Dylan McCray.
She struggled for composure, and bolted upright. Dear God, it was him. How was it possible to look better after a whole decade? His hair was still a delicious mix of wheat-colored strands with streaks of white peppered throughout. With that thick and unruly hair, he gave off a surfer vibe. The deceiving halo was a wicked contradiction to his hypnotic gaze that could command a woman to drop her panties in 2.2 seconds. His face was a dance of graceful lines that set off his lips, which had a delicious natural sulky curve. He sported dimples that emphasized his mischievous charm rather than caused him to look boyish. He reminded her of an angel, with a lean, muscled physique. He was Michael and Gabriel reincarnated to seduce women and master men on Earth.
“You.”
The word blasted from her mouth in pure shock, horror, and frustration.
Riley stared back helplessly at the man she’d never been able to forget. Heir to McCray Technologies—the billion-dollar computer giant rivaling Sony and Apple for market share with cutting-edge electronics. A playboy who bedded every woman in his path, and graduated with a 4.0 in business management without even trying. A man who believed in fun and frolic before work, owned a wicked sense of humor, and was the sexiest male specimen she’d ever laid her eyes on.
Yeah. She despised him.
He’d literally tortured her throughout college. Stuck sharing a dormitory, with her room a short distance down the hall from his, she spent those years watching him go through every last woman on campus and party his ass off. While she worked and studied nonstop, he gained his A’s easily. He never went to the library, never turned a paper in on time, and was the leader in every social activity at Cornell. He was revered by teachers and students, walked on water like the Golden Boy he was, and made it his goal to annoy the hell out of her every step of the way.
Yet . . .
Every verbal battle emphasized a strange connection between them. The sparks when they fought literally whizzed in the air, and he had a way of defusing her ironclad rules with a sense of humor that sometimes even had her struggling to remain serious. They were picture-perfect opposites—doomed to be anything but enemies with a tad of grudging respect mixed in.
Until the kiss.
Riley scowled as the memory hit her hard. She refused to think about that short, weak moment. She’d completely forgotten it anyway. Kind of.
“Hey, darlin’. Long time, no see.”
Her temper rose. His Texas drawl may have been hot shit at Cornell, but she knew the truth. He used it on purpose to score, and called every female darlin’. Like they were special. He also knew she despised the lame term with its chauvinistic facets. So, it was to be war from the beginning, huh?
Bring it.
“What are you doing here? Where have you taken me?” she demanded.
That sulky lip curled halfway up. “Your car slid into the ditch. I caught it on the security camera, pulled you out, and now you’re in my house.”
“Your house?” She studied the room again, remembering the spooky massive mansion rising above the mountaintop. “You live here? In the creepy house?”
A touch of annoyance lit his gaze. “It happens to be historic, and I had the place refurbished. What I find more creepy is you sneaking around my place during a blizzard. Miss me, darlin’?”
Riley managed not to bare her teeth and hiss. “Hardly. I was meeting a date at the skating rink. I have no idea how I got here, I must’ve taken the wrong way at the fork in the road. My car slid when I reached the top.”
“Rinker’s Park is the left.”
“Great, my fifty-fifty shot failed again. Would be nice if there was a sign.”
“You probably missed it in the storm. Must be some date to risk your life for a bit of ice-skating.”
She glowered. “I didn’t realize it would be this bad. The report said a dusting.”
“At 7 a.m. They changed it later this morning. Why didn’t your date cancel?”
No way was she letting him know the truth. Blind dates were humiliating to begin with, let alone admitting she had to use a matchmaking agency because she was so hard up. Never. “It’s a long story. Listen, thank you for playing the prince on horseback role, but I need to get home. Where’s my cell?”
He shrugged. “Probably in the car.”
Riley gasped. “My purse? Did you get that?”
“No, I was more focused on pulling your body from a vehicle that could burst into flames. Sorry I didn’t check for personal belongings.”