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She grabbed his wrist. “You didn’t know if I knew that you knew it was me. How do you explain that?”

“I thought—um. Well. I guess I didn’t know that you knowing I knew was part of it. Or me knowing that you knew that. About what I knew… or didn’t. And also you.” He made a sound of frustration before trying again. “I thought I was doing what you wanted?”

“So it’s my fault?”

“No! I assumed it was part of the game.”

“Is this a game to you?” she demanded.

“Never! Unless you want it to be. I just want you to stay.”

“Then why did you leave? You didn’t even say goodbye.” It felt like yanking out a chunk of her own hair, asking such a vulnerable question.

“I was afraid.”

“That your girlfriend would find out you were two-timing her?”

“I would never two-time you.”

“I’m not talking about me!”

“You mean… Eve?”

“No! I hadn’t even invented Eve yet.” Honestly. Did she need to bring in a whiteboard?

“Jean.”

“Is that my name?” she asked, waspishly.

“I think so, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Why are we arguing?”

“Because you tricked me. Several times over. And then kicked me to the curb like I was worthless.” It sounded like the beginning of a cowboy poem. “Why? Is there something you’d rather be doing right now? Am I messing up your plans?”

“I want to kiss you.” His thumb pressed against her bottom lip. “I’ve been dying to, ever since you got here. It’s all I can think about.”

Her heart banged against the inside of her rib cage like it was trying to stage a jail break. “Fine. If you insist.” Closing her eyes, she puckered her lips like a cartoon character.

Charlie trembled as their mouths met. Jean forced herself to lie there like a mannequin, stiff and unresponsive.

Undaunted, he pressed glancing kisses to one corner of her lips and then the other, while his knuckles brushed the underside of her chin.

“Jean,” he sighed against her mouth, all heat and relief and desperate longing.

“Maybe.”

The brattiness backfired when Charlie took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. A sound that was part groan and part laughter rumbled in his throat.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered, barely lifting his mouth from hers.

She kissed him again to keep from saying it back.

The next time her brain came online, Charlie was flinging back the sheet. Daylight poured across the bed, illuminating a compromising position: Jean’s shoulder blades flat against the mattress while Charlie braced on his elbows to keep his full weight from crushing her.

There was a sudden stillness as they hovered on the brink of this do-it-or-die moment. Jean read the question in Charlie’s eyes, right above his goopy smile.

“So how do you see this playing out?” She tried to sound serious and unaffected, even though her breathing was shallow.

He blinked several times, adjusting to the shift in tone. “I was hoping you would let me make love to you. If that was something you wanted.”

Jean narrowed her eyes. “And then?”

“We could cuddle?”

“What about after that?”

Charlie looked increasingly uncertain. “Snacks? Or we could play cards—”

“Wrong answer,” she grunted, shoving him aside.

“Wait. Don’t leave!” He reached for her, but she was already up and moving.

“Not so fun when the shoe’s on the other foot, is it?

I’m not even going to explain what you did wrong.

I’ll just take off. That’s your game, isn’t it?

Love ’em and leave ’em. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

” Because Charlie had made it abundantly clear he didn’t see a future with her.

A quickie in his childhood bedroom was all she was good for.

“But Jean,” Charlie said, all earnest confusion, “why did you tell them where I was if you didn’t want me to leave? I couldn’t stay after that.”

“I didn’t tell anyone, Charlie.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “You could do a lot worse than that to me and I’d still forgive you.”

“First of all, no one is settling for me like I’m damaged goods. ‘Oh well, she’s kind of an asshole, but I’ll make do.’ And second!” She fished her bra from beneath a pillow, shaking it at him for emphasis. “How could I tell someone where you were when I didn’t even know who you were?”

He looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry. I should have been honest.”

Jean waited for him to justify his behavior, but Charlie had come to a full stop. It was a real apology.

“You could have stuck around and asked me to my face,” she said. “At least given me that chance.”

“You’re right. And I’m so sorry about your job, Jean. I didn’t mean to mess up your life.”

She considered telling him the job was the least painful thing she’d lost that night but didn’t want to fold while she had the upper hand. “I’m a strong independent woman. I’ll figure it out.”

“But you could be a strong independent woman with friends.”

“I have friends.”

“Special friends?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He folded back the covers on her side, smoothing the flap like he was the one who worked at a hotel. “Maybe you could come back to bed? Just to talk.”

Jean snorted. “Like that’s going to happen.”

“The talking or—?”

“I’m not going to sleep with someone who thinks I’m a terrible person. Just because I haven’t got barrels of beer money doesn’t mean I have no standards.”

“I never thought you were terrible.”

“Save it.” Jean fastened her bra, then reached down for her dress, yanking it over her head. She paused with one arm through a sleeve. “You know what?”

He shook his head.

“I should have sex with you right now.” She yanked the dress off again, dropping it on the floor before reaching for the clasp of her bra.

“Oh.” His eyes were very wide. “That is—”

“And then I’ll walk out that door,” she said, over the sound of his sputtering, “never to be seen again. It would serve you right!”

He didn’t say anything for several long moments. “Would it serve you?”

Jean wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart. “How should I know? That’s why I’m freaking out.”

“It’s your choice.”

Even his niceness rubbed her the wrong way. “Why? Because you don’t care?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Storming back to the bed, Jean took a running leap onto the mattress. She was practically breathing fire. Charlie didn’t resist as she shoved him onto his back, or when she climbed over him, balancing on her hands and knees as she stared down into his eyes.

He should be petrified. Jean was in a dangerous mood. Nipple twisting was the least of what she could do to him. But Charlie just looked up at her, patient and hopeful, his gaze skating from her eyes to her lips. To her annoyance, he started to smile.

“Jean?”

“What?” she snapped.

“Is this the flying Pamchenko?”

“Don’t try to be cute.” Who was she kidding? It was too late for that. He was revoltingly adorable. Horribly and unfairly irresistible. What was wrong with her?

Striking like a cobra, she bit his bottom lip, immediately following it up with a hard kiss. Instead of whimpering in terror, Charlie opened his mouth and let her ravage him.

She changed the angle of her lips, worked her hands into his hair, sucked hard on his tongue. Again and again she kissed him, waiting for Charlie to beg for mercy. She was going to dominate him, and he would have no choice but to give in.

“Jean,” he sighed.

There! He was already murmuring her name like she owned him, body and soul.

It was all going—there was a plan—and Jean felt—so good .

She was letting go, giving in, her mind emptying as her body took the wheel.

When he gripped her waist with both hands, she started to lower herself onto him until a last tattered thread of awareness slapped her between the eyes.

“Oh no you don’t.” She scrambled away from him, landing on her ass.

His hand came up to touch the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Don’t cry, Jean.”

Of all the ridiculous accusations! She rolled to the edge of the bed and jumped to her feet, grabbing her dress with one hand and reaching for her shoes with the other.

“For your information, this is victory sweat, not tears. Because I win. And winners don’t cry.”

She swiped at her face, ignoring the slick of moisture. It was hard to execute a quality stomp barefoot, but Jean gave it her best shot, pausing only to point at Charlie in case he planned to follow. “Don’t even think about it.”