We’ll see.

We’ll see?!

What the hell did that even mean?

That stupid vague phrase had been haunting her ever since he’d left her studio. Now, they were nearing the end of the week, and she still didn’t know. He’d come to see her at her studio every day at noon over his lunch break. He was, not surprisingly, always on time, and always wearing that damned suit.

She didn’t like suits, but by the time Friday rolled around, she’s found that she was telling herself that far too often and that perhaps it wasn’t quite true anymore.

Because, to be perfectly frank—he looked so freakin’ good in that suit. And somehow the glasses seemed sexy, despite the fact that her brain knew very well that they were not in keeping with her type.

Nothing about this man was her type. She told herself that for the millionth time as she popped a Pringle in her mouth and watched him read the essay she’d written as part of the grant package. She didn’t really need his insights on the writing. She was a solid writer and Kat had given it a proofread the night before. But Darren had offered and at this point, she got the feeling that he was just as invested in this grant opportunity as she was.

It shouldn’t have taken this long to get her file in order. She peered at him as she chewed, trying to get some glimpse of what was going on behind that unreadable, stoic mask of his.

Some days she wanted to strip down naked and do a wild rain dance just to see that mask slip.

Okay fine, maybe she just wanted to strip down naked, period. After Monday’s makeout session on the tabletop, he hadn’t touched her once. Which was probably for the best, she reminded herself for the eight hundredth time. Clearly there was some confusion over what this was between them and clearly keeping this…thing…strictly platonic was the best solution.

She popped another chip in her mouth and let out a huff of air that was somewhere between a sigh and a grunt.

The only problem was—she wasn’t sure what the hell was going on here. Was it strictly platonic? Her eyes narrowed on him with suspicion as he blithely ignored her glare and continued to read the essay.

He hadn’t made a move on her all week, but he’d been so…nice. Weirdly nice. Not in a smiley, ingratiating way. No, that wasn’t his M.O. at all. It was more like, he was just super interested in her. In getting to know her.

He’d ask her questions. Personal questions. But in a way that she didn’t see it coming. Like, he wouldn’t just outright ask her about her family life, but he’d lead her there, asking questions or prompting her to continue until, next thing she knew, he’d learned all about her parents’ divorce and their toxic relationship.

And he’d done it with all areas of her life—he’d wanted to know about why she’d started painting in the first place and where she got her inspiration. Her favorite foods. Her latest boyfriends. Why she’d chosen purple for her latest hair color.

Sometimes the topics were innocuous but other times she’d look up in horror midway through a lengthy conversation only to realize that she’d been opening up to him about things that she never typically talked about. But he made it so easy to talk. He was a freakin’ annoyingly good listener.

And a good talker, too. He’d chime in with stories of his own, share anecdotes from his childhood and answer her return questions about his taste in music, and why he wore those damned suits all the time.

Not a mystery, really. He worked in a corporate office.

But the point was, he was weirdly interested in her, yet he hadn’t tried to kiss her again or get in her pants…the whole thing freaked her out.

She’d shared her suspicions with Kat and Caleb when they’d met up for drinks on Wednesday night, and they both had laughed at her. But then, they didn’t have the full story. She hadn’t exactly spilled the beans about having gone home with Darren after the party. It had occurred to her to tell them—it wasn’t like they’d judge her—but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. It wasn’t that she was ashamed, just…confused. There was a big cloudy gray area around the whole topic of Darren and that night.

She also didn’t mention that he’d finger-fucked her and gave her an epic orgasm while they were supposed to be working on Sunday afternoon, so they just thought she was being paranoid when she’d told them about his weird desire to talk, and only talk.

“Maybe he just wants to be friends,” Caleb had said.

Kat had nodded in agreement. “Darren is good people. He probably just wants to get to know you.”

But that was the problem. Why did he want to get to know her? Did he really just want to be her friend or did he have some sort of ulterior motive?

We’ll see.

Damn it, what had he meant by that?

He turned to face her now, his impassive face softened by the warm glow of admiration and appreciation in his eyes. “Wow. That was really beautifully written.”

A suspiciously warm and fuzzy feeling in her chest had her looking around the room at her paintings. Anywhere but at him.

It would have been one thing if they’d been screwing around all week. Then she’d understand what this was about. But he hadn’t touched her. Not once.

No, that wasn’t true. His hand had brushed hers when they’d both reached for the same W-2 at the same time. Her thigh had rubbed against his beneath the table when they’d scooched closer together to read the same paragraph.

She turned away from him and reached for a paintbrush. Shit, why was her stupid brain able to pull up a list of every time they’d casually touched one another?

The point was, he hadn’t touched her like that. No kisses, no caresses, no fucking on the table when they should have been working.

He’d been nothing but proper and gentlemanly from that point on.

And she hated it.

Screw him and his mind games.

“What did you mean by we’ll see?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. She turned back to face him and was instantly annoyed when he didn’t look dumbstruck by her question. He didn’t look thrown in the least. “Pardon?”

Pardon? Her inner voice mocked him childishly with a high-pitched echo. She gripped the paintbrush tighter. “You heard me.”

There it was, a flicker of amusement. Fleeting and subtle, just like his smiles, but all the more powerful for their rarity.

God, she loved those rare smiles. Each time she got one it felt like she’d won the lottery or had finally gotten that pony she’d asked for as a little girl.

Stupid, she chided herself with a shake of her head. Utterly ridiculous. She wasn’t this romantic girl who got excited over secret smiles and a casual brushing of thighs beneath a table.

Or was she?

What the hell was happening to her? Her eyes narrowed on him once more. What had he done to her?

Jabbing a finger in his direction, she could actually feel herself losing her grip on her sanity. “You’re messing with me.”

He shook his head, “I promise I’m not.”

She stopped just short of jabbing him in the chest. “Then what are you doing?”

At least he didn’t try to play dumb this time. His serious gaze met hers. “I’m getting to know you, and hopefully you’re getting to know me as well.”

She exhaled swiftly as if he’d struck her. Bastard. Her initial suspicions were right. He’d been subtly and sneakily trying to woo her. “It’s not going to work,” she felt compelled to point out.

His brows hitched up ever so slightly in surprise. “It’s not?”

She shook her head. “It’s not. I know what you’re up to.”

The corner of his mouth twitched just the tiniest bit and she found herself rooting for a smile.

No, damn it. No smiles. No smiles, no chats, no personal questions. She was done with this…whatever this was.

“Stop it,” she demanded.

“Stop what?” His tone was too mild. He was really starting to get on her nerves.

“This,” she said with a wave of her hand. “There is nothing here between us.”

“If you say so,” he said, his tone calm but she caught the laughter in his eyes.

“There’s not.”

“Fine.” He moved toward her, closing the distance. She had to fight the urge to back away from him as he drew close. So close. Unbearably close.

She held her breath to keep from smelling that aftershave. That aftershave did weird things to her hormones and she didn’t trust herself to keep her hands to herself if she smelled it. Or if he touched her. Or if he smiled.

Oh hell. She really needed to work on her self-control.

He stopped a few inches away, not close enough to be intimidating, but too close for comfort. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Yes. “No.” Yes. Her lips parted in eager anticipation even after her automatic denial.

He sighed and backed away.

Wait, he was just…giving up? Where are you going? She shook her head. “What are you doing? I’m confused.”

He sighed as he faced her from a safer distance, one in which there was no danger of smelling that aftershave and no danger of him touching her.

Damn.

She rubbed her forehead, trying to physically erase all the confusion that had been compounding all week, ever since this man had come into her life. “Are you playing games with me?” She narrowed her eyes, dropping her hand so she could study him the same way he was always trying to read her. “Because I don’t like that. You know, for the record, in case there was any doubt.”

A little voice of honesty called her a hypocrite from somewhere in the background of her inner dialogue. For the past decade she’d done nothing but date players who played games. It was kind of her specialty. But now all of a sudden she was pissed because this nice guy wasn’t trying to screw her? But no, it was more than that. He was messing with her head.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry.”

She blinked at him. She hadn’t expected an apology. “So you admit that you’re messing with me?”

He shook his head. “That was not my intention.”

“Okay,” she drawled, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Then what exactly was your intention.”

“To get to know you,” he said. “And to have you get to know me.”

“You said that before.”

He nodded. “And it’s the truth.”

After a brief silence, he cleared his throat. “Look, I like you.”

Her ears rang as if someone had knocked her upside the head. Look, I like you. Just like that. No warning, no prevarications, no qualifiers, just…I like you.

She shifted in front of him as the answering silence grew longer. She felt naked standing there under his watchful gaze. Shit, why couldn’t he just try to screw her like every other red-blooded male out there?

It eventually became clear she wasn’t going to reply—she couldn’t even if she wanted to. Her tongue seemed to be permanently glued to the top of her mouth after that bombshell.

“I like you, but I want more than just sex.” His tone was so calm, so level. He threw sex in there like it was totally casual.

More than sex? “What, like a relationship?” Even she could hear the derisive laughter in her voice. She hadn’t meant to sound cruel, but that was exactly how it came out. “Sorry, it’s just…I don’t do relationships.” That wasn’t true. She dated. But she hadn’t dated someone who was an honest contender since high school. She’d become resigned to the fact that she just couldn’t do nice guys.

Some people were insomniacs, some had high blood pressure…she had a player problem. Everyone had their burden to bear. But it wasn’t like she could just flip a switch and make herself be attracted to Darren.

Ahem. The voice of honesty called her out on that as well. She was attracted to Darren, there was no denying that.

But that was exactly why she’d be okay having a fling…no one would get hurt that way. And someone would get hurt if they dated. Most likely him.

His smile was small and polite, not at all like his genuine flashes of amusement that she’d come to look out for like she’d watch for a shooting star. “Then it seems we’re at an impasse.”

She gave a short nod. Indeed.

“I suppose we’ll have to settle for being friends then,” he said.

She nodded again. Friends. She was going to be friends with the hottie who’d made her feel passion like she’d never known.

Awesome.

She shifted on her feet, uncomfortably warm at the mere memory of their two all-too-brief trysts. “Are you sure I can’t convince you that we should be fuck buddies?”

He winced at the term. “No, sorry. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to settle for anything less than a relationship if we were to sleep together again.”

She felt an unexpected surge of guilt at mentioning it. Something icky slithered in her gut. Something like shame or embarrassment. Not that she was ashamed at liking sex, but that she’d tried to drag this…this…gentleman down to her level.

Gentleman was the perfect term for him. He had an old-fashioned vibe about him, like he was born in the wrong era. Dapper would suit him, too. Maybe even dashing.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

She shook her head. Just thinking how dapper you are. “Nothing. Just glad we’re agreed that we’ll be friends.”

He nodded but his gaze never left hers, it held hers hostage as if daring her to blink or look away. The sudden staring contest made her uneasy, like she’d just been caught in a lie.

And she had sort of lied. Sort of. She wasn’t exactly psyched that this guy was never going to kiss her again, let alone rock her world in his bed.

Shit.

But, in a matter of days the grant paperwork would be finished and he would be out of her life. So they’d be “friends”—and she was using that term very loosely here. She had friends. Lots of friends. She wasn’t in the market for more. She especially wasn’t looking for confusing friends who made her obsess about things they said, glances they gave, or touches that should have been harmless.

No, sir. Not her. She was an all or nothing king of gal—totally platonic or all sex. None of that muddled crap.

Unfortunately for her, he was the same way, but his version of “all” meant a relationship.

Ugh, stupid sappy men with their stupid sappy emotions.

This was why players were the safe bet.

He started heading to the door and she felt a pang of…something. Like something was missing.

Yeah, his kisses.

But something else. The fact that he was just walking away felt all sorts of wrong. “So, will I see you tomorrow then?”

He turned slowly to face her, his expression so unreadable it was slightly infuriating. “This weekend is Christmas.”

Oh, right. She nodded. They’d been over this. He’d asked her if she had plans and she’d informed him that she was Jewish so her family had celebrated Hanukkah the week before. Over Christmas she usually hung out with friends.

He’d asked her about her plans but, she realized now…she hadn’t asked about his. “Are you leaving town or something?”

He nodded. “I’m flying home to Montana.”

“You’re from Montana?”

He gave a little flicker of a smile as it became clear to both of them how little she’d learned about him this week. He’d done all the questioning and she hadn’t bothered to reciprocate much. All she knew about him was what he’d deigned to share.

Straightening now, she realized just how unfair that was. “I didn’t know you grew up in Montana.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

Touché.

Her brain started to compile a list of all the things she hadn’t thought to ask this week. But in the meantime, she settled for, “When do you return?”

“Tuesday.”

Her chest constricted. Damn, she must have eaten something weird this morning. Or maybe she’d had too much caffeine, because her heart felt like it was trying too hard and a vague anxious feeling had spread throughout her body.

“But…” She swallowed, trying to rid her voice of that petty, whiny tone. “But my grant application is due on Wednesday.”

He peered at her through those ridiculous glasses, which had somehow become sexy. She tilted her head to the side. If he would just muss his hair a bit he’d look freakin’ hot. It was easier to look at his hair than meet his gaze so she focused on his part as if the secrets of the universe could be found there.

They could not. Though it was so perfectly parted she was fairly certain he used a ruler.

“I can help you over the phone,” he said. “Or via Skype.”

“Mmm.” She fidgeted with the edge of her smock. Stupid coffee. Why had she had that last one? Her heart was going to freakin’ explode over here.

“Besides, we’re almost done,” he said. “You could probably finish on your own.”

She frowned at him, oddly hurt that he was trying to get out of his commitment to help her. Which was selfish of her, obviously. It wasn’t like he was getting anything out of this partnership.

And he should. Her brain started to mull over possible gift ideas as she watched him turn once more toward the door. What, did he have somewhere pressing to be that he had to run out of here?

Duh. Yeah. He had to get back to work.

“Have a safe trip,” she called out.

He turned slowly and she found herself holding her breath.

“You know,” he started slowly. “If you want, you could come with me to Montana.”

She stared at him as if he’d just spoken in tongues. And in a way, he had. What is this Montana you speak of?

The question had rendered her stupid. “But you’re going home for the holidays.”

He nodded. “Yeah, but I’m flying there on Bryce’s private plane. Kat is coming too.” He shrugged, as if it was no big deal that he was inviting her home for the holidays.

She heard a clicking sound in her head. Mind blown. He was inviting her to Montana. Where his family lived. Over Christmas.

Me Jane, you Tarzan. Yup, her brain was officially done.

Her voice came out screechy and off-key. “You want me to come home for the holidays with you?”

She thought she caught a crack in his implacable, serious façade. “No,” he said again slowly. “I’m sure you could stay at Bryce’s lodge, if you’d prefer. Or at a nearby hotel.” He did give her a small smile then. “We do have hotels in Montana, you know.”

She shook her head; she hadn’t even been thinking about accommodations. That threw a whole other spin on this situation. First of all, she was not going to be the third wheel to Bryce and Kat’s first Christmas together. Second of all, why was she even considering where she would stay? She was not going. She was obviously not really considering flying off to Montana with this guy.

“I could help you finish this up while we’re there,” he offered, holding out her file as evidence. “Or…” He shrugged again, his voice filled with all the emotion of an android. “You know…we could just talk on the phone.”

Irritation welled up swift and fierce. Oh, so she and her grant application were second-rate now, huh? They didn’t merit his full attention, apparently, just a brief phone call.

The logical portion of her brain attempted to intervene. Because really, there was no reason to get so upset about this. He’d been doing her a favor, and they were almost done. Yes, she still needed his help, but it could be done through emails and phone calls.

Still, the fact that he was leaving her had her clenching her fists at her side. “I need your help.”

Oh crap, that had come out a bit too squeaky. Shaky, even. Where had she put that water?

To her chagrin, his eyes widened in a look she knew well. Deer in headlights. AKA man meets crying woman.

But she wasn’t crying, damn it. She didn’t cry. Ever. Well, that wasn’t true, not even remotely. She had a tendency to cry when she was drunk, but only if she was already unhappy when she’d started drinking.

But now, she didn’t have any liquids other than water and coffee sloshing around in her stomach so there was no reason to be this emotional. Especially not about Darren the dork going home for the holidays. Without her.

But he’d invited her.

So, if she really wanted to go, presumably she could. It wasn’t like she had anything else going on this weekend. Kat would be off with Bryce and Caleb had told some chick he worked with on the soap opera that he’d go to Cancun with her. It was not a smart decision. Yvette had met the woman in question and she so did not seem like Caleb’s type.

But then no one but Cinderella was Caleb’s type. Only a fairytale princess could be the kind of sweet, beautiful, angelic paragon he was seeking.

But Caleb wasn’t her problem at the moment.

Her problem was currently still staring at her with an expectant look. Well, expectant for Mr. Robot over here with his weird ability to guard his feelings. She let out a sharp exhale that sent one of her purple locks flying out of her face with a vengeance.

Her anger toward Robocop was unwarranted, she knew that. But it didn’t calm that sizzling pit in the bottom of her stomach or make that weird urge to sober-cry go away any faster.

She was angry and she was sad, and she had no idea why.

This sucked.

She would make him pay.

The irrational thought caught and took hold and she found herself blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m coming with you.”

He blinked and she could have sworn she caught a flicker of a smile. “You are?” He was pleased. Her fists clenched so hard her nails bit into her palms. Well, he’d just see about that.

She gave a short nod. “I am.” Decision made. “I could use your help and like you said, I have nothing else going on.” She gave him her best impression of a sweet smile. “Besides, I’ve never seen Montana.”

Nor had she ever had an interest in seeing Montana, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Great.” Oh man, he looked way too pleased with himself as he feigned cool.

This man should never feign cool. He was not cool, nor would he be. Ever.

“I think you’ll like it,” he said.

She nodded, a tight smile on her face as she tried to think sweet thoughts. Candy, Elvis, moonbeams, rainbows… He could read her like a book, she knew it without a doubt, and right now she had no desire for him to see where her mind had gone.

She’d go to Montana all right, but it would be on his terms. He might deny that he’d been playing games, but if she had one specialty it was dealing with men who played games. His game might have been well-intentioned…hell, it may have even been sweet. Getting to know her, making her get to know him. Yeah, it sounded harmless, all right. But she knew better.

He was trying to trap her. This whole “let’s be friends, let’s get to know each other platonically” plan, it had all been a ruse. This mofo was wooing her from a distance. He’d been courting her all along.

Asshole.

Her hands clenched at her sides and she forced herself to relax. He didn’t even know who he was messing with. He was playing with fire. No, he was playing with a player…and she would have the last laugh.

How?

She narrowed her eyes as she watched him walk away from her. Easy. She’d make him want her. Physically. None of this “just friends” crap. If he was going to play games, then so could she. His games might be mental, trying to get her to fall for him with his gentlemanly ways and his…his…talking.

But she had ways, too. Ways he hadn’t even seen.

She’d make him come around in Montana. Hell, she’d bring him to his knees. Before he could say “hey, check out that moose” she’d have him where she wanted him—in her bed. Friendship, schmeindship. She was going to screw this guy and toss him to the curb the way she’d meant to do a week ago.

She’d teach him a valuable lesson in the process—no one played a player.