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"Sex has to be in the box."
She glared. "It's my damn box and I say sex isn't in it. Sex can be in your box."
"What if we have the same box?"
She almost choked on her wine. "We can never have the same box. We're complete opposites."
"Funny, I think we have a lot more in common than you think."
"Yeah? Name one."
"We both signed up with Kinnections for the same reason." He cut the sandwiches in half, looked up, and grinned. "Let's eat in the dining room."
Still reeling from his remark, she grabbed her wine and slid off the stool. "You want to seriously get married?" She trotted after him. "I don't believe you. You're a billionaire, used to parties on yachts and impromptu vacations. You live in the land of the beautiful and fantastical. Domestic boredom and routine would freak you out and you'd run for the hills."
"A complete illusion. You're basing these assumptions on the boy I was ten years ago. Do you think you're the same person from Cornell?"
"Well, no."
"Neither am I. I come from a strong family background. My parents have been married for thirty-four years. I have two sisters, tons of aunts, uncles, and cousins, and it was always a rotating door of people visiting. My grandmother lived with us. When I got home from school, she'd make coffee and I'd sit in the kitchen with her and talk. She told me about my parents when they were young. They grew up together as friends, turned enemies as teens, and married in their early twenties. I know marriage isn't easy because I see what they go through every day. I have no illusions. They run a successful empire so Dad has to travel. Mom gets lonely a lot. And my sister had a drug problem that almost tore us apart. But they love each other."
Riley followed him into the dining room, fascinated by his story. He placed the plates down, turned, and met her gaze head-on. "They're in it for the long haul, and by God, if that's not romance and passion, I don't know what it is. They have friendship, respect, and trust. But sex still needs to be in the box."
Her head whirled. She opened her mouth to say something, then got struck by the magnificence of the dining room. "Holy crap. You do live in the Beast's castle."
The formalized area held a solid marble table over ten feet long--enough to fit King Arthur and all his knights. The runner gleamed gold and silver and spread the entire length. High-backed cushioned chairs spread around the table, and a vase filled with exotic blooms was set in the center. The dark wood floors were bare and held a polished shine. The walls were a soft dove gray and displayed an array of tapestries. A French door lined with burgundy velvet drapes led onto some type of balcony area.
Once again, there was a fireplace. Two candelabras of bronzed gold rested on the mantel. The scent of damp logs drifted in the air, along with the sound of crackling wood.
"Umm, Dylan? How many fireplaces does this place have?"
He tilted his head in thought. "About ten."
"Riiiight." She picked up her plate and placed herself at the head of the table. Why not? She felt like she'd slipped into a fairy tale anyway. Might as well play the part of Belle. His words still echoed in her head, making her heart beat wildly. To imagine Dylan settled down with a wife and family filled her with a sweet longing she didn't understand. It couldn't be true. Maybe he thought he wanted to settle down, but if so, why hadn't he found his wife yet?
"How long have you been a client of Kinnections?" she asked.
He walked over to the fireplace and grabbed the candelabras. "Awhile."
Aha. Now she'd prove the truth of his inability to hold down a long relationship. "But you still haven't found who you're looking for? Doesn't that show you're not ready to settle down?"
Dylan opened the china cabinet drawer and slid out a book of matches. "No. It proves I haven't met her yet."
"But you still trust Kate to find her?"
He swiped the match and struck a flame. Then began lighting the candles. "Yes. I've met many incredible women and enjoyed the dates. All owned traits I want, but none had the spark I'm looking for."
She leaned forward, intrigued. "What spark?"
"The spark of connection. That unknown quality that screams in your gut when something's wrong and something's right. I can usually tell from the first date, so I don't waste their time."
Riley shook her head in amazement. "No. Way. Dating services hook you up by determining similar interests that fit. You're telling me the most important thing to you for picking your life mate is an unknown, mystical, magical spark?"
Dylan replaced the vase of flowers with the candles. He took the chair on the opposite end of the table and picked up his sandwich. "Correct."
Annoyance surged. He couldn't do that. It was a ridiculous way to decide on marrying somebody and made no sense. Of course, Dylan McCray never made sense. Why should she expect anything else?
But a strange longing curled in her belly and bloomed heat beyond. What was wrong with her? Yes, he was hot as Hades and oozed sex like a weapon. Yes, he was funny and witty and intelligent. But he would never fit in her box.
Ever.
"Why are you lighting candles like we're about to welcome more guests? A bit much, don't you think?"
"Let's just say we'll probably need it."
She sighed and dug into the turkey. The moistness of the meat on thick rye bread held the perfect texture and taste. He'd used just enough salt to create a nice bite. So good. Eating turkey sandwiches in such a formal room, with the fire crackling, snow falling, and flickering candlelight was kind of cool. Romantic, even. She bet the woman Dylan picked would have a life full of surprises, sharp turns, and excitement. Exactly what she didn't want.
Exactly.
As if he heard her thoughts, he spoke up. "Why do you think we're so different?"
Riley snorted and rolled her eyes for double effect. "Duh. Don't you remember Cornell? We drove each other nuts. I'm a planner. I'd be early to class, you were late. I did all my homework, you got people to do it for you."
"I object."
"Overruled. You partied. I studied. You messed up the dorm and made it disgusting. I cleaned it up. Opposites."
As usual, the air charged and energy surged between them. It reminded her of a hurricane wind: warm, seductive, but insanely brutal and strong.
"I think we're the same but approach our goals differently," Dylan said. "You're more of a take-charge, steam-ahead type. You use fact gathering, drive, and sheer will to race ahead of the pack and stay there. Contrary to your low opinion of me, I never inherited McCray Tech. My father told me straight out I wouldn't get a piece of the company just because I had his name. To do that, I needed to carry my weight. That's why I enrolled in Cornell. At graduation, I started from the bottom and worked my way up, which took many years. Only recently have I been officially put on as a legal partner."
Another assumption blown to crap. How was this possible? "But you never studied in college! You never cared about impressing teachers, or acing exams. Partying was your real major. I saw you!"
"Did you?" He dropped his voice. "Maybe you weren't looking too hard."
"I never had to look, Dylan. You made it obvious to the entire campus you weren't interested in academics."
"Yet I got the same GPA as you."
She clenched her wineglass and took another slug. The fact always pissed her off. "I never understood how you managed that."
"I intended to enjoy myself at Cornell, because I knew once I stepped into the business the real partying was over. But I was as serious about my grades as you. I just hid it better."
"How?" she demanded.
His lips twitched. "I don't need much sleep--never have. Four hours is my maximum, I'm just built that way. I studied at night. I also have a photographic memory, so remembering facts and figures is easy. Lucky, I know, but I used it to my advantage."
She wanted to challenge him but he told the truth. She could tell. He'd always been smart, but had she really thought he'd be able to pull off a 4.0 by doin
g nothing? From one executive to another, she grudgingly had to admit he built his success on his own. Would his father really let him inherit his company if he didn't trust Dylan to run it? Probably not. And she bet he deserved it by working his ass off.
Just like her.
Ah, crap. She'd been kind of a bitch. Riley placed her glass down and met his gaze. "I'm sorry, Dylan. I never knew. You hid it so well."
She waited for his sarcastic retort, but instead he dipped his head, as if bestowing his forgiveness. A stray white-blond strand fell over his brow. His lips curved in a smile. "Apology accepted. I did love my man whore, party animal reputation."
She smiled back. Warmth traveled from between her thighs, up her belly, and flushed her neck. Damn, the fire was getting hot. How was the man able to steal the oxygen in a room just by his sexiness?
They stared at one another for a few moments until finally, he bit into his pickle with straight white teeth. She imagined those teeth nibbling on parts of her body, so she had to down more wine.
