Hitched (Roman Holiday 2)

He disconnected the call and opened the back door to toss his briefcase and suitcase behind the seat, then climbed up into the car and started the engine.

“Ready to go?”

Never let them see you sweat. It was the only truly useful motto Ashley had adopted from her father.

She straightened her legs, pushing her toes back into the thongs of her flip-flops. “Did you just call a woman kitten?”

“If you need to use the facilities, now’s a good time. Or you can wait a bit. I’m going to stop for gas just up the road.”

“Does she like that? Because I have to tell you, I’ve been called a lot of things, but if somebody called me kitten, I’d laugh in his face.”

“I’m going to take that as a ‘No, Roman, I don’t need to use the facilities.’ ”

“What does she call you? Tiger? Ooh, no, or Tomcat?”

He looked at each mirror and put the car in reverse.

“What’s her name?”

But then she remembered. Earlier, she’d dreamed of Roman poised above her and awakened to the sound of another woman’s name. “Carmen,” she said. “It’s Carmen, isn’t it?”

“None of your business.” They pulled out of the lot and headed toward the highway.

“What is she, your boss?”

He said nothing, but his mouth did this sort of tightening, locking-down thing, like he was mentally screwing his lips shut to keep from speaking.

A good sign, if her goal was to rile him up. Which apparently it was. What other ammo did she have in her arsenal, after all? If she got him annoyed, she might be able to make him tell her things he wouldn’t otherwise. She had to keep pestering him if she wanted to learn anything worthwhile—anything she could use against him in this war of theirs.

“You really shouldn’t get sexually involved with your boss,” she said. “It’s such a bad idea. This one time, I was working at a swim-with-dolphins place, and—”

“She’s not my boss.”

“But you are sleeping with her.”

No response.

“Or maybe you just want to be? If so, I’d lay off the kitten thing. You’ll never get her to give it up that way.”

“Don’t be crude.”

“What, you’re not trying to get her to give it up? You are straight, aren’t you?”

“None of this is open for discussion. It’s private. My private business.”

It was. And her heart was pounding, her head full of imaginary versions of Roman’s Carmen. Long, thick black hair. Lush curves packed into a designer suit.

Killer high heels.

She didn’t like these visions—this physical reaction—but if Roman’s locked-down mouth was any indication, he didn’t like it even more.

“Maybe it’s not open for discussion, strictly speaking, but here we are, stuck together for however many hours, and—”

“Hours?”

“—you’ve already kissed me. We should probably—”

“I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me. If I’d had any warning, I would have stopped you.”