"That candy is mine, Marshmallow-boy."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're really bossy?"

"No one who lived to tell the tale."

"Well, since you shared the last piece of chocolate with me, I'm willing to share my last condom with you. Whaddaya say?"

She pulled his mouth to hers. "I say sharing is good."


* * *

Sitting in the comfortable booth where they'd just finished a delicious lunch of seafood pasta, Matt watched Jilly walk toward the sign marked "rest rooms." The instant she disappeared from view, he dragged his hands down his face.

Man, what the hell was wrong with him? Here he was, enjoying the company of a beautiful, intelligent, witty woman who turned him onto the point of forgetting how to speak English and who'd made it plain that another round of heart-stopping sex was in his immediate future. He should be as happy as a pig wallowing in mud. So why wasn't he?

The problem, you doofus, is that you're having too much fun, his inner voice informed him.

He huffed out another breath. Damn, it was true. He'd expected to enjoy her in bed, but he hadn't anticipated enjoying her just as much out of bed. Over lunch they'd discovered a mutual love of Bond flicks, mystery novels, jazz, the zoo, the Metropolitan Museum of Art's latest exhibit, and spicy Thai food. They'd held hands across the table and laughed over high school and college memories. Traded work war stories. Shared favorite Christmas memories.

He wasn't sure how it had happened, but somewhere between the pasta and his second cup of coffee, this weekend with her had entered a very scary place-a danger zone marked by huge, red neon signs that alternately flashed Be Careful, Proceed At Your Own Risk, and Warning: Heartbreak Ahead.

Good God, he really was a doofus. Any other guy would think he'd hit the lottery with this sweet deal he had going-a weekend of mindless, no-strings-attached sex with a woman who could melt bricks. But was he happy? Noooo. Well, yes, he was-but not as happy as he should be. Because, unfortunately, Jilly had engaged a hell of a lot more than his body. And he needed to nip that in the bud. Needed some time away from her to put things back in perspective, because any perspective he'd possessed had gotten shot to hell making love to her, and as he'd realized over lunch, that same perspective got shot to hell just talking with her. Yeah. Some time away from her was needed. Just a quick breather. An hour or so would do it.

After pulling out his cell phone, he punched in the number for Chateau Fontaine. One minute later, the proud owner of two spa reservations, he disconnected and blew out a long sigh of relief, assured that he was once again in control.

Seconds later, Jilly reappeared. When she slid into the booth across from him, he said, "I have a confession to make."

Mischief sparkled in her eyes. "Hmmm. Will this one be as good as dropping your old boss's fancy fishing pole overboard when he brought you out on his boat?"

He shot her a mock glare. "I knew I shouldn't have shared that moment. So I'm not a fisherman. Besides, the pole was slippery, and the water was rough."

"Of course it was," she said, patting his hand, and unsuccessfully hiding her grin. "So what's the big confession?"

"While you were freshening up, I called the resort and arranged for spa time for each of us. At four o'clock I'm scheduled for a massage, and you're in for a deluxe facial."

One brow hiked up. "Facial? You trying to tell me something? Like maybe I'm looking haggard?"

"No way. A guy would have to be insane to tell a woman who's a black belt that she looks haggard. I just thought you might like it."

Something that resembled annoyance flashed in her eyes. She drew a long breath, then said in a cool tone, "Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of scheduling my own facial, if I decide I want one."

Matt instantly recalled last night's dinner conversation and he mentally slapped his forehead. Jilly would resent any behavior she'd perceive as taking care of her and any man attempting to exert that control. He clasped her hand. She tried to pull away, but he sandwiched her hand between his palms. "I guess I overstepped my bounds by arranging the facial for you, but I meant no offense. I only meant to be polite. I wanted a massage and thought it would be rude to schedule something for myself and leave you out-sort of like opening a box of chocolates and not sharing. Believe it or not, I do have some manners." He offered what he hoped was a peacemaking smile. "We can cancel if you'd like, or if you'd rather have a massage, we can change the reservation." He leaned forward. "But I thought I'd give you a massage. Later."

The annoyance drained from her gaze. "So, you weren't being bossy and controlling, you were being nice?"

"I'm sure you don't mean to sound so shocked. But yeah, nice was my intention."

"I see. And I'd be getting a facial and a massage."

"That's right."

She leaned forward, and the smoky look in her eyes tightened his groin. "In that case, I'll have the facial. Especially since I probably do look a bit haggard-which, I must point out, is entirely your fault. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Sweetheart, there is nothing the least bit haggard about you, and you're not going to get much sleep tonight, either."

Their gazes locked, and Matt swore that something passed between them. A warmth, an intimate understanding, that went far beyond the reaches of a casual-sex relationship.

He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her soft palm. "Would you get all mad at me if I offered to pay for lunch?"

"Mad? No. Would I let you? No."

"I like to pay for my dates."

"I'm not your date. I'm your… co-worker. Besides, we're here this weekend on business. This lunch should be charged to our Maxximum corporate account."

I'm not your date. I'm your… co-worker. She was right, of course. Still, an unpleasant sensation hit him at those words. Because, just like dinner last night, this felt very much like a date. And she was more than just his co-worker-she was, for the remainder of the weekend, his lover. His inner voice tried to chime in with a reminder that taking Jilly as his lover had been a baaaaaaad idea, but as it was too late now, he shoved the irritating voice aside.

"Okay, we'll charge lunch to Maxximum," he agreed. "Ready to do our shopping?"

"Lead on, Marshmallow-condom boy."

"Hey, that's Marshmallow-condom man to you."

"You sure you want to argue with a black belt?"

His gaze drifted down to her luscious lips. "Yup. Among other things."


* * *

Jilly sat in the soft, leather passenger seat of Matt's Lexus, and flipped through the guide to Long Island's wine country. She'd picked up the pamphlet on the way out of the candy shop where she and Matt had each purchased huge boxes of chocolate-covered marshmallows.

"Can't wait to play connect-the-dots with mine," he'd said with a grin that whooshed heat through her.

While Matt drove along Route 25-slowly, due to a heavy volume of cars along the one lane road-Jilly said, "According to this brochure, there are nearly thirty wineries out here." She looked up at him, noting his handsome profile as he watched the road. "That's just amazing. How is it possible that I've lived in New York my entire life and never visited the North Fork?"

"Same for me. The only time I've ever been to this part of Long Island was one summer when my family drove out to Mattituck-I think I was about ten or eleven. One of my dad's bosses had a summer cottage near the beach. I remember we caught clams and steamed them for dinner."

"So I guess you're better at catching clams than you are at catching fish," she teased.

He laughed. "Yeah. Clams don't swim as fast-and you don't need a slippery pole to catch them." He braked for a red light, then looked over at her and smiled. "Would you like to stop at one of the wineries on our way back?"

A perfectly normal smile, and a perfectly simple question. So why did they set her heart to racing? Because it's Matt's smile. And it's Matt asking the question, her inner voice sneered.

She ruthlessly pushed the voice aside. Fine. So Matt made her heart go pitty-pat. Next week, she and Kate would find another handsome, intelligent, amusing, sexy man who would affect her in the same way. No problem.

Smiling back, she said, "I'd love to stop at one of the wineries." She forced her gaze back to her brochure. After quickly scanning their choices, she suggested, "How about Galini Vineyards? According to the guide, it's only about a mile up the road. They offer a good selection of wines, and they bottle two different sparkling wines as well. I wouldn't mind picking up a few bottles for myself, and maybe some as Christmas gifts."

"Sounds like a good idea."

They continued the short distance along Route 25. Older houses, set close to the road, their lawns covered with pristine snow, bespoke of Victorian charm with their turrets, porches, and twinkling holiday decorations. A few minutes later, Matt pulled into the gravel driveway marked by a rustic wooden sign entwined with grape leaves proclaiming Galini Vineyards.

"Quaint-looking place," Jilly remarked, peering out the windshield. "It looks more like a farmhouse than a winery."

"You know what they say about looks being deceiving," Matt murmured. "C'mon. Let's check it out."

Hand in hand, they crossed the parking lot, then stomped the snow from their boots, laughing as they tried to see who could stomp the loudest. When they opened the door, bells tingled overhead, and they looked up.

"Hey," Matt said, pointing above the door as he closed it. "That's mistletoe." He waggled his brows. "You know what that means."

Jilly heaved out a put-upon sigh. "I suppose it means I have to kiss you."

"It certainly does."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a very high-maintenance guy?"

"No one who lived to tell the tale."

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he drew her close, and covered her lips in a warm, friendly, delicious, teasing kiss that kindled a desire for more.

"Ah! I see my mistletoe is working," came a cheerful, Italian-accented voice from behind them.

Arms still around each other, they turned in unison. A robust man whom Jilly judged to be in his mid-fifties smiled at them from an archway leading into another room. He wore faded denim overalls over a cambric shirt, and tan work boots. Gray marked his thick, ebony hair, and his amusement-filled dark eyes regarded them over the rim of a pair of wire-framed reading glasses, which rode the end of his nose.

"Working very well," Matt said with a grin, dropping a quick kiss onto her forehead.

"Every Christmas I hang mistletoe above the door chimes," the man said, walking toward them, wiping his hands on a rag, "and every year I catch dozens of couples kissing. It does my heart good."

Tucking the rag into his pocket, he extended his hand. "Welcome to Galini Vineyards. My name's Joe."

Matt shook the man's hand, then Jilly did the same, noting Joe's firm handshake and work-roughened, callused hands.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"We understand you have several varieties of sparkling wine?" Jilly said.

"Some very fine varieties," Joe said. He indicated a long, highly polished bar along the left wall. "Would you care for a tasting?"

Jilly smiled. "That would be great."

Joe crossed the room, and Matt and Jilly followed. While Joe readied tulip-shaped glasses and removed bottles from the refrigerator, Jilly looked around the large room.

The rustic theme carried through to the inside of the building. Wood plank floors, paneled walls, and a high, beamed ceiling were made to feel warm and cozy by the stone fireplace nestled in the corner where a fire cheerfully crackled. Attractively framed photographs of the vineyard during various seasons and stages of harvesting lined the walls.

An eye-catching display of wines and handmade ceramic pieces decorated a long table beyond the bar where they now stood. Looking out the huge picture window that took up the entire back wall, Jilly noted that the scenery was identical to that at Chateau Fontaine-row upon row of bare, snow-covered vines, held in place by thick wooden stakes and horizontal cables.

"Incredible to believe that so much of this land where the wineries now are, used to be potato farms," Jilly remarked.

Matt's brows raised. "Potato farms? I didn't know that."