“So, the film festival is in town from Wednesday through Sunday of the last week in March. What night were you thinking of having the party?” Rhiannon was clicking away at her laptop, barely even bothering to look at him across the small booth where they were seated.

Part of him wanted to be offended—again, he wasn’t used to being ignored by women—but she looked so serious that it was hard to get upset. Besides, he should be grateful that someone was taking this party so seriously—God knew, he had a hard time taking anything seriously, let alone activities meant, by definition, to be fun.

“Probably Thursday night. Friday and Saturday nights are booked with premieres and industry parties.” He grabbed a chip, popped it into his mouth. “What do you want to drink? They make killer margaritas here.”

“It’s one o’clock in the afternoon.”

“One-fifteen.”

“Either way.” Her voice was drier than the martinis his mother used to make—and gulp down by the half dozen. “I try not to drink during business hours.”

“Right. I can see that about you.”

That got her attention—she looked up from her computer, eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled into a deep frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just that you seem like a really responsible person.” He barely succeeded in hiding his grin as Rhiannon’s teeth snapped together with an all but audible click.

“Well, we can’t all have the intellectual and emotional make-up of a thirteen year old boy. More’s the pity.”

“Touché.” This time he didn’t even bother to try and hide his smile. He couldn’t. Spending the afternoon with Rhiannon—and her sarcastic wit—was turning out to be the best part of his day. Maybe even his whole week.

“So. The party. Thursday night for a hundred people—do you want a late supper, after the screenings?”

“That’s what I was planning on. But you don’t sound all that enthusiastic.”

“No, that kind of party would be lovely—“

“But?”

“But I think that it’ll blend into the hundreds or thousands of other parties that your VIP guests have been to. No matter how well we do it, it’ll probably just be a generic, watered down version of a party they’ve already been to.”

“Geez, don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel about my ideas.”

“I wasn’t trying to be insulting. But if you want the party to rock—“

“I do.”

“Then you’re going to have to step outside your comfort zone. Or into it, as the case may be.”

“What does that mean?” He did his best to pull his attention away from her mouth and concentrate on the words she was saying. It wasn’t easy, especially since she kept licking her bottom lip every few seconds. “All I know is my agent says we need to make this a home run. He’s flying in for it, says he’s sure he can get some of the other people involved with the film to do the same.”

Before she could answer, the waitress came to take her order. Shawn deliberately smirked as Rhiannon ordered a flavored iced tea, trying to provoke her, but she just ignored him. Which, of course, made him more determined than ever to get her attention.

Part of him felt like he was back in elementary school, pulling the pigtails of Mary Louise Elkins, the girl who had sat in front of him every year from kindergarten through fifth grade. It had driven her nuts, but he hadn’t been able to help it—negative attention from her had been way better than no attention at all.

He paused at the realization, a chip halfway to his mouth. Maybe Rhiannon was right about his emotional development being slightly arrested.

“So what’s your favorite kind of party?”

“I told you the other night—beer, chips, football. It’s all good.”

“Well if that’s really the case, why are we throwing such a fancy party? Why don’t we throw one you might actually enjoy?”

He laughed. “It’s March—no football.”

“That’s not what I meant. What if you throw a really relaxed party—jeans, casual food, games. It would be totally different than they’re used to, and it could be a lot of fun.”

“What, you mean like a barbecue?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t gotten that far yet. But a barbecue could work.” She ducked behind her computer, started typing in earnest.

“I know it’s a sin to live in the south and say this, but I’m not a big fan of charred meat and potato salad. The whole barbecue culture gene kind of passed me by.”

“You know, barbecue doesn’t have to mean beans and brisket next to an open fire. A good steak could be classified as barbecue.”

He shook his head. “No, it couldn’t.”

“All right then. I get it. No barbecue.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “So are you opposed to the idea of a casual party altogether, or just one that involves `charred meat and potato salad?’”

He started to shoot her idea down in its entirety—though it pained him to do so. In his experience, women weren’t at their most friendly after a man had told them he thought their plans were less than impressive. And there was little he wanted more than to have Rhiannon in a friendly mood.

But her idea was so far from what he’d been thinking—and from what Anthony expected—that he didn’t feel like he had a choice. Still, when he opened his mouth to tell her so, something changed his mind.
Maybe it was the way she looked at him, as if she expected him to shoot her down. Maybe it was because her idea appealed to him—he hadn’t been looking forward to getting dressed up in his one and only tuxedo and listening to elevator music all night. Or maybe it was because he was impressed as hell that she had figured him out well enough to know how much he would dislike that kind of party. He would do it if he had to, but her alternative sounded much more pleasant.

“Come up with a really great idea, one that’s fun and casual and impressive all at the same time and we’ll try your route.”

“Fun, casual and impressive all at the same time, hmm? You don’t ask for much.”

“Oh, Rhiannon.” He shook his head, shot her a wicked grin. “I’ve barely gotten started on the list of demands I have for you.”

# # #

She nearly choked on her iced tea. As it was, the sweet liquid went down the wrong pipe, burning her from the back of her throat all the way to her lungs. Her eyes watered and her chest ached, but she did everything she could not to cough—it so wouldn’t do to let Shawn know how blatantly he affected her. He was already cocky and charming and full of mischief—the last thing she wanted to do was encourage him.

Liar, a little voice inside of her said. There was a small part of her that wanted to do exactly that, that wanted to say to hell with logic and responsibility and fear. God knew, he’d been flirting with her since she’d sat down. Would it be so terrible if she responded in kind, if she showed a little interest?

Just the thought robbed Rhiannon of her recently recovered breath, had her heart beating in a stressed-out syncopation. Who was she kidding? She could barely drive through an unfamiliar neighborhood without a panic attack—how did she think she was going to be able to manage flirting with a gorgeous, younger man? It was absurd to even contemplate.

And if her baggage wasn’t bad enough, even she was smart enough to know that trying to step out of her self-imposed cocoon with one of the biggest accounts Parties by L.K. had seen all year was just asking for trouble. When it went bad, when she made a total and complete fool of herself because she couldn’t handle the pressure—and there was little doubt in her mind that she would freak out eventually—how humiliating would it be to still have to see him? To still have to work with him and pretend that she was anything but the basket case she was?

She drew a couple discreet breaths in through her nose, hoping Shawn wouldn’t notice her distress—or the pain that was ripping through her upper torso. He didn’t say a word as she struggled, and she began to hope he hadn’t noticed how he affected her. But when she finally made it on the road to recovery, it was to find Shawn watching her with amusement. “You okay there?”

So much for discretion. Was it too much for her to ask to sink through the floor before she died of total and complete humiliation?

“Fine, thanks.” Her eyes were still watering and her voice was hoarse, but at least she’d gotten the word out.

“Good. I’d really hate for something to happen to you before the big night.” He winked and as she stared into his wicked blue eyes, she suddenly wasn’t at all sure he was still talking about the party.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I never meant to imply that you couldn’t.”

“Shawn.” Determined to get them back on track, she took a deep breath and contemplated the best way to steer the conversation back towards the party.

“Rhiannon.”

He was looking at her like he was a starving man and she was the first, non-barbecue main course he’d seen in a long time. It flustered her, flattered her. “Have you thought about what venue you want to use? Austin has a number of great places—“

“I want to use my house. It’s big enough.”

“For a hundred people to mingle comfortably?” Where did the man live? The only houses in Austin big enough for that were on the Lake and surely his graphic novels didn’t pay enough to make that a reality—

“I’ve got two acres on Lake Travis. I bought it a couple years ago as an investment, but it’s a perfect place to entertain. The house is huge and there’s a gigantic yard that overlooks the lake.”

Two acres? On Lake Travis? Obviously the graphic novel business paid even better than she had imagined it would—even before the film rights. She thought of her own one fifteen hundred square foot condo, of how she’d struggled to pay for it after the divorce a couple of years before. Amazing to think that a man who was so much younger than she was had already achieved so much. Amazing and disheartening. But then, starting over at close to thirty-seven often was.

Richard had offered to help her, but by the time the divorce was finalized, she’d wanted nothing from him. Nothing from any man. It still amazed her that he could just walk away from their decade and a half marriage, like everything they’d build together—everything they’d meant to each other—had never existed. Sometimes when she was laying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and praying for the insomnia to go away, she wondered if he’d left—if he hadn’t been able to deal—because she’d gotten too good at playing the victim. But with family and friends crowding in from every side, it had been hard to be anything else.

Harder still to find herself again, when she’d wanted nothing more than to crawl into her shell and hide as the world passed her by. Now, three years later, she couldn’t help wondering if she was still there. If she’d grown so used to the shell—if it had become so comfortable—that she’d settled for its cold comfort in lieu of a real life.

A real emotional response.

A real relationship.

As the questions echoed in her head, Rhiannon fought the urge to run. Being around Shawn was a bad idea, working with him an even worse one. She didn’t know why, but something about him brought it all back. Made her feel like an uncertain schoolgirl who couldn’t figure out what move to make next. It was a terrible feeling, especially since she’d worked so hard to find her footing.

“So, do you want to see it?”

Shawn’s words interrupted her self-castigation and she looked at him blankly as the words sunk in.

“See it?”

“My house? Maybe it could help you get a feel for the best way to do this party.”

“I thought you didn’t have time to run back home today? If you want to take me back to your house, why did we bother meeting here to begin with?”

His smile was young and brash and cheeky. “So I could buy you lunch.” He reached over, nicked the check the waitress had propped against the condiment holder in the middle of the table.

“You don’t have to do that. You’re the client.” She held her hand out for the bill. “It’s my responsibility to—“

“Do you always play by the rules?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, that for long years she’d barely paid attention to the fact that there were rules. She thought for a minute—of the life she used to have, of the woman she used to be, Then said, “Yes. It’s safer that way.”

“Safer.” His eyes sparked.

“Better,” she amended hastily. “It’s better that way.” She tugged self-consciously at the long sleeve of her shirt.

He threw a couple of twenties down on the table, then stood. Held out a hand to her. “Come on, let’s go to my place. I’ll show you my gazebo.”

“Is that an updated version of the old etchings line?” she asked as they walked towards the front door.

The look he shot her was brimming with mischief. “You caught me.”

“Yes, well, I’m throwing you back. I’ve got another appointment in less than an hour, so I can’t run all the way out to the lake right now.”

“Another appointment? Are you cheating on my already?”

“Yes, with a tall, blonde, lawyer with a corporate expense account.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. There was no use encouraging him and his flirtatious behavior. Not when it couldn’t go anywhere.

“Beaten out by a lawyer? I’m not sure how’s I’ll survive that indignity.”

“I’m sure you’ll muddle through somehow.”

“Can I see you again?”

Her heart skipped a beat, then crashed against her ribs. She ignored it—and the panic racing through her. “Of course you’ll see me again. We’re working on this party together, aren’t we?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He took a step closer, until his body was only a few inches from hers. She didn’t move away.

“I know.” What was she doing, she wondered breathlessly? What the hell was she doing?

“Come to my house on Friday. I’ll show you around, take you down to the lake.”

“I have appointments all day—and a party at night.”

“Saturday, then.” His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, a deep sapphire blue that seemed to see into the very heart of her. But that was impossible. No one had gotten inside of her for longer than she could remember. It was absurd to think that this man, this boy– with his ready smile and silly banter–had done in an afternoon what no one else had been able to do in three long years.

“Saturday is our busy day. I’ve got a morning brunch and than an afternoon garden party.”

“Come later then.”

“I probably won’t get out of the last event until after seven.”

“How will I manage to stay awake that late?” he teased. “Come on, Rhiannon. The sooner you see the house, the sooner you can decide what kind of party to have. Come see me Saturday night.”

“It’ll be too dark to see the grounds.”

“There’s this great, new-fangled invention called electricity. Surely you’ve heard of it? My backyard is wired better than the landing strips at the airport.” His smile was bigger now, as if he was just waiting for her next objection so he could shoot it down too.

Charmed despite herself, Rhiannon smiled. “Okay, fine. You’ve convinced me. Saturday night at seven-thirty.”

“Excellent. Our second date—I can’t wait.”

“Second date? When was our first?”

“Right now, of course.” He took another step toward her and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

“This was business.” She forced the words out through a throat so tight she was beginning to wonder if she was suffering from anaphylactic shock. “And so is our appointment on Saturday.”

“We had food, flirtatious banter, fun. It sure feels like a date to me.”

“I drove myself, worked on my computer and any flirtatious banter was completely one-sided. Feels more like a business meeting to me.”

He reached out, stroked his hand softly down her cheek. As he did, she could feel the calluses on his fingers from years of drawing. “And this?” he asked as his thumb smoothed over her lips. “What does this feel like?”

She was still struggling for an answer when his lips brushed, soft as a butterfly’s wings, against her own.