one. She knew she should say something. In fact, a dozen conversational gambits suggested themselves to her, but they all felt wrong. For starters, she’d been arguing flat out with Jack not ten minutes ago. Ten minutes before that, he’d been handed half her project on a silver platter. And then there was Katherine’s lunchtime exposé about Jack’s…talents. If that wasn’t enough to stifle conversation, Claire didn’t know what was.
How she wished her friend had kept her insider knowledge to herself. The last thing she needed was to develop some stupid awareness of Jack as a man. She was stuck in an elevator with him, for Pete’s sake. She didn’t want to know that he was great in bed, and had a fantastic body. It was bad enough that she’d been mentally undressing him while they waited for Morgan earlier. She flicked a look across at him, but her glance skittered away again when she saw that his shirt was sticking to his sweat-dampened skin, giving her a very nice idea of just how well muscled and proportioned his chest was. She could even see his dark, flat male nipples through the damp fabric….
This man is your nemesis, she told herself fiercely. He represents everything you loathe in men. Determined to get over her stupid preoccupation, she deliberately reminded herself that in addition to having a broad, sexy chest, long, strong fingers and knowing, all-seeing eyes, Jack had stolen her parking spot this morning.
A surge of annoyance raced through her. That was better. Suddenly he was just a man again—an annoying man who regularly operated as a thorn in her professional side. She tapped one shoe toe against the other, then followed with a little heel click as she relived that frustrating moment of finding his car in her space. There was no way he didn’t know that was her usual spot. He’d have to be either blind or stupid not to know, and she knew he was neither. So—
“Why did you park in my spot this morning?”
She nearly bit her tongue off as she spoke her thought out loud. Now it was out there, however, and there was nothing for it but to pretend she’d meant to challenge him all along.
“I wasn’t aware that we’d been assigned parking spaces. Was there a memo sent around? I must have missed it,” he said, and she felt her buttocks clench with annoyance.
A memo. Very funny. Any sexual thoughts she’d had about Mr. Annoying receded at a rapid pace.
“You know exactly what I mean. You usually park over near the pillar in the middle. And I always park near the stairwell. It’s a system, a habit. And it works. So why did you take my spot this morning? And don’t tell me you didn’t know it was mine, because you gave yourself away when you wagged your keys at me this morning.”
“You’re not serious? You’re really all bunged up over a stupid parking spot?”
She sat up straighter at the disbelieving scorn in his voice.
“It’s not the spot, it’s the principle. Tell me you didn’t do it just to annoy me and I’ll drop it. But first you have to look me in the eye and say that pissing me off was not on your agenda when you filched my spot this morning.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do you know how juvenile you sound? Let me guess—only child, not used to sharing, right?”
She felt a small, familiar stab of regret, and she pushed it down, back into the place where it belonged.
“Look me in the eye and I’ll never mention it again,” she dared him.
Jack shook his head as though she’d just suggested he pull his underpants over his head and run around making chicken noises.
She simply raised an eyebrow and waited. Finally he got sick of rolling his eyes and telling her she was unbelievable.
“All right. When I parked my car in that spot this morning, pissing you off did not in any way inform my decision,” he said, but at the last minute he broke eye contact and his gaze wandered somewhere over her shoulder.
“Huh! You liar! You big fat liar! You did do it to piss me off!” she gasped.
“Okay, you want the truth? You’re right—I did do it on purpose. You’ve parked in that spot every single day for the past year. I thought it was time you had a change.”
She nearly swallowed her tongue.
He thought it was time she had a change?
“You thought it was time I had a change? You—a man who hasn’t yet grasped the basics of ironing—thought it was time for me to have a change?”
She realized her mouth was hanging open and she shut it with an audible click.
“Yeah. I did.”
His earlier words came flooding back, something about her stitching herself back up nice and tight. Added to his original assessment of her as prissy, it made a pretty unattractive picture. Suddenly she got it—he thought she was some repressed, neurotic career woman. The type of person who had to have routine, made sure she ate all the five major food groups and was never late paying her bills. The idea so outraged her that she couldn’t stop the challenge popping out her mouth.
“You think I’m uptight, don’t you?”
Her temper increased another few degrees when he simply raised an eyebrow at her.
“Answer me!” she demanded, and even to her own ears she sounded shrill and shrewish. He waited until the echo from her screech had died before spreading his hands as though presenting a fait accompli.
“I rest my case.”
She stared at him, very aware of the pulse beating madly at the base of her neck. She hated that she was behaving this way, hated that he could crank her up so easily. Most of all she hated that just five minutes ago she’d been imagining his bare chest, while he was sitting there thinking she was uptight and repressed.
Across the elevator car, Jack yawned ostentatiously, making a show of checking his watch, all of it meant to imply he was waiting for her next “snappy” comeback. Her temper boiled over and without thinking, she slid off one of her imported Italian leather pumps and slung it across the room at him. Unfortunately, hand-eye coordination had never been her strong suit and it simply bounced harmlessly off the wall next to his head.
It did shock him though, which gave her great satisfaction.
“There’s another one where that came from, so keep your stupid male chauvinist generalizations to yourself,” she warned him.
She started as her shoe landed in her lap with just enough force behind it to make her realize he was much better at ball sports than her.
“That’s how much of a male chauvinist I am. I respect you as an equal so much I know you can take what you dish out,” he said, and the complaint about him nearly hurting her died on her lips.
Sneaky bastard.
If her first throw had connected, she could have hurt him, and they both knew it. By giving her back some of what she’d dished out, he was forcing her to acknowledge her own double standards—that it was okay for a woman to hit a man, but not vice versa.
A taut silence stretched between them. She bit her lip to contain the hundred and one explanations, justifications and motivations for the way she lived
