By the time I’m able to stop thinking about The Kiss—the devastatingly sexy, intense, panty-melting kiss—we’re miles outside the city, zipping toward the greater Mount Hood ski area along roads lined with snow-dusted farms and cozy cottages instead of urban sprawl.

Chloe is kicking my ass in road-trip bingo, but that’s fine. Chloe likes to win, and I’m grateful for an excuse to stare out the window and pretend to be looking for “No U-turn” signs, cows, police cars, joggers, and the other items on my card. But I’m not looking for joggers, and I miss at least two chances to cover my cow space with a tiny blue magnet—according to Chloe, who takes great delight in pointing out my lost opportunity.

All I’m thinking is….

Shit!

Shit, shit, shit! What have you gotten yourself into?

Seriously? What have you done? And how are you going to keep from melting into a pathetic puddle of lust at Brendan’s feet and begging him to put your pussy out of its misery before the weekend is through?

Until Brendan kissed me this morning, I was pretty sure that shacking up at his former wife’s parents’ house would be enough to put a serious damper on the attraction I feel for the man. It’s a sad, strange situation and only seemed stranger the longer I lay awake in bed last night, fretting about my ability to pull off pretending to be Brendan’s special lady friend in front of strangers.

But now…

I steal a glance at the driver’s seat, and my pulse immediately throbs faster.

Even his profile is stunning. But it isn’t the strong jaw with the dusting of stubble, the perfectly balanced features, or the full lips that make my heart flip and my chest ache. It’s the man himself—this man I long for and loathe in equal measure.

I hate that he kissed me and reminded me how intense the chemistry is between us. And I love that he kissed me, giving me another chance to memorize how electric it feels to be in his arms.

If nothing else, at least this trip will give me fresh fantasy fodder for the months ahead, fuel for more long nights spent with my vibrator, trying not to think about Brendan. Nights that inevitably end with me replaying scenes from our hot-as-hell weekend over and over again in my mind as Bob, my battery-operated boyfriend, buzzes his sad, lonely, one-noted tune between my legs.

Ugh! I’m so pathetic.

I should have fucked Brendan out of my system a long time ago.

Back in September, I should have taken Hot Goatee Guy from happy hour at the Knock Back Bar home and ridden him all night long. Or I should have called Nelson, my college boyfriend, who’s always up for a random hookup when we’re both single and feeling sad. Hell, I might have been better off if I’d accepted one of Henry’s many apologies for borrowing my underwear without asking and gotten back with my ex for a few months.

Henry would have been on his best behavior, reminding me why I had a soft spot for the big, power-lifting, panty-robbing idiot in the first place, and my heart would have released its death grip on the idea of Brendan and me becoming more than friends.

Because that’s all it is—an idea. A fantasy.

The reality is that Brendan is using me. Yes, I’ll be in a place to demand remodeling favors or anything else I want from him as soon as this weekend is over, but still…

I feel used.

And yucky.

And sad.

“Laura, you really are hopeless,” Chloe says, patting me on the leg.

I’m momentarily terrified that I’ve muttered something I was thinking aloud. But then, Chloe smiles and holds out her Bingo card. “Here, take mine and I’ll take yours. At this rate I’m going to beat you before we get to Boring, and that’s no fun.”

“Boring?” I hand over my nearly empty card with an apologetic grimace.

“It’s a town. We stop on the way to Thanksgiving every year,” Brendan offers from the front seat. It’s the first time he’s spoken since we left Portland, making me think I’m not the only one who feels like they’re marinating in pure awkwardness.

At least Chloe seems oblivious. Thank God.

The last thing I want to do is confuse the kid any more than she’s going to be confused once Brendan and I have to explain, somewhere down the line, why we’ve decided to stop kissing.

“And I get a T-shirt for my Boring T-shirt collection,” Chloe says, kicking her pink sneakers. “Last year it was ‘Boring! What an exciting place to live!’ This year I want to get the one with the sister city cartoons on it.”

“Dull, Scotland, and Bland, New South Wales, are the sister cities,” Brendan explains, making me laugh.

“Well, of course. They would be.” I glance up, catching Brendan watching me in the rearview mirror with an odd look on his face. Before I can figure out what the look means, his gaze is back on the road and he’s jabbing a finger toward the passenger’s side window. “Out there, Laura. Cows at three o’clock.”

“Daddy, stop, that’s cheating!” Chloe scowls at the back of Brendan’s head. “And besides, the cows are on my card now. I took Laura’s and she took mine. So you’re just messing up everything!”

“Aw, give him a break,” I say, a little surprised. I’ve never heard Chloe take such a hard line with Brendan before. She’s usually in full hero-worship mode when her dad’s around. “He was just trying to help.”

“Cheating isn’t helping.” Chloe transfers her glare to me. “It isn’t right and it’s against the rules.”

“Chloe has a thing about games and rules,” Brendan says. “Violations of rules bring out her bad side.”

Chloe harrumphs. “I don’t have a bad side. You have a bad side. Laura said so.”

My jaw drops. “What? I did not!”

“You did, too. You told Libby you were watching me because Daddy gets cranky if he has to be nice to people and look after me at the same time.”

I press my lips together, biting back the curse on the tip of my tongue. Damn it. I did say that. “Okay, you’re right. But in my defense, that was six months ago, and you were wearing headphones at the time. I thought I was safe.”

“You’re never safe with this one. She’s always listening.” Brendan’s eyes crinkle. “And don’t worry about it. I am cranky sometimes.”

I shake my head, flustered by his grin, even in a reflection. “True, but I’m still sorry. I never meant for Chloe to hear that.”

“It’s okay.” Chloe plucks a blue magnet from the open Bingo kit between us. “I’ve heard worse. Sometimes Daddy and Justin forget I’m watching television in the locker room, and Justin has a really bad potty mouth. He says the eff-word all the time. Oh, U-turn sign! One more for me.”

“Okay, that’s it.” I hold up my blue magnet. “This is about to get serious. You’re going down, Chloe. I feel a rest stop sign coming up any second now. Bingo is so close I can taste it.”

She giggles. “I don’t think so, but you can try.”

I force myself to pay attention to the game—much better than paying attention to the confusing, angst-inducing man in the front seat—but when we reach the exit for Boring ten minutes later, Chloe has Bingoed twice, and I still haven’t filled a single row.

At the tourism center, I slide out of the backseat into the chilly air, shaking my head and wondering if I have undiagnosed ADHD. I have twenty years and a college degree on Chloe. Surely I should be able to hold my own in a game of Bingo.

“Come on, Laura!” Chloe dashes for the door to the center, waving her hand urgently for me to follow. “I’ll show you which shirts I already have in my collection.”

“Be right there,” I promise, fetching my sock hat from my purse and tugging it down over my ears.

“Don’t feel bad.” Brendan pauses near the front of the Cruiser to wait for me.

“I can’t help it. She kicked my butt. Hard. And the past fifteen minutes I was actually trying.”

He grins, his eyes glacier-blue and lovely in the morning light. “I meant about saying I was a cranky bastard. But don’t feel bad about Bingo, either. We drive this route five or six times a year. She has the signs memorized. She knew when she gave you her card that you weren’t going to be able to find a Bingo. It was a trap disguised as generosity.”

“That little sneak!” I cast an incredulous look toward the center, but the windows are reflective. I can’t see Chloe inside.

All I can see is a ridiculously handsome man in a thick brown sweater and jeans that are tight across the thighs, giving testimony to the powerful body hidden beneath his clothes, and a slim redhead with skin nearly the same shade as her white sweater and an oversize pom-pom sticking up above her head, making her look like an upside-down albino exclamation point.

Lord, I am out of my league with this man.

Even if he didn’t have a child and responsibilities he thinks I’m not equipped to handle, it would never work. I’m a 6—maybe a 7 on days when I’ve had a blow-out and time to devote to makeup—who earns enough to pay my bills. Brendan is a 10—9 on days when he makes scowling his full-time job—and his Cruiser costs more than I make in an entire year. He’s a famous professional athlete who owns a string of steakhouses and appears in local and national commercials for various companies that are willing to pay him big bucks to put his face, fame, and reputation behind their products. My sphere of influence includes the two women who work beneath me in the PR department and a few college interns I get to bully for a semester or two before they move on to bigger and better things.

We’re about as well matched as a rhino and one of those birds that hang out on their backs eating ticks.

But that wouldn’t matter if there were feelings involved. Love forgives a multitude of sins, and it couldn’t care less about money or fame. Or ticks.

And if you think about it, the rhino is probably pretty grateful not to be covered in blood-sucking arachnids.

But there aren’t feelings involved here. Not even affection, let alone love. It’s a fact I need to keep at the forefront of my mind at moments like this, when Brendan is smiling at me like he might care about my emotional well-being.

“She is a sneak sometimes.” He glances over his shoulder. “And she has a temper. Especially when she doesn’t sleep well. She was up three times last night asking for water before I finally got her settled.”

I shrug. “That’s okay. Sometimes I have a temper, too.”

“Maybe it’s a redhead thing.” He reaches out, curling a lock of my hair around his finger, bringing his hand so close to my breast that my nipples tighten for reasons that having nothing to do with the chill in the air.

They’re tight because I want him to touch me, kiss me. Because I want to feel his mouth on my skin and the muscles of his thighs, thick and strong against mine, as he nudges my legs apart and settles between them. I want him on top of me, moving inside of me, his breath hot on my lips, stealing mine away.

For a moment, the need to touch him, to connect with this person who made me feel things that before our weekend on the beach I didn’t know were possible, is so strong that I sway forward, an iron filing helpless to resist the pull of a big, sexy, manly magnet. But before I can do something stupid like wrap my arms around Brendan’s neck or push up on tiptoe to press my lips to his, Chloe bursts back through the Visitor’s Center door.

“Can I have an orange soda?” she asks, hopping with excitement. “They have the kind in the glass bottle that I like.”

Brendan turns, my hair slipping through his fingers as he steps away. “No soda before lunch, and definitely no soda on a day when you’ve already had a donut and plan to have pie.”

“But it’s my favorite!” she protests, freckled nose wrinkling as Brendan crosses to meet her. “I could have half of it.”

“No.”

She takes his hand with wide, pleading eyes. “Just a few drinks?”

“No.”

“One drink?” she wheedles. “And then I can save the rest for tomorrow?”

“No,” he says again, reminding me of our conversations pre-underwear-burning. The man really does love saying no.

And he’s very, very good at it.

“You could learn something here, woman,” I mutter as I follow them into the building, wishing all over again that I had said “no” to this favor instead of “yes.”

Because at this rate it’s not a question of if I’ll make a lovesick fool of myself in front of Brendan this weekend, but when.