He tossed his dangerous, full-wattage smile, the one that made her knees weak and her brain skid to a standstill. “Hope you like chicken parm.”
Chicken parm. She glanced down at her feet—again, speechless—her heart hammering against her ribcage. The music, the view…the man held her spellbound when she wanted to be adventurous and flirty. Yes, she loved chicken parm. So tell him, a voice inside her prodded, but no words came to mind. She blinked. Blinking is not sexy. Respond. Verbally. He’d made chicken parmesan—her all-time favorite. Oh, please say something, the siren urged, impatiently, anything.
“Love it.” The two words tumbled from her lips in a voice a hint lower, huskier than usual, more Marilyn than Marianne. She raised her gaze to meet his. “I love it.”#p#分页标题#e#
His audacious smile momentarily faltered as his eyes narrowed on her face with curiosity. Dangerous, identity-busting curiosity.
Panicked, she looked away and stabbed at her glasses. Marianne didn’t want him to know she’d been the girl to jump out of his birthday cake. Or rather, in an alternative universe she’d secretly love him to guess, but in this reality—a reality where a man like Nick would never want the quietly resolved girl with the glasses—no. She simply needed a date and a chance to proceed with her plan to test drive her inner seductress, but with caution. Be good. But not too good. Nothing she couldn’t handle, she thought, taking a seat on the rich leather sectional and praying for a miracle.
Nick set the plates down on the glossy black coffee table. “Then, let’s dive in and get to work.” He sat down next to her, close enough to make her heart rate jump up on the Fitbit scale. “Get to know each other’s intimate details.” He winked, flirtation his second nature.
She swallowed, hard. With him sitting so close, looking yummy and relaxed in his dark jeans and sexy bare feet, the probabilities were high that she’d have a tough time focusing on the details of her life. Details of any kind. Especially the intimate kind.
But Nick was right. If this plan was going to work for either of them, they needed to get down to the nitty-gritty. She took a long sip of the Cabernet he’d poured, grateful for something to do with her hands other than run them over his tempting, broad shoulders. Not much of a drinker, she’d feel the alcohol ease her nerves sooner than most. A good thing, too, because watching Nick dive into his dinner, all informal and at ease, made her feel cozy and at home. An unnerving feeling since her home was across town. Six weeks was all she’d get in this place.
Nick smiled over at her. “What do you say we play a version of twenty questions? Make the whole getting to know each other easier.” He took a bite of the chicken and chewed. Wow, even the way he chewed was sexy. “If we’re going to pull this off, we need to be on the same page with the details. I’ll start, and we’ll alternate questions until we’ve got it down.”
Okay, counselor, she thought, ignoring her food in favor of another sip of the wine. She reminded herself he only wanted the partnership. Given detailed insight into her life, his ability to pretend he was in love with her could be dangerous to her infatuated heart.
“Obviously, I fell in love with you at first sight.” More wine, more wine, more wine. “But where did we meet?”
“At Smart Cupid,” she said, immediately. “Makes sense. Better yet, it’s true.”
“Not a very romantic meeting, though,” he said, pointing his fork in her direction.
Not for him, maybe, but she could still remember feeling dizzy at the sight of him, so mind-blowingly handsome, the thought of him had wreaked havoc with her concentration for weeks.
“What if we met at a Yankees game?” he continued, and she blinked her way back to the conversation. “We both went for the same foul ball, your glasses went flying. I caught the ball and gave it to you and the rest, as they say, is…forever.”
Her brows snapped together. “Except the statistical likelihood of a ball being hit toward you and you actually catching it is somewhere around .0008 percent.” Another sip and she traded the wine for dinner. “Besides, I don’t think anyone would believe I was at a Yankees game.”
“Probably not.”
“Not when the Mets are so much better.” She took a bite of the chicken and sighed with pleasure. “This is delicious.”
“Thanks.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “Are you really a Mets fan?”#p#分页标题#e#
Another bite. “Really a Mets fan.”
He shook his head and refocused on his meal. “Well, I won’t be taking you to a game in the next six weeks,” he said, as arrogant as any Yankees fan she’d ever known. “And you’re right—better go with the truth. No one will believe I fell head over heels for a Mets fan.”