"Let me?" Apparently exhausted, Marissa had been slouched in the chair throughout this little interchange, but now she straightened, put her elbows on the armrests, and leaned forward, obviously unaware of the intriguing view this position provided Trent of her cleavage. "Let me?" she repeated incredulously. me?" she repeated incredulously.

"Maybe that wasn't the wisest choice of words," Trent said, really enjoying himself . . . and the view.

"There's no maybe to it," Coleman said. "But you're young. There's still time to learn."

"And you're lucky she's got bad aim with a bottle," Speedy said.

"I have good aim," Marissa said.

"Yeah, she aimed real well," Nan said. "He just has a good arm."

"You know, I've got a buddy who has been trying to get me to join his recreational baseball league," Trent said. "Keith, if you're listening, go ahead and sign me up. Evidently, I've got talent."

"You may have talent, but you haven't got a big interest in self-preservation," Rissi snapped. "Or you wouldn't have lied to me about how far we'd run."

Speedy again did his best cat-fight impersonation, and Nan added, "You go, girl!"

"Okay," Trent said, smiling at Rissi. She really was cute when she was mad. And when she was excited. And when she was merely breathing. "I apologize for not telling you when we hit that first mile, but you were doing so well, I figured I should let you keep going. I actually thought you'd be kind of excited when I told you that you ran two miles straight without needing a break, after you told me that you hardly ever exercise. That's quite an accomplishment, Rissi."

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

"What do you say to that, Ms. Kincaid?" Coleman asked.

Rissi turned toward the machine, as though staring at it would make the two DJs go away.

It didn't.

"Yeah, did it make you feel good that you went that far?" Speedy asked. "Or did it simply make you want to deck him with a water bottle?"

"Obviously, I wanted to deck him with a water bottle," she said, then laughed. "But I'll admit that it did feel pretty good to know I went that far on the first day."

Trent leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs in front of him, and laced his fingers in a triumphant I-was-right-and-I-knew-it stance.

She narrowed her eyes, screwed the top on her water bottle, and then pegged him in the chest.

"Ouch!" he said, when the bottle collided with his heart.

"Whoa, Nellie, I'm thinking she didn't miss the mark this time," Speedy said. "Am I right, Ms. Kincaid?"

"I'll let Trent answer," she said smugly.

"Yeah, Speedy," Trent said, rubbing his sternum and trying not to look too excited by the fact that he was with the most spirited woman he'd ever met in his life. "She didn't miss the mark."

Nan squealed in delight. "Oh, I wish I could get that kind of s.p.u.n.k when my husband and I are fussing. You hit him with a bottle?" she asked.

"I did," Marissa affirmed, grinning like a kid.

"Was it open or closed?" Nan asked. "I mean, the bottle. I'm just wondering if you're now sitting there and looking at him all wet. You know, that's not a bad image, given I saw him in that T-shirt and shorts this morning." She giggled. "Lord, I hope my husband isn't listening to this."

"It was closed," Rissi said, but then her head tilted slightly, and Trent had no doubt she was wondering exactly how he'd have ended up if it had been opened. Then again, she'd seen him completely wet last night, and completely aroused, too, for that matter. Was she remembering that now?

She licked her lips.

Yeah, she was. Trent smiled broadly, feeling mighty sure of himself, and of the fact that he'd have her soon.

Rissi evidently noticed. "c.o.c.ky."

"What was that, Ms. Kincaid?" Speedy asked.

"Lucky," she said, her cheeks flaming. "He'll be lucky if any baseball team wants him if he can't catch any better than that."

"Really?" Trent asked, stirring up trouble and loving it. "You sure that's what you said? Because I could have sworn . . ."

"I-said-lucky."

"Oh, right," Trent said in his best patronizing tone.

Speedy cackled. "Well, Nan, it seems our couple is having an interesting morning, and while I believe they're perfectly content throwing things at each other, we really need to find out about Ms. Kincaid's a.s.signment from last night and let them both know what we need them to do for tomorrow's broadcast."

"Okay," Nan said, "I've got to get back to work, anyway. But I have a quick question for Trent."

"Go ahead," Coleman said.

"If you run every other day, does that mean the two of you will be running again on Friday morning? Will I see you on my way to work?"

"Don't count on it," Rissi said.

"We'll see," Trent countered.

"Great. I bet I can probably talk some of my coworkers into carpooling that day," Nan said, then the line clicked as she hung up.

"We got a late start, but we still have a lot of listeners who are wondering about Trent's hopes and dreams," Coleman said. "We found out about Marissa's yesterday, thanks to Trent, but now we've got to see if these two got closer than bottle-throwing since yesterday and whether she actually found out whether the CEO of Jackson Enterprises has interesting aspirations."

Trent watched her face closely. His truthful admission of what he wanted most out of life had instigated that heated kiss in the hot tub, and everything that followed. This morning, she'd awakened with a determination to play it cool, as though none of that had happened. She ran with him, and they fought, but it was a playful, friendly fight. Rissi wasn't really mad, and what's more, Trent thoroughly believed that she was actually flirting with him, even when she flung a bottle his way. She'd enjoyed last night as much as he, but she didn't want him to see that now. However, could she tell Coleman and Speedy about his hopes and dreams without remembering what had happened when he told her?

She grazed her lower lip with her teeth, then slowly brought her left hand toward her mouth. Trent shifted in his chair, leaned forward, then gently caught her wrist and lowered it to the armrest. "You can do it," he mouthed.

He expected her to push his hand away, or to wait for him to let go, but she didn't. Instead, she slid her wrist through his fingers, then, when her palm reached his, she stopped and softly squeezed. The gesture was as intimate as anything they had shared last night, or more, because Rissi was accepting strength . . . from him.

"Marissa?" Coleman prodded. "Can you tell us about his hopes and dreams?"

She gave Trent a soft smile, then said, "Yes, I can. Basically, he wants what any other guy wants," she said, using the same introduction Trent had used when telling her his goals last night. "He wants to do well in his business life and to live up to the expectations his father had for him before he died, and he wants to do well in his personal life, to have a wife who's meant for him and children who look up to him and respect him." She paused, then added, "That's the short version, of course, but that's pretty much it." She tried to sound dismissive, but Trent knew her better. He'd seen the heartfelt emotion in her eyes last night. She'd been touched by his sincere goals, and he'd been touched by her response to them.

"Sounds good," Coleman said. "And I'm betting you learned that in as few words as possible, hmm? Since you claim you don't want to talk to Mr. Jackson any more than necessary this week?"

"It didn't take a whole lot of words," Trent said, and gave her another wink. She squeezed his hand, then released it.

"That's right," she said. "It didn't take that many words, and then we didn't have anything left to talk about."

Trent c.o.c.ked a brow, but chose not to argue the point. Truthfully, he hadn't talked much more than that, but he had done plenty of other things, like kissing her neck and fondling her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His attention dropped to the two swells against the clingy sports bra. They weren't overly large and, in fact, were closer to the small cla.s.sification, but they were, in Trent's opinion, perfect, from the gentle slope outward to the taut, ultrasensitive nipples that had instantly budded beneath his tongue and hand. Trent shifted in his chair and attempted to will the beckoning hard-on to subside, but what normal guy wouldn't get turned on remembering how responsive Rissi had been at his command, especially while looking at her, still heated from their run and still wearing the gray athletic shorts with peekaboo notches at each outer thigh and the black sports bra that only emphasized her pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s, flat abs, and narrow waist.

d.a.m.n, he wanted her, and he couldn't have her. Yet.

"Well, today's a.s.signment won't involve a whole heck of a lot of talking," Speedy said. "But it should still be fun."

"Yeah, it should," Coleman added. "I mentioned it last Friday, you may recall. Today, Trent will need to come up with a menu for tonight's dinner. If you need anything that isn't in the apartment, and I a.s.sume you probably will, fax the list of items to us by noon, and we'll have someone deliver it to you in plenty of time for you to start cooking. Tonight, you're going to prepare a meal for Marissa and then the two of you will dine together."

"Sounds good," Trent said, and was inwardly pleased that he was, according to Keith and all of the women he'd previously dated, "quite talented in the kitchen." Of course, being raised by Anna Boudreaux Jackson didn't hurt. His mother was proud of her Cajun heritage and determined that the legacy of preparing seasoned cuisine wouldn't die when she pa.s.sed on. Thanks to her, Trent could cook one mean etouffee, and tonight, he'd prepare it for Rissi. "I'll fax everything I need shortly."

"Sounds good," Coleman said. "And Marissa, you've probably already figured this out, but tomorrow will be your night, just in case you need to prepare."

Her right hand eased toward her mouth, but then she noticed Trent watching and ran her fingers through her short curls. "Sounds good," she said.

"Fine. Then we'll wait for the list and send the things over. And tomorrow, Marissa, you can let us know if Trent Jackson can hold his own in the kitchen," Coleman said.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm betting our listeners are also wanting to know if he can hold his own at the dinner table, as in whether she ends up stabbing him with a knife before it's over," Speedy said. "Trent, maybe you shouldn't serve anything that requires a knife. You know, they have meals at those theme shows where you eat everything with your fingers. Isn't that right, Coleman? Where is that place again? You and Margaret took the grandkids there last summer."

"The Dixie Stampede," Coleman said. "Dolly Parton's place in Pigeon Forge. And yes, you eat everything with your fingers, but Trent, I'm betting you'll earn a lot more points with the lady if you fix something that at least requires a fork."

Trent laughed. He really liked the two DJs, and he was pretty sure they were both rooting for him to win major points with "the lady" before the week ended. "Don't worry, Coleman. She'll use a fork, or a fourchette fourchette, as my mother always said."

"Your mother was French?" Coleman asked.

"Cajun, and proud of it," Trent said. "As a matter of fact, I believe I'll prepare a taste of bayou cooking for Rissi this evening, so she can get a taste of my mother's heritage."

"Do the rules say that we can't go over there for dinner?" Speedy asked.

"Yes," Coleman answered. "The one that says only the two of them shall inhabit the apartment until Friday morning. But if you want to fix us some of that Cajun food another time, Jackson, we'll be more than happy to sample it."

Trent grinned. "Count on it."

"You want to give us a hint of what you'll be preparing tomorrow night, Marissa?" Speedy asked.

"It's a surprise," she said coyly.

"Might want to add a bottle of Mylanta to your shopping list there, Trent," Speedy said.

Chuckling, Coleman reprimanded Speedy under his breath, then said, "Well, folks, it's been an interesting show, and we know all of you are enjoying these morning visits with our resident liar and cheat, but for today, we're going to have to let them go. In the meantime, if you want to check out Trent and Marissa's feud online, you can access all of our previous broadcasts, as well as all of their sites, AtlantaTellAll.com, DieHardAtlanta.com, TheGuyCheats.com, and TheGirlLies.com, through our station's home page. And Trent and Marissa, we'll talk to you tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," Speedy said. "Maybe next time you'll answer the phone." The theme music for their show filled the line, and then they disconnected.

"So," Trent said, turning from the phone to look directly at Rissi, "you can't cook, can you?"

"Of course I can," she snapped. "It's just that I didn't feel the need to go bragging about the amazing meal I'll prepare tomorrow night. Besides, today is your your cooking day, so the question should be whether cooking day, so the question should be whether you you can cook, and I guess I'll find out tonight, won't I?" can cook, and I guess I'll find out tonight, won't I?"

"You certainly will," he said, eager to show her that his talents extended beyond kissing in hot tubs. Of course, he really wanted to show her that they extended in lots of ways, beyond the kitchen, too, but all in due time. "Until tonight, what would you like to do?" he asked. Sure, he had a ton of work for DieHardAtlanta and Jackson Enterprises to keep him busy, but he was more than happy to play hooky if she wanted. Hooky in the hot tub, in the shower, in the bed, on the couch, in the kitchen, on the table . . .

He'd contemplated endless possibilities all night, and he was pretty sure she had, too.

"First I'm going to shower," she said.

"Need help washing your back?"

"No."

"The front?" he asked, smiling.

"Definitely not."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

"What happened to the old Hershey game? You forgot to ask if I wanted to have s.e.x first."

"h.e.l.l, if I washed your back or your front, darling, we'd have s.e.x before it was over."

"You're terrible," she said, leaning down to rub Petie's head on her way to her room and giving Trent a nice view of her behind in the process.

"d.a.m.n, you are one hot lady, Rissi Kincaid," he said, and then realized that he probably should have kept that comment internal.

But she turned around and delivered the s.e.xiest, most provocative smile Trent had ever received. The effect was extremely potent. "Change your mind about that back wash?" he asked hopefully.

"No, I haven't," she said, still moving toward her bedroom, but at a slower pace. "But you do know how to flatter a girl."

"I'm only stating the facts, ma'am."

"Well, facts or not, you do make me feel good, Trent Jackson, and for that I thank you. But as far as what I'm going to do until dinner tonight, I'm going to shower-solo-and then I'm going to check out the system at work and make sure that everything is still up and running. If it is, then I'll get back to the program I was writing when the system crashed and work on that until late this afternoon or this evening, whenever your dinner is prepared. Then I'll eat dinner with you, and then I'm going to bed, again, solo. That's it."

"You don't even plan on chatting with me anywhere in there? I mean, it'd be kind of odd to go the whole day without speaking, given we're living together and all, not to mention I've sucked on your breast."

Her eyes widened, but then her laughter rolled forward and made Trent laugh, too. "You are wicked. Completely, utterly wicked."

"Does that mean you're going to talk to me today? Because I've got to tell you, yesterday, with you in there banging on those keys and paying me no attention whatsoever, well, that was quite the blow to this guy's usually swollen ego."

She paused at the door to her room, then Petie ran to her feet and she opened it to let him pa.s.s, apparently en route to the patio. "Okay," she said. "This is probably one of the dumbest things I've ever done, but I'm going to tell you the truth."

"Beats the h.e.l.l out of lying," he said, which caused one side of her mouth to curl up in a snarl. "Okay. Sorry," he said. "Tell me what truth?"

"I can see myself being friends with you," she said. "And I think it's kind of sad that after this week I won't be able to go out with you, as friends, to dinner or to hang out, or whatever. I think being friends with you would be fun," she said, then shrugged. "But we simply can't. I want that ad campaign, and-I know this is hard for you to understand-I also don't want any type of relationship with you beyond friendship. It wouldn't work."

Trent really wanted to argue that last point, but he knew this wasn't the time for it, so he focused on the positive part of her statement. "I can live with that, that you'd like to be friends, only we can't. However, I do have a suggestion for the short-term part of that scenario that might make the rest of this week a little more comfortable, for both of us."

"I'm listening," she said skeptically.

"That friends part, hanging out and having dinner, enjoying each other's company-as friends-we could do that this week. True, we wouldn't be able to carry it forward into the real world when the contest ends, not if you want that ad campaign, but we could still take advantage of the fact that we click well together, at least while we're here. And we could have a lot of fun in the process, maybe even make it through a day without you throwing something at me."

"I've already thrown something today," she reminded him. "Twice."

"So we'll start that part of the new and improved coexistence tomorrow. But today, friends it is, deal?"