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He stands, still laughing, and reaches for his shorts on the end of my bed. “This deal is going to besoeasy.”

I can’t keep my eyes from traveling south, sliding with ease from his cut stomach to that sharp V of his hips. Lower. . . even lower. Yep. He’s certainly beautiful everywhere. I swallow, snapping my eyes to his, finally. “What are you talking about?”

“You. Me. This.” He pulls his shorts on and searches the floor for his shirt. “It’s going to be easy to get you to fall in love with me.”

I move Oliversohe’s on my pillow and then stand on the other side of my bed. “You’re pretty sure of yourself there, dude.”

He grins when he notices I’m wearing his shirt and steps around the end of the bed, making his way to me. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

I shrug, trying to do that whole, “I’m cute in your clothes” look but probably failing miserably. “Because I look better in it.”

He’s standing before me now, towering over me with the silly smirk he has when he knows what I’m saying is true. “I have to agree with you. Now kiss me goodbye. I need to shower.”

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I rise on my tippy toes to kiss him. “Wouldn’t you want to stay here with me all day?”

“I would, but I’m booked out a year. I wasn’t lying when I told Becca that, and I won’t cancel.” He kisses me, long, the kind of kiss you give someone just before leaving. A reminder of your presence long after you’re gone. “You could come with me.”

It’s tempting, it is, but sadly I can’t. “I have to work.”

“Paul would—”

“Nope,” I say, cutting him off. “I got that job myself, and I’m not about to playthatcard. The one that says I’m fucking the boss man’s son so I should be able to come and go as I please.”

“And that’s why I. . .” He pauses, his smirk turning into a full-fledged grin. “. . .likeyou.”

Yeah,sure, that’s what he was going to say.

Dropping my hands from his shoulders, I push him back. “Go. Before I tie you to my bed and hold you hostage as my own personal sex slave for the week.”

He laughs, capturing my wrists in his hands and drawing me back to his chest. “Now that sounds a hell of a lot better than shooting a wedding in Santa Monica.”

“It does, but you’re a man of your wordsokeep it.”

The look he gives me is something similar to appreciation, and adoration. He knows I wouldn’t ask him to give up anything for me, and more importantly, he wouldn’t go back on his word. “I’ll call you when I get there?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” I watch his back muscles as he twists around, heading for the door.

He pauses at my bedroom door. “One more thing. . . .” He turns, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

You tell me, but doesn’t he look, well, in love? It’s written all over his face and the intensity in his eyes when he stares at me. And then he surprises me and says, “No hot tubbing without me.”

I laugh. “Deal.”

I’ve never liked losing a bet. I once lost a game of poker and cried for an hour. Given, I lost a hundred bucksonthat game, but I don’t know anyone who likes losing. When it comes to falling in love—and my fragile heart—I’m even more terrified.

And this is Tathan Madsen we’re talking about. It’s not like falling in love with your average hot guy. He’s famous, attractive, and easy to like. I bet you liked him back when you first met him that morning in the office, didn’t you?

My point is, now that I’m alone, in my apartment and missing him. . . I don’t know how to process what’s happening or how to tell him I’ve lost our deal.

I need Casey. I need a “how to” guide from someone who knows what’s up.