She crossed her arms and regarded him stonily. "You can try."
He glanced down to hide his slight smile. So there were limits beyond which even she would not step for her employer, and of that he was fiercely glad.
"Then what will you wear?"
Her relief flitted briefly. "Has this dance a theme, or is it just a costume party?"
"The theme is fantasies." And he was certainly having some erotic fantasies right now. With and without the cashmere sweater that hugged the taut peaks of her br**sts so tantalizingly.
She regarded him for a second, then shook her head. "What is the fascination you Sinclairs have with all things sexual? There's more to life than just mating, you know."
"Is there?" he drawled. "It's a shame I've never met anyone who's tempted me to discover that."
His implied insult had her cheeks flaming again. "Is there any particular reason you're being such an arrogant bastard, or does it just come naturally?"
"You know the reputation of the Sinclairs. You judge."
She snorted softly, then looked over her shoulder as lights swept across the darkness and the sound of a car engine drew close. "That's my parents," she said, meeting his gaze again. "Remember your promise."
"If you remember yours."
She swallowed, the pulse at her neck running faster than a startled deer. "Friends," she warned, stepping forward and twining her fingers through his. "Not lovers."
Though he nodded, he had no intention of following her rules. By the end of the night, there would be no doubt in her parents' minds as to why he was whisking her away for four days. Nor would they have any doubt of her willingness.
One more crack in her shields. One more push closer to that edge.
* * * *
On the surface, dinner was a friendly, casual affair. Neva's parents played the charming hosts and Duncan played the suave, likeable guest. But underneath, tension slithered. In her mother's case, it was simply annoyance that she'd been given no warning, no time to prepare a proper welcome for the man she already considered a prospective son-in-law. Her father was harder to read — like Neva, he had his shields fully up, so no one could see what he was thinking. But his emotions leaked regardless, and it was obvious he was well aware of Duncan's reputation. His distaste and anger were an emotive swirl that singed her senses. She didn't eat much. Couldn't, given the churning in her stomach. Yet its cause wasn't only nerves, but Duncan's very closeness. Her mom had insisted they sit together, and every time he moved, his arm brushed hers, sending lances of longing coursing through her. His actions last night and again in the diner had worked her into a feverish state, and her body responded to his every touch with needy, excited anticipation.
And she was positive it was deliberate. She felt like a cat stuck on a hot tin roof — heat burned every pore, but there was nothing she could do to cure or retreat from the situation.
"Why don't you and Duncan head into the living room," her mother suggested, rising from the table once the meal was finished. "We'll bring in the coffee after we clean up."
Neva nodded and without looking at Duncan rose and led the way into the other room. Once out of the immediate earshot of her parents, she swung around and faced him.
"Stop it," she said fiercely, clenching her fists and glaring up at him.
"Stop what?" He continued to advance on her.
She swallowed and backed away from the almost liquid desire so evident in his dark eyes.
"Stop playing this game. We're friends, nothing more, remember?"
A cold smile teased his lips. He kept advancing. She continued to back away.
"We're not friends, but we are definitely lovers. What is so wrong with letting your parents see that?"
Her back hit the wall, and he stopped. She stared up at him, hating him and yet wanting him.
"We're not lovers. I doubt you even know the meaning of the damn word. We danced, that's all."
He slid his hand under her sweater, his fingers so cool compared to her fevered skin. She tried to sidestep, but he pressed his hard body against hers, singeing her senses with his masculine odor, burning her mind with the flames of his hunger. His gaze all but devoured her as he leaned closer still.
"Don't." Her voice held very little force.
"Don't what?" His warm breath stroked her lips and sent a tingle of anticipation down her spine. "You want me to kiss you, Neva. Say it."