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gotten to her, she pretended it didn’t matter. And it wasn’t easy, because now that he was standing, Gillian felt almost vulnerable in her seat.
    She tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. “Are you going to get to the deal anytime soon?”
    He grinned and walked around to prop a hip on the table by her chair. The side of his calf brushed her knee. “You think my cursing and my temper are the root of all evil, right? No, don’t answer. I’m not an idiot. I know how women like you think.”
    Affront made her forget some of her determination. “Women like me?”
    “Yeah.” His voice went deeper. “Women who want to homogenize the sexes. You pretend disdain for men who act like men. You want us to be all smooth and glib and proper. But deep down”—he leaned toward her—“at night, in your bed, you know damn good and well you want a real man.”
    Gillian opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
    “You want a guy who’s comfortable in his own skin. A guy who is different from a woman, in every way.”
    As heat rose beneath her skin, she sputtered. “You . . . are so full of it.” And maybe a little right. But it was her dreaded secret, and she would never admit it to him.
    He let that go. “You want me to control myself in public? No problem. Half the shit I do is just for effect anyway. But if I suck it up and censor myself, then you have to put up with me being me . . . in private.”
    Oh, now that was too provocative for her to stay seated. Gillian slowly stood before him. “What, exactly, are you saying?”

CHAPTER 3
    L OOKING down into her wide eyes, seeing the flush on her skin, Drew almost forgot that this was part of a plan. He almost forgot that everything he did right now was to achieve an end goal.
    He’d just told her that he did outrageous things for effect. The SBC audience appreciated his “man’s man” attitude; the more he cursed and ranted, the cruder he acted, the more they loved it.
    He’d lay bets that right now, standing so close to him, Gillian wouldn’t remember that.
    Ramping up the machismo, but keeping his stance relaxed, he said, “I want you, Gillian Noode, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”
    “But that’s . . .” She started over. “You can’t just . . .”
    “But I do. How and where doesn’t matter. Hell, the dining table here would work for me. I’m not picky or all that traditional.”
    Hot color scalded her face. It was anger, not embarrassment. “No.”
    “When was the last time you got laid?” He touched the pearl at the end of her chain necklace, resting almost in her cleavage. Damn, but her skin was warm and so silky . . .
    “None of your business.”
    “That long ago, huh?” He toyed with the pearl, just to brush the backs of his fingers over her skin again and again. “When was the last time you even had a date?”
    She grabbed his wrist to stop his teasing. “I get asked out all the time.”
    “But you don’t accept.” Drew wasn’t certain how he knew that, but he did. Gillian seemed so set on business, she probably didn’t leave herself any time for dating. “Do you?”
    She still held his wrist, which left his hand all but resting on her, just below her collarbone. After several beats of time, she shook her head. “No, I usually don’t accept.”
    “Why not?” He toyed with the pearl again, the caress far too personal, far too intimate. To his surprise, she dropped her restraining hand.
    After a very deep breath, she said, “I’m choosy.”
    Not all that choosy. Hell, she was here now, with him, letting him tease her. “Know what I think?”
    “You think? Really? Wow, I’m so impressed.”
    Drew almost laughed. Damn, but she had an acerbic wit. He liked it. “I think you hang out with refined gentlemen who just don’t do it for you.” Using the chain, he tugged her closer. “You want a real man, don’t you, honey?”
    “Do you mean a misogynistic jerk? You are referencing yourself, aren’t you?”
    Misogynistic?