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Her smile spread slowly. "That's an excellent idea. I can always count on you for a viable solution."
His jaw dropped. "You're kidding."
"I'm perfectly serious." Delighted with both of them, she walked over and patted his cheek. "Okay, I'm celibate until my life is in order and my business is up and running. Thanks for thinking of it."
He circled her throat with his hand, but was more inclined to throttle himself. "I could seduce you in thirty seconds flat."
Now he was getting cocky. "If I let you," she said silkily. "But it's not going to happen until I'm ready."
"And I'm supposed to enter a monastery until you're ready?"
"Your life's your own. You can have anyone you want." She turned to wander
back toward the cakes, looked over her shoulder. "Except me."
But the idea didn't sit very well. Nibbling on the cake, she contemplated. "Unless, of course, you'd like to make it a kind of bet."
She was licking those crumbs off her bottom lip on purpose, he thought. He knew when a woman was trying to drive him crazy. "What kind of bet?"
"That I can abstain longer than you. That I can make an adult commitment to control my hormones and seriously pursue a career."
His face bland, he added hot coffee to his cup, then hers. Inside he was snickering. She hadn't a clue how long it would take to open the doors to this shop she was planning. It could be months. She would never last that long, he mused as he lifted his cup, watched her over the rim. He'd see to it.
"How much?"
"Your new car."
He choked on coffee. "My car? My Jag?"
"That's right. I have to sell my car and I don't know when I'll be able to replace it. You succumb first, I get the Jag. Clear title. You ship it to Italy."
"And if you succumb first?" When she gestured, dismissing the possibility, he grinned. "I get your art."
"My street scenes." Her heart actually fluttered at the thought. "All of them?"
"Every last one. Unless you're afraid to risk it."
She lifted her chin, held out a hand. "Done."
He closed his hand over hers, then brought it up, brushed his lips over her wrist, nibbled lightly to her palm.
"Nice try," she murmured, and shook free. "Now I've got business to tend to. I'm going to go sell my car."
"You're not going to take it to a dealer," he objected as she grabbed her bag and jacket. "They'll scalp you."
"Oh, no." She paused at the door, her smile sly and irresistible. "No, they won't."
Chapter Eight
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It amazed Margo how quickly she got into the spirit. She'd never realized how much fun, how simply exhilarating wheeling and dealing could be. The car started it all.
It hadn't shamed her a bit to use every ounce of charm, all of her sex appeal and generous dollops of femininity, not merely as bargaining chips, but as weapons, God-given and well honed. She was at war.
After choosing the car dealer, she had ambushed her quarry with flattery and smiles, fencing expertly with claims of her inexperience in business dealings, her trust in his judgment. She batted her eyes, looked helpless, and slowly, sweetly annihilated him.
And had squeezed lire out of him until he was gasping for breath.
