Did he care to know something that trivial about her, for the sake of knowing her, the future mother of his child, or did he only care that she was qualified for the position?

Shaking his head, voice bemused as if the fact he faced off with her and the fact that she confounded him were both novelties, he said, “I don’t.”

“It’s pink,” she said, the word light and airy, as gossamer-thin as the feelings that hovered in the shadows of her heart while the bulk of her attention tuned to the opening she knew would come. “Well, rose, really,” she amended.

She couldn’t read the emotion that flashed across his eyes when he said, “I would never have guessed,” but he wasn’t mocking her. She could see he meant it, but she had no idea if the fact was good or bad to him and not sure if she truly cared.

He’d given her the opening she’d been waiting for. Ducking to go low, small quick steps carried her in on his left.

Rather than try anything dramatic, she merely placed her two fingers against his rib cage before retreating backward, darting and twisting out of his reach as he tried to grab the flowing fabric of her dress.

At a safe distance, as if they were not eyeing each other during mock combat, she said casually, “You’ve already told me your favorite color, so I get to ask you something different.” Bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other, she finally asked, “What’s your middle name?” She kept the pressure of her question light, even as it was personal and pointed. Again, she was testing him. How much of himself was he willing to give her?

He answered without hesitation. “Reynard.”

“Oh!” she brought a hand to her mouth, letting down her guard with a little gasp. “That’s adorable!” She was surprised. The name was sweet and sophisticated, more whimsical and aspirational than she would have imagined coming from the image she had of his parents.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said, tersely, before jabbing into the opening she’d left, his hand reaching out to her.

Moving with less control than she’d have liked, she was still quick enough to evade him, laughing as she said, “It suits you. Your turn.”

“My turn for what?” he asked.

“To ask a question,” she answered.

She realized as she moved, her body engaged and enlivened, that she was fully into their game, her mind and heart having left the ominous weight of the previous night behind them.

Sebastian remained quiet for a beat longer, breathing and shifting his weight as he thought of his question, and Jenna wondered if maybe it felt unnatural for him to try to think of a question to get to know someone on a personal level. He was used to analyzing everyone around him, but how many people did he really know?

The thought brought a strange pinching sensation to her chest, one that felt surprisingly like empathy. Was it possible that for all he knew and manipulated about the world around him, he didn’t understand the deeper emotional connections that propelled it?

He dispelled her urge to dwell on the tragedy of his backstory, however, with his next question. “How many times have you thought about my body since the library?”

She felt color come to her cheeks again. The flirtation was unexpected after he’d revealed that he thought that what existed between them was dangerous, but rather than dance away, she engaged with him.

“It’s not your body I’ve been thinking about,” she said, voice unintentionally thickening with the truth of it as she spoke. He stopped circling and she flashed him a brilliant smile, a reckless sense of freedom pulsing in her veins.

If he’d thought to get the upper hand with suggestive language, he’d been thoroughly put in his place by her bold response—exactly as she’d planned.

He had tried to use words to glamour her into letting her guard down, but instead, she had turned the tables and thrown him for a loop. She danced into his space again, moving with precision, her person momentarily in the flow zone, stepped a leg behind his, gripped his pant leg and rolled both of their bodies onto the ground.

To her, the entire series of movements had been as gentle as swaying in a hammock. For him, a sudden loss of balance followed by a crash.

Because she had been prepared for the change in their positions when he hadn’t, she could turn the momentum of their weight and their fall against him to flip him over once more until she sat atop him.

Then she cocked her arm back, curled her hand into an iron fist and hammered it straight to the space one centimeter from his nose.

“I win.” She grinned down into his surprised face before rising to her feet, flashing him a salute, and leaving him in the gym just to prove that he didn’t always get to be the one to have the last word.

Later that evening, they made dinner—a mild chicken alfredo liberal with cheeses she’d only ever eyeballed before at the market counter—and ate together casually, sitting side by side at the kitchen island watching the sunlight disappear from the river canyon, leaving a trail of watercolor hues in pink, orange, purple and teal.

They had just finished exchanging stories of their worst professional mistakes and disasters when, reaching for their glasses of water at the same time, the backs of their hands brushed.

Clearing her throat lightly, Jenna said laughingly, “While I will never agree with your absurd idea that falling in love is some kind of calamity, I absolutely concur that it’s important we keep our relationship nonphysical. Regardless of whatever else happens going forward, we don’t want our relationship to leave our child confused and uncomfortable.”

Sebastian nodded at the same time as he seemed to take too large a bite, which required some effort to swallow and a sip of wine to chase down.

“And have you spent any more time considering my offer?”