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grimness lining his face. “What? What’s wrong?”
    He closed his phone with a snap and came after her. “Who are you?” he demanded.
    She stepped into her panties and looked around for her dress. “I already told you. Francesca Sommers.” She spotted her dress heaped in a silken pool a few feet shy of the couch. A vague memory of Sev’s tossing it toward the cushioned back came to her. Clearly, he’d missed.
    Before she could snatch it up, Sev caught her arm and spun her to face him. “You’re not a model. You’re Timeless Heirlooms’ new designer.”
    His statement sounded more like an accusation. She carefully disengaged her arm from his grasp and bent to pick up her dress. It was ridiculous to feel self-conscious after the night they’d spent together. But something about the way Sev stared at her caused her to hold the gown tight against her breasts. “I never claimed to be a model. You must have jumped to that conclusion.” She frowned. “What difference does it make, anyway?”
    “Did the Fontaines put you up to this? Is that why you followed me onto the balcony last night?” The questions came at her, fast and sharp.
    She stared at him in utter bewilderment, combined with a bubble of irritation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. All I know is that if I don’t report in to work within the next twenty minutes, I won’t have a job. Now, do you mind? I’d like to—”
    He cut her off with a sweep of his hand. “I’m talking about a TH employee falling into bed with one of the owners of Dantes five minutes after meeting. I’m talking about you using the oldest trick in the book to gain inside information for the Fontaines.”
    She jerked backward as though slapped. “Dantes? You work for Dantes?”
    “Sweetheart, I own Dantes.”
    The connection hit and hit hard. Her dress slipped from between fingers that had gone abruptly boneless. “You’re a Dante?”
    “Severo Dante. CEO and chairman of the board of Dantes.”
    “Oh, God.” She was so fired. “I thought you were a buyer.” She managed to add two and two, despite working with only half a brain. “You were at the showing last night to scope out the competition, weren’t you?”
    He looked around. Finding his trousers between the living room and the bedroom, he snatched them up and yanked them on. The man who stood before her now bore little resemblance to the one who’d made such passionate love to her only hours before. With the exception of the unbuttoned trousers riding low on his hips, he wore nothing but an endless expanse of bare flesh.
    Desire still hummed between them, calling to her with even more strength and power than the night before. And she might have answered that call, too, if he hadn’t used that one word, that single, appalling word— Dantes —that had her itching to run in the opposite direction as fast as her wobbly legs would take her.
    She wriggled back into the dress she’d chosen with such care for her first showing. She didn’t bother trying to hand-press the wrinkles. Nothing would salvage this mess other than a trip to the dry cleaner’s. But at least now she could face him on an even footing, or at least on a somewhat even footing.
    She planted her hands on her hips. “Okay, let’s have this out. You think I came on to you last night so I could find out your plans in regard to TH?” she demanded. At his nod, she glared at him. “How about the possibility of your coming on to me so you could get the inside scoop on TH’s plans? After all, you’re trying to buy out the Fontaines, aren’t you?”
    He studied her for a long silent moment. “It would seem we have a problem.”
    “Oh, no, we don’t.” She found her shoes kicked under the wet bar and shoved her feet into the spiked heels. At the same time, she thrust her fingers through her hair in an attempt to restore order to utter disaster. “It’s very simple from here on out. We avoid each other at all costs and we don’t