shirt into a tight fist and bury my face in his shoulder. I feel like I’m going to explode.

His arm wrapped snugly around my back brings me even closer to him, and now he’s undoing the button of my jeans.

When he slowly releases the zipper, I bite—bite—his shirt. Hard. I may have even gotten a bit of skin.

I don’t know if he notices. God, I hope he didn’t notice.

“Sweetheart, you can bite me as hard as you want to.” His voice comes out choppy.

Oh, shit. Normally I would be embarrassed, but when his hand dips inside my open jeans and over my thin satin underwear, I stop hearing my brain altogether. All I feel is Dylan—his solid chest underneath my head, his manly scent enveloping me—and his fingers slowly making their way between my legs.

I’m drooling onto his shirt now as his fingers slide over my panties, the wetness underneath so slick he groans.

He presses one large finger where I need him most.

I feel like I’ve been on the verge of orgasm since I met him, and that’s probably why I’m writhing around like I’m going to die if I don’t come.

But I can’t let him inside me.

And it’s like he knows that. He stays outside my underwear, but he keeps touching me, and I buck my hips so hard I’m sure I’d be on the ground right now if he weren’t holding me tightly against him. His finger keeps up the relentless pressure on the painful throbbing between my legs—first he goes light, then harder, then light again. Just when I think he’s teasing me, he increases the pressure until my thighs tremble uncontrollably and I let out a loud cry.

But I can’t get my release. I just can’t fall over the edge.

I clutch at his shirt with my fists. I grind my teeth into the soft fabric, and I moan and kick my feet. But I’m…stuck.

“Let go, Jasalie.” Dylan’s rough voice in my ear cuts through all the bullshit. “Stop holding back. Come on, babe.”

I raise my head to look at him. His gaze is fevered, and his lips part when we lock eyes. He adds a second finger to the mix as he strokes me in a way that should be illegal, and he softly whispers those two words again, “Let go.”

I come so fast I cry out in surprise and forget to shut my eyes to him. Wave after wave pulses through my core, and just when I think I’m done, a second mini-orgasm hits me.

Dylan stares at me the entire time I explode, his eyes liquid with desire. When I finish, he leans forward like he’s going to kiss me. Like he’s going to meld his mouth to mine, and I know I’ll never be the same again.

But then his expression closes down, and he pulls back abruptly.

And I do, too.

We stare at each other, neither of us saying a word.

The loud, insistent ringing of Dylan’s room phone breaks the awkward silence between us.

I sit up and hurriedly refasten my jeans, and Dylan stands up and answers his phone.

The interruption has returned my brain to my head, and I stand up. Things are moving far too fast for me to maintain any semblance of control over my emotions.

And from the way he’s avoiding making eye contact with me, Dylan’s coming to the exact same realization.

“Um…” I call out awkwardly. “I guess I’ll see you later?”

He turns back to face me. “Tim, hold on a second.”

He covers the phone receiver with his hand. “Sorry, I have to take this. Are we good?”

“Of course.

A shadow crosses his face; if I’m not mistaken, it looks like regret.

Shit. I may be scared, but I don’t regret what just happened.

I wave at him and turn and leave.

Out the door, down the hall to the stairwell, and I don’t stop until I reach my room.

Bill tells me to walk around the room offering up drinks on a serving tray.

“Why?” I ask him. “How many times do I have to prove to you that I’m a terrible server? Plus, the bar’s right there!”

“Because I asked you to. Hal said he would appreciate some extra service tonight. So let’s give it to him.”

“Do we have to give the owner everything he wants?”

Bill glowers. “I’m not thrilled about the hand-holding, either,” he admits. “But we need this account. Elgin had me in a meeting this afternoon for nearly an hour—he says he wants this one more than he’s ever wanted anything.”

I exhale. “He really said that?”

“He really did. So go.” Bill shoos me away. “And hold the tray higher, Ms. Gordon!”

I lift the tray nearly to chin level and march forward.

“You’re Jasalie right?” I turn to see Dante Robinson.

I nod at him, wondering if he noticed his girlfriend talking to me. He comes closer and takes a drink off my tray.

“Cheers.” He holds his glass up to me and swallows about half of it in one swig.

When he takes it away from his mouth, he looks at me closely. His blue eyes are cloudier than I’d anticipated, almost like he’s on something. “You putting our boy on?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, you better not be hitting Dylan up for nothing. Seriously, that’s my boy over there. He’s a great person—he deserves the same.”

I glare back at him. “I’m a great girl—I deserve the best, too.”

“You can’t do better than Dylan Wild.” He takes a step closer to me. “So if you like him, what are you messing with his head for?”

“I’m not messing with his head. Don’t butt in where you don’t understand.”

I turn to leave.

“I think I do understand,” Dante persists, following along next to me as I walk away. “I think I understand perfectly. You planned for this to just be a weekend thing, a good time for a couple of days with a world-famous athlete.”

I don’t trust Dante, and I’m assuming he knows nothing about Dylan’s charity issue or our business deal, so I keep walking.

But Dante keeps following me all the way to the bar. “You just don’t get it, do you?” he says. “He really cares about you. I’ve never seen him like this. Are you like some ice queen or something that you just can’t be bothered with feelings?”

I turn to him, and I come this close to slapping him across the face. My fear stops me. “Excuse me, Mr. Robinson,” I say instead, and I disappear into the kitchen.

I put the tray of drinks on the nearest countertop and lean back against the wall. My breaths come in short gasps, and I clasp my shaking hands together.

Lilla walks in and sees me. “What’s happened, honey?”

I take a deep breath to try to slow my racing pulse. “Do you know Dante Robinson?”

“Ugh.” She makes a face. “That jerk. Why, did he just say something to you? Because he came after me earlier and told me to leave Marcus alone, says he wants nothing to do with me. He seems to be skipping the part where Marcus wants to have his cake and eat it, too, because every time I pass him he grabs my ass when his girlfriend isn’t looking.”

I pat her arm. “That’s pathetic. You can do so much better than that, Lilla.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “So, what’d Dante say to you?”

“He told me not to put Dylan on, not to mess with him. Called me an ice queen.”

“Who does he think he is?” Lilla asks. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Think I should sculpt myself and then squash it?”

“No, I think you should sculpt Dante and throw it out of your fifteenth story window. Hurt, don’t be hurt. Besides, this evening is basically over. I heard a bunch of the guys talking about late dinner plans. I’m getting out of here.”

I follow her out to the bar area. And before I can think too hard about what I’m doing, I turn left and keep walking toward the bar stools.

“You staying here for a while?” I touch Dylan lightly on the back.

He turns on his stool, his face expressionless. “If you are.”

I fist my hands at my sides. “I’m sorry we haven’t talked more tonight. I’ve been working like a dog.”

“I’ve noticed. I notice everything about you, Jasalie. But you have nothing to apologize for—” He sucks in a breath. “I do, though.”

“Dylan, let’s not rehash. We got carried away upstairs, and it’s not a big deal…”

His hand goes around my waist and he pulls me close. I let out a gasp, and his eyes come alive. Especially the gold flecks. His hand tightens on my hip, and his fingers brush over my bare back.

“It is a big deal,” he murmurs. “And I fucked up not letting you know that.”

My eyes half-close as I sway into him.

He pulls me closer until I’m standing in between his legs.

“Let me take you to dinner so we can have some privacy. I don’t know how much more of this bar stool my ass can take.”

I want to tell him his ass seems to be taking it quite well, but I restrain myself.

We run into Bill in the lobby. “You’re leaving already, Ms. Gordon?”

Before I can speak, Dylan jumps in. “I asked Jasalie if she would take me out and show me Tucson’s nightlife. I hope that’s okay.”

Bill bows—he freaking bows—in Dylan’s direction.

“Absolutely, Mr. Wild. Whatever we can do to be of service. Ms. Gordon, you are excused for the rest of the evening.”

Dylan nods at him, and we head toward the parking lot. Security is tight tonight, and I don’t see any cameras or annoying reporters hanging out on the premises.

“Thanks for the save,” I say to him as we start down the front steps. “Bill usually jabbers at me for twenty minutes about everything I’m doing wrong. But he wants your owner to give him the account so badly. Pretty much whatever your team wants, he vows to get.”

“I’m glad he’s sufficiently intimidated that I can prevent him from harassing you.”

A car drives through the hotel lot, and we stop to let it pass.

“He was practically incapable of speaking around you,” I say. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re famous, of course. Bill puts all celebrities on a pedestal.”

“Fame doesn’t seem to intimidate you in the least,” Dylan says. “I love that. It’s really rare.”

“You bastard!”

I jump as Dylan turns in the direction of the scream.

But I don’t even need to look. “That’s Lilla. I’d recognize that shriek anywhere.” I glance at Dylan. “Does Marcus’s girlfriend know about his on-the-road habit?”

Dylan furrows his brow. “I don’t really want to get in the middle of this one. Except that yes, his girlfriend is aware of Marcus’s…” He trails off. “And from what I’ve heard, Lilla knew about his girlfriend before she slept with him.”

“Do you guys get a new girl every time you go on a trip? The entrée and the side dish?”

“Jasalie.” His fingers circle my wrist so I can’t walk away. “I don’t date the way Marcus does, but he doesn’t lie to anybody—his girlfriend and he have an open relationship. Both ways.”

I let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t judge.” And I normally wouldn’t, if I weren’t feeling so vulnerable.

Lilla storms past us in tears.

“Lilla!” I reach out and take her arm. “Are you all right?”

“Marcus White is a bastard!” she shouts.

“I think the whole parking lot already heard that,” I say. “Come on, let’s go inside and talk about it.”

She glances at Dylan as if she just noticed he was there.