Page 39 of The Man She Loves to Hate

“I never had the chance to ask you the interview questions I asked everyone else today,” he said now, digging his thumbs into the wide part of Rylee’s foot. Her eyes were half-open, her body sagging on the cushy chair. “If you are coherent enough to answer them.”

“You could talk me into anything right now.” She moaned, a sound he felt in his groin. He reminded himself why he’d done this rather than take her back to her room. Because she’d been obligated all day today. He wasn’t about to obligate her further.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said anyway. “Okay, question one. What is your favorite relaxing pastime? Foot massages from sexy strangers doesn’t count.”

She smiled, her lashes casting shadows on her full cheeks. Her lipstick had faded, her hair had gone limp and she still looked amazing. Nothing short of edible.

“You mean besides being fed chocolate in bed after being thoroughly sexed up and down?”

He groaned under his breath. There was a definite stirring below the beltline he couldn’t alleviate any time soon. “Yes, besides that.”

“It’s boring.”

“Humor me.”

“I like to reorganize my pantry and spice rack.”

He nearly laughed. Of course she did. But he didn’t want to insult her, so he kept going. “Question two.”

“Wait, what’s your answer?”

“This is my interview.”

Her forehead creased. “I want to know.”

He’d never been asked, but he didn’t have to think about his answer. “The beach, a cold beer and a sunset.”

“That sounds nice.” Her expression was one of longing. “I could use a vacation.”

He swallowed the offer to treat her to an evening like it. “Question two. Who is your favorite person on the planet?”

“At the moment, it’s you.” She gave him a wonky smile.

“Nice try.” He drained the tub and dried off her feet with a towel. “It’s probably hard to pick from the thousands of friends you have.”

“I don’t have many friends.”

He laughed, assuming she was kidding.

“I’m serious. Until this wedding, where I’ve befriended several of the vendors, the bride and her family, I realized I don’t have many friends. Any, actually. I should make some more.”

“You should,” he agreed, smoothing lotion onto one of her legs. He’d expected her to struggle to pick from the people who loved her.

“My mother. Is that lame?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Not lame. My answer is my sister, Cassie.”

“That’s sweet.”

“She’s great.” He stopped short of telling her she’d meet his sister one day. Would she? They hadn’t spoken about what would happen once they returned to their separate lives in LA, and now didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up.

“Last question. Other than water, what is the one beverage you could drink for the rest of your life?” He waited for her to say a peach Bellini. Expected it, actually. In his mind, this question was a deal breaker. He and the woman he was seeing could disagree on the first two questions, no problem, but the final one was nonnegotiable. There was only one practical answer.

“Coffee.”

“What did you say?” He paused mid-massage with his hands on her calf, his pulse quickening.

“Coffee. It’s the possible answer. What about you?”

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