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everything, including arbitrary sports metaphors . . . and her resistance.
    “Tell me,” he repeated, now far more demanding , as if he knew time was short.
    The car stopped . The engine cut.
    “We’re here,” she said with relief.
    “If I kissed you now, would you resist still? Would you win this game of one-upmanship?”
    She couldn’t say for certain—and challenging him with a defiant ‘yes’ might take things too far to get a ‘no’ out later, when an invitation to some hotel was iterated. Her mouth could almost taste the idea of his kiss. Her mind again etched the vision of him pressing her up against a wall. And while imagination was probably better than reality, it was best not to run that risk.
    “I don’t . . .” She hesitated. “Maybe we should call it even.”
    “Even.” Amusement and chagrin again mingled in his expression. His mouth brushed her cheek as he continued to hold her still, one hand at her nape, the other on her thigh. “Since I disappointed you at the beginning of the game, it is fair that you disappoint me now.”
    With that, h e released her with apparent regret.
    “ But,” he said wryly, “I should have given instructions to keep driving until further notice.”
    She relaxed. There was no point in starting something that would get her all heated up with nowhere to cool down . . . though it was a little late now.
    Correction: much too late.
    “I’d better go in.”
    The chauffeur did not intrude—evidently, she was not the first to get the Ford Howard City Tour. She was not a special case. In fact, she was certain that there was no such thing as special in Ford’s world.
    That was pretty damned sad.
    Their eyes met. Judging from his expression, which abruptly lost the intensity if not the entirety of sexual interest, her sympathy must have shown. But his reaction was curious and puzzled, as if he hadn’t ever seen such a look before.
    M aybe those glimpses of bemusement were a put on. All part of the role he played. Though when he put his mind to it, he really got into character.
    He slid away from her to open the door, climbing out and offering her a hand that she took gratefully, for she found her knees lacking solidity.
    “Thank you, Ford.” She fluffed her hair in a self-conscious gesture. And then she said in a voice that was friendly but firmly distancing: “It was great meeting you. I know we won’t see each other again, but that was the best time I’ve had in—well, a long time.”
    Which was a sad statement on her social life!
    She smiled and shivered as he raised her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Your hands are cold. Where are your gloves?”
    It wasn’t even a little true . Not a bit of her body was cold. It was somewhat disappointing to see the return of his seducer’s persona. Making conventional observations of any possible distress on the part of the damsel.
    To make her feel as if she couldn’t possibly handle herself. Reduce her. Weaken her.
    Hell of a technique. Maybe it would work on some women.
    You’re a damsel! Who knew? Needlessly rescued by a . . . a . . . But she didn’t have a good descriptor for him yet, and certainly, knight in shining armour was not appropriate.
    “Lost somewhere ,” she answered the glove question.
    Turning her hand to kiss the palm, he raised his eyes to hers, glowing with sin and temptation. She doubted that many women turned down the promise of those eyes.
    “I’d better go,” she whispered. Her fingertips stroked his cheek ever so slightly.
    His mouth opened on her skin as he held her gaze, his tongue pressing against her palm. She gave him a decent reaction, she estimated, feeling her lids droop and her knees buckle a little.
    “That is so unfair,” she groaned softly.
    “See how it could have been?” he purred. “You ruined it.”
    “Yeah.” She swallowed. “Good thing I did. I think.”
    Releasing her with a thoughtful smile, he cupped her face briefly. “Don’t drink