Bravo Unwrapped by Christine Rimmer

sound. “Of you? Not in the least.”
    He didn’t believe her. She was scared—that tonight would turn out like that night seven weeks ago. He put up both hands, palms out. “Hands off. I swear it.”
    â€œOh, terrific. Like your word means a thing to me.”
    He took a step back, a gesture of good faith. “I said hands off. And I meant what I said.”
    She peered at him, narrow-eyed and wary. Then, at last, she gave in. “Okay,” she said grimly. “Tell me all about it—about why you manipulated things so I ended up here with you in this dinky, bend-in-the-road, blink-your-eyes-and-you-miss-it hometown of yours. Tell me about it and then you can leave.”
    â€œIt’s so damn simple.”
    â€œGood to know, Buck.”
    â€œI want another chance with you.”
    To that, she said, in a tone as flat as it was final, “No way.”
    He gave her a pained smile. “Well. That was simple and direct.”
    â€œThat’s right. And now that we understand eachother, will you please write the damn article yourself and let me go back to New York?”
    Not on your life. “Here’s the deal…”
    â€œNo deal.”
    â€œMaybe you’re right.”
    â€œWill wonders never cease? The man admits I’m right.”
    â€œThe more you interrupt, the longer I’ll be standing here in your room.”
    â€œExcellent point. Consider my lip officially zipped.”
    â€œYeah, but for how long?” He waited, figuring she’d just have to come back with some smart remark. She only looked at him, widening her eyes. When several seconds went by and her mouth remained shut, he said, “You’re listening?”
    She nodded, keeping her lips pressed tightly together.
    â€œAll right. If I can’t have another chance with you, at least I want some time with you. I realize it’s probably hopeless. I can be a real SOB and I know that I can.” She was smirking. He instructed patiently, “Don’t give me that look.” She batted her eyelashes and shook her head. He grunted. “And then, beyond me, there’s you.”
    â€œUm?”
    â€œNot exactly the soul of submissive femininity, now are you?”
    She bounced her head from side-to-side, a movement that clearly communicated, No, I’m not, and I’m proud of it.
    He laid out his terms. “Two weeks, that’s what I want. Two weeks, you and me, here in my hometown. Two weeks, where you’re not avoiding me—meaning that when I want you with me, you’re there. When Isay we’re going somewhere, you go. Two weeks to find out if there could be any hope for us, together. Two weeks to see if there could be an ‘us.’ You give me that, those two measly weeks, and I’ll write the damn article. You’ll not only get my story, you’ll get my name on the byline.” By then, her face was beet-red—from holding in a raft of objections, he had no doubt. “You may speak,” he said.
    â€œTwo weeks?” The words exploded from that tempting mouth of hers. “You don’t need two weeks….”
    â€œNot for the article, maybe. But for you and me, definitely. For you and me, I probably need a decade, at least. But I figure two weeks is all I’m likely to get.”
    That sexy mouth pinched up again. “What do I have to do? Put it on a billboard in Times Square, take out an ad in the Village Voice? How can I get it through to you? There is no you and me. There hasn’t been for years. You really need to accept that, Buck.”
    â€œAnd I will. In two weeks. If things don’t improve between us, I’ll give it up. You’ll finally be rid of me. Once and for all.”
    She shook her head as she sank to the edge of the bed again. “This is mad, bad and crazy. You have to know that.”
    â€œTwo weeks. And I write the article.”
    â€œI have to work, you know? I