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And she had them in four colors. He'd bet she had lots of these strappy-style shoes for parading around the club and painting the town red. Naturally, she'd have a pair of sneakers, maybe two. She'd have sexy, close-toed shoes for contrast. And she'd have them in multiple colors. He'd bet she had boots, as well. She'd probably been a bridesmaid a time or two along the way and had special shoes for each of those dresses.
    "Did you count slippers?" he asked.
    "No. They don't count."
    Technically they did, since she wore them on her feet, but he wasn't going to argue.
    "Hmmm. All right. My guess is fifty-three."
    Instantly, her jaw dropped. Shock rippled across her face. And Mark knew he'd come close enough to win. He unfurled his fist and opened up the paper in his hand. Fifty-two. He'd been damned close.
    "How the hell did you know that?"
    He shrugged. "An educated guess. My sister is into shoes, too. Although she likes to look at them more than wear them."
    Nicki took a deep breath, and her posture turned starchy. Oh, a sore loser--or one out of practice. Mark sensed she didn't lose often. He'd bet she had one hell of a temper about it when she did.
    "This has to be the silliest bet I've ever made, but whatever. You won."
    "Yep, I did."
    Mark said nothing else, did nothing. Silence stretched, thick and ripe and so full of awareness, he had to resist the urge to smile. About now, she was probably bracing herself, wondering what it would be like when he kissed her, if he'd try to take advantage of her, go beyond his one promised peck. She was preparing a defense, steeling herself against feeling anything. But she was also likely confused by his lack of action.
    "Well, you won. Claim your prize. Let's get it over with."
    He grinned. "Here and now isn't the place. I'm patient. I'll wait for the right time."
    "What? The invitation doesn't get any more engraved than this. Look, you said yourself it's a peck. No big deal."
    "Yeah, but I want it to be a big deal." He winked and headed for the door, brushing his body with hers. Feeling her pebbled nipples against his shirt just about killed his good intentions, but he managed to pull it together, block out the feel of his raging erection and murmur, "I'll collect later."

Chapter 3
    "Z ack is complaining that Sean isn't ... um, equipped to be both Conan and a cowboy."
    Frowning, Nicki glanced up from the order forms swimming in her vision. Normally, she'd welcome the distraction Lucia provided from the endless columns of food items and numbers. She'd already finished this week's alcohol order, thank goodness. Her reward? Getting to buy exciting paper goods like toilet paper next. Gee, what a treat.
    The only subject that could put a damper on her enthusiasm to ignore these dull but necessary tasks? A new dancer for the club.
    "Really? Guests have always been enthusiastic about Sean's equipment."
    Lucia flushed. "I'll take your word for it. I didn't look. Just passing a message. Zack is in a bad mood."
    "Hmm. It must not have worked out between him and Pedro. He's always in a bad mood when he's between relationships."
    Nicki sighed. One more thing to deal with. First, thanks to her overbearing uncle, she had Blade, the asshole accountant she hadn't hired. Then her virginal sister had arrived to spend the summer underfoot ... in a place full of eye candy dancers, several of whom would be all too happy to give Lucia their version of a sex education. Running a fledgling business minus one buff attention getter, with a temperamental lead dancer and financial records in chaos was no walk on the beach--and they were problems she couldn't avoid much longer.
    Lucia pushed her glasses up on her nose. "I know nothing about Zack's love life. I only know he's screaming at Sean."
    "Which makes it hard for you to concentrate on your research, I'm sure." Nicki sighed and stood and stretched. "Sean just can't seem to remember to completely change out of one costume before traipsing back out onstage.