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BE ON THE SHOW? After that kiss? No way, Marley thought, ripping the microphone from the lapel of the too-short suit when the cameras stopped rolling. The wool was making her legs itch so badly that she’d wanted to claw her thighs throughout the show, and now, since she’d gulped all that water, she was desperate to find a ladies’ room.

Thankfully, the ridiculously frilly, high-collared blouse beneath the jacket had saved her torso from breaking into hives. Between the pancake foundation someone had applied during a commercial break, the candy-apple blusher and eye shadow better suited to a Hollywood diva, the makeup people who’d been manhandling her since she’d arrived had done a real number on her. Cash was just lucky she hadn’t strong-armed him to the ground! After all, she had taught female self-defense courses at Fancy Abs. Of course Cash didn’t know that because he thought she was Edie….

Yanking down the skirt as she stood, Marley prayed she’d kept her legs together during the show. Not that her panties, which were the only thing she was wearing that belonged to her, weren’t decent. Unlike her twin’s silk thongs, hers were of high-waisted cotton, bought two pairs for a dollar on the street in Chinatown. Careful not to make eye contact, she brushed past Cash, and then beelined toward an Exit sign over the door to the hallway, through which Trevor Milane had just vanished.

If only she could erase the memory of the past hour! Maybe she could just clunk herself on the head, she thought dryly as she hightailed after Trevor, and induce amnesia. Yes…she would refuse to dwell on the swollen feeling of her lips and the unwanted bereft sensation left in the wake of Cash’s kiss, not to mention the undeniable pang solicited by the absence of his mouth, or the weightless, falling feeling she’d been sure she’d never experience again.

“Oh, this is not good,” Marley whispered nervously. The last time she’d had this swooning feeling, her ex had been kissing her goodbye as she’d left for work. Or so she’d thought. Eleven hours later, she’d found the note that said he’d kissed her goodbye—forever. After taking the money from their joint accounts, he’d left for Key West to fulfill his lifelong ambition of living on a houseboat, a dream he’d somehow failed to mention to Marley before.

Still eyeing the Exit sign, she reminded herself that what Cash had forced her to experience was a mere bodily response to male stimuli. Cash’s lips had landed on hers, and sure, she’d shuddered. Her belly had warmed, her blood had quickened, her thighs had squeezed together and her breasts had tightened. But it meant nothing. This New Year’s, she’d sworn off men, but if a man did certain things, healthy women were bound to feel certain other things. Dabbing her upper lip, Marley wished hot sweats wasn’t one of them.

Fortunately, she was mature. Her divorce had left her hardened and more worldly. Men’s kisses could affect her body now, but not her mind. Never again would she let physical experiences sway her good judgment. Sure, immediately after Cash had kissed her, she’d said she’d remain on the show. And sure, to the viewers of America, it might have looked as if Cash had persuaded her with one stupid kiss.

But Marley had the power. She could easily have wrestled Cash to the floor with a headlock. Or kneed his groin. Oh, she really didn’t trust him. He was too pretty, superficial and slick. With those prominent cheekbones, thick black hair and straight nose, he looked like a model or a rock star. He wasn’t Marley’s type, and besides, he was her sister’s boyfriend, at least technically. And yes, maybe the word boyfriend was strong. Which was to the point. Marley had suspected this man’s motives. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she could tell Cash had some ulterior reason for dating Edie….

Barreling through the door, she entered the long hallway she’d traversed earlier, her legs teetering. Why she couldn’t walk in Edie’s high heels, she’d never know. Snowboarding was her favorite pastime, and she in-line skating down the West Side Highway at speeds that beat city traffic.

Run, run, run, her mind was screaming. But her ankles were wobbling. The stilettos were catching on the thick pile of the carpet. Unfortunately, most of the office doors were shut, and she needed to talk to Trevor. He’d know how to rectify this situation. She thought she’d glimpsed his nameplate at the far end of the hallway. She had to get off the show. There was no other alternative after that…

Kiss.

Her throat closed at the thought of the lip-lock that had made her workouts seem tame. Her head swam, and vaguely, she wondered if it had really been a year since she’d had sex. Heat had burned off her as Cash mushed his lips to hers, and she figured she must have lost at least a pound, maybe two. It had definitely been a calorie-burning sizzler. Even now, she could see those suntanned fingers curling around the armrests of her seat, trapping her. Just as she’d gasped, the scent of his skin had tunneled to her lungs, and a heartbeat later, the silken tip of his tongue had teased open her lips, wetting them….

But who was he, really? He’d scarcely touched Edie, which was one reason Marley didn’t trust him. Face it, men craved sex like air, and so Cash’s hands-off policy with Marley’s twin was suspicious. And he didn’t live in New York. Oh, he’d said he was from New Orleans, and he’d said he was helping a friend open a club, but Marley was convinced that the whole story wouldn’t hold water, not if she played armchair detective, made a few phone calls and checked him out. Maybe she’d do just that….

Suddenly, she squealed. “Ouch!” He’d grabbed her from behind, closing his fingers around her upper arm. “Let me go, Cash.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

Yeah, right. She’d smelled the clean male scent of him and heard the soft brush of his boot heels on the carpet. Somehow, she couldn’t force herself to turn around and face him, not yet. No heat in the man’s kisses? What had her twin been talking about? His every pore was leaking testosterone. “That’s the other thing,” Marley muttered hotly, hardly caring that she was continuing a monologue she’d been having in her head.

“What’s that?”

Wrenching her arm away, she whirled to face him. “I guess the rumors about southern men are true.”

His laugh shouldn’t have been annoying, but it was. “Which rumor? That we kiss to beat the band?”

“No, the rumor about having your way with women, regardless of their feelings. You have a pretty high opinion of yourself.”

“I hadn’t even started talking about myself yet.” Cash’s dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “Just my kisses.”

“They might not fly so well in Yankee territory,” she returned sweetly in her best southern accent, rapidly batting her eyelashes, a move that didn’t come naturally.

“I don’t see why we need to make this a North-South issue, since the Civil War was over a long time ago.”

“Ah. But was it really civil?”

“No war is,” he agreed.

Fortunately, she’d made it halfway to Trevor’s office, and now she reminded herself that, in just a moment, she’d be released from her obligation to the show, at least if she were lucky. Surely, they could start over tomorrow with the alternates. “Look. This isn’t what you think.”

The eyes drifting down every inch of her didn’t look convinced, but they did look curious. “No?”

This would shake him up. “I’m not Edie.”

She almost smiled, since she’d clearly unsettled him. Finally. With satisfaction, she watched his calm, cool, collected demeanor change, and she felt glad she was wearing Edie’s high heels. Now that she was standing still, the shoes made her tall enough to meet his liquid eyes.

As the seconds ticked on, however, she got uncomfortable again. She became overly conscious of people crowding into the hallway, the flicker of fluorescent lights and the shortness of her own breath. She became aware of other things, too, which she’d have preferred to ignore, such as how his well-worn jeans clung to lean hips and snuggled around the unmistakable rise beneath his zipper. The other male contestants had worn suits, but Cash had somehow stopped the reality-show staff from wrestling him out of his beloved jeans. She glanced around. Where were the other contestants, anyway? Had they exited by another doorway? And why wasn’t he saying anything?

When he finally did, he said, “You’re not Edie?”

She hated to disappoint him. Feeling a twinge of guilt, she rushed on. “Uh…I know I look like her tonight. I mean, with the blown-out hair and makeup.” She was even wearing panty hose. “But…” In mid-sentence, her mouth went dry again. He really was incredibly good-looking. Somehow, she managed to repeat, “Uh…no, I’m not Edie.”

He said the last thing expected. “Uh…no shit, Marley.”

Her heart fluttered. “You knew?” Oh, this made everything so much worse.

“Uh…yeah.”

She squinted. “So, why did you look surprised?”

“Uh…I thought you knew that I knew that you weren’t…” His voice trailed off.

At what exact point had he known? She had to ask. “When? Before or after?” The kiss.

He rubbed a jaw that was turning dark with five-o’clock stubble, his equally dark eyebrows knitting together. “I suspected all along,” he said in a slow drawl. “But I wasn’t sure until you kissed me. Let’s just say…you two don’t kiss alike.”

“TMI,” she managed to say, not about to encourage anything more about her sister’s kissing habits.

“TMI?”

“Too much information.”

“You asked me,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t kiss you, though. You kissed me.” Big difference. How could men be so deluded? Marley hated to generalize, but it wasn’t just Cash who seemed too full of himself. Lots of men overestimated their prowess. Marley was hardly the first woman to notice, either. History was full of astute women who had managed to pick up on this. “I did nothing,” she clarified, hoping he understood. “I sat there in stunned silence.”

Those inky eyes, so alive with shadow, widened. “Really?”

Why didn’t he seem to believe her? “Just now—” Marley jerked her thumb back toward the studio. “When you kissed me,” she continued, placing correct emphasis on the pronouns, “my mouth dropped open in shock. Maybe you saw more into that than it really was, Cash.”

“Maybe so,” he said, the words running together like molasses, his lips pursing pensively, “and since I pride myself on paying close attention, Marley, I have to apologize. I don’t know what confused me more, the way you flung your arms around my neck, or the way you went at me with all that tongue action.”

“Do men really say things like this?” she muttered. “Tongue action?”

He looked like he was fighting a smile. “Apparently, some do.”

Had she used her tongue? Had she wrapped her arms around his neck? Shutting her eyes briefly, she tried to remember, but she drew a blank. Surely, he was wrong. She’d remember if she’d kissed him back. “Look,” she began diplomatically, opening her eyes. “On this issue, let’s agree to disagree. Apparently, we each have our own version.”

Before he could contradict her, she quickly cleared her throat. “And my being on the show wasn’t intentional,” she plunged on. “Edie had nothing to do with it. She doesn’t even know. She asked me to come here, but not to be on the show with you. I mean, it’s not like we were trading places with each other, the way we did when we were kids.” He was looking at her expectantly, so she added, “It’s a long story….”

“I’ve got all night.”

“Well, I don’t,” she assured quickly.

“If you’re in a hurry, I’m all ears.”

Still trying to ignore the fact that they’d kissed at all, much less on national television, she took a deep breath and said, “Edie’s been trying to call you all day.” She tried to keep the accusation from her tone, but still, if Cash had made himself available to his own girlfriend, none of this would have happened. “She said you disappeared, but she wanted you to know she had second thoughts about being on the show.”

“She couldn’t come?”

“She got hung up.” When he didn’t look convinced, she added, “Really. She had to pick up ring designs from Bridget before she met the Dardens for a wedding-planning meeting.”

“So she sent you?”

“Sent would be strong,” Marley corrected, hardly about to divulge her own plans to interrogate him. “She asked and I agreed.” She wouldn’t have it implied that she took orders from Edie. “I tried to call your hotel and your cell phone, but there was no answer. I came here to leave a message, but one thing led to another. The male and female contestants were separated,” she explained, “and before I could stop them, the staff pushed me into the green room.”

“Even after you said you wanted off the show?”

She nodded. “I was trying to make them stop putting on makeup…”

He looked at her as if noticing the eye shadow for the first time. “Understandable.”

“And nails.” She held up blood-red talons. “They seemed to think lots of color would play well for the camera—” Pausing, she scrutinized him. “I can see now that only women were targeted, and the men were spared.”

Cash deadpanned. “You don’t like my blow-dry?”

“You even got to wear jeans.”

“They said I had cowboy appeal.”

“Cowboy appeal?”

He shrugged. “The boots.”

“The only thing about me they liked was Edie’s hairdo.” Puffing her cheeks, she realized Cash’s eyes had locked on to hers. Whew. Some eyes. How come Edie hadn’t responded to this guy? Suddenly, everything went still. She registered the people milling around them and the fact that, despite the crowd, she felt as if she were alone with him.

“I like you better in sweatpants.”

Marley wished he hadn’t said it. “You like sweatpants?”

“Not so much as the sports bras and ripped midriffs that go with them.”

“Hmm.” This was the guy whom Edie had sworn lacked testosterone? Granted, Marley tried to stay out of her sister’s love life, which was easy, since it was virtually nonexistent, but still, she’d gotten roped into at least one conversation about Cash’s supposed deficiencies. Definitely, she had to draw some very firm boundaries here. “Well, you’ve probably noticed that, uh, I’m not very available.”

“You’re abrupt,” he agreed, a slow, sexy smile saying he didn’t mind in the least. “Downright rude the day I offered you a ride.”

“It’s nothing personal,” she assured.

“How is rudeness not personal?”

“I was trying to be discouraging,” she corrected. “Not rude.” She just wished he weren’t studying her with eyes hot enough to melt glaciers.

“So, Edie wanted off the show?” He really did look disappointed.

“I’m sorry, but it’s nothing personal. She just thought the better of it. Honestly, I think she remembered the wedding curse and just got a case of jitters. You do know about the family curse, don’t you?”

“Not much. Maybe you can tell me more.”

Not in this lifetime. “Uh…maybe. But right now, we have a lot of other things on our plate, right? I do think we can work this out. Trevor Milane will know what to do. I was just headed to his office….” She flashed an insincere smile, hardly able to muster a genuine one, not when her nostrils were filled with his enticing male scent, and his hard, hot body was this close. “Why don’t you come along?”

Deciding not to prolong the conversation—or agony—she turned on one of Edie’s high heels and wobbled down the hallway, not surprised to feel Cash close behind. “Mr. Milane,” she said when she reached his office.

Seated at his desk, he looked up. “Yes?”

When she felt a jolt of electricity behind her, she realized Cash’s chest had brushed her back, and she tried to ignore how her heart jump-started. “I can’t be on Rate the Dates. I’ve been trying to explain this ever since I got here. Who can I talk to?”

“Of course you’re on the show,” Trevor soothed, rising and circling his desk. “I know you’re a bundle of nerves. But our staff is trained to handle jitters.”

“I don’t have jitters,” Marley corrected. He was making her sound like the proverbial neurotic female.

“Everything will be fine, Edie,” Trevor assured.

“Really?” she managed to say dryly. Just hearing people address her by her sister’s name was driving her crazy. And even though it wasn’t the end of January yet, a man was already threatening her New Year’s resolution never to have sex again. She was going to live as a single, rebuilding her business, making her own money and traveling. No man would destroy the fruits of her labors again.

“Edie—” Trevor cooed the name as if she were an invalid. One headlock, Marley thought silently, and that calculating smile would vanish from Trevor Milane’s face. But then, as her Granny Ginny always said, “A woman catches more flies with honey,” so she plastered a smile on her face, reminding herself that Trevor had the power right now. If anybody could get her off the show, it was probably him.

“You’re about to meet the videographer who’ll be taping your dates all week,” he was saying. “His name’s Vinny Marcel, and as soon as he arrives, we’ll get started.”

“Things aren’t as they appear,” Marley began again.

“No,” Trevor agreed slowly, his smile thinning. “They aren’t.” She watched as he opened a drawer to his desk and withdrew a document. “You signed this?”

“I…thought I was signing for the bottled water,” she said. “You know,” she explained, “the way you sign for food and drinks at a hotel.”

“This is NBC. Do you really think we’d make contestants pay for water?”

Well…she had thought it a bit ungracious. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, we don’t.”

“Uh-oh. That’s not a contract, is it?”

Just as he nodded, Marley got near enough for her eyes to settle on the dotted line where she’d signed Edie’s name. “But I didn’t know what it was….” Wasn’t there some law that protected people who were forced to sign legal documents under duress?

“You know now, Edie,” Trevor said succinctly.

It was the wrong time for a bearded man with a video camera to appear in the doorway. “Cash and Edie,” he said, introducing himself with a wide grin, “I’m Vinny Marcel, your videographer. Are we ready to rock?”

“Rock?” Marley whispered softly. What lower level of hell had she just stumbled into? Was she really going to be videotaped for a week, while some southern hunk stuck to her like glue?

She was actually thankful when she felt Cash’s palm glide across her back. The fingers settled at the small of her spine, and although they exerted only the slightest pressure, the touch sent shivers through her body. So did his lips, which connected with her ear.

Softly, so only she could hear, he whispered in a drawl that melted each inch of her, “My truck’s in the parking garage next door. What say, we excuse ourselves by saying we’re going to the little boys’ and girls’ rooms, respectively—and then we’ll just make a run for it, Marley?”

It was another reminder that she really did want to find a ladies’ room. Right before she whispered, “Okay,” a wave of fear shot through her system, and it took her a second to properly identify its source: against all her better judgment, she was actually starting to like this man.