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searching for a pulse. He had the sinking feeling that if his pulse was pounding as hard as his heart, she’d have no trouble finding it.
    “Please, please, please,” she chanted softly. “ Is he breathing?”
    Michael held his breath.
    Strands of her hair plastered themselves to his face. He guessed she’d put her ear to his mouth to see if air was moving in and out of it.
    She cupped the back of his head, stuck her fingers between his lips and pried them apart. Then she did something that nearly made his lungs explode. She sealed her lips over his mouth and blew with all her might.
    Michael jerked in reaction, expelling all of that extra air. He got his legs under him and stood, still sputtering.
    The fear in Darcy’s eyes slowly turned to confusion, then was transformed into outrage. “You were faking!”
    “Only a little.”
    “You weren’t hurt at all!”
    “Oh, yes I was,” he insisted. After all, she’d nearly inflated him like a hot-air balloon.
    The accusation in her eyes died. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.
    “I think so.”
    Her lashes fluttered as she directed her attention to his groin. “I . . . it was an accident.”
    “I know.”
    “I . . . I don’t know what . . . happened to me.”
    Michael plucked a wet strand of hair from her cheek, making certain to brush her skin with his fingertips. A surge of desire burst through him, confounding him. Why did he react so strongly to her?
    So what if she was stunning, standing there wet and almost naked, her eyes glittering a deep, deep green? So what if her nipples strained against her suit, and her lips were moist and still slightly swollen from his kiss? So what if her nose was just slightly impudent, her cheekbones classic, her chin darlingly stubborn? So what if her thick, wheat-blond hair was slicked straight back from her forehead? He should be completely immune to her. He wanted to be completely immune to her. This was business !
    So why did he want to be buried inside her so badly, he ached with it?
    He traced circles on her shoulder. “What happened was, you felt the same thing I did from that kiss.”
    “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, glaring at his roaming fingers.
    “You can’t deny the attraction between us, Darcy. You’d be lying.”
    Her gaze skittered back to his face. “But I don’t want to be attracted to you. You’re my enemy.”
    “I don’t have to be. We could be friends.”
    “Friends?” she squeaked, as if the word were foreign to her.
    “Friends,” he said softly. “And maybe lovers.”
    He hadn’t known he was going to throw out that suggestion until it had already passed his lips. But once it came out, for some reason it felt right. Really right. In fact, suddenly it felt as imperative to him as oxygen.
    She didn’t agree with him, apparently. At least the shock on her face let him know the thought of him as a lover had never crossed her mind. Feeling a little insulted that she’d never viewed him as potential sex-partner material, he squeezed her shoulder.
    “You wouldn’t regret it, Darcy.”
    “Lo-lovers?” she whispered. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
    God help him, yes. He wanted to get naked and sweaty with this woman. He wanted to explore the hidden delights her body held. He wanted her writhing under him. He wanted to make her explode with blissful release. And it had nothing at all to do with business, and everything to do with the wet lady before him.
    For the first time in his life, Michael wondered if he had some sort of death wish.
    He smiled gently. “What do you think I’m saying?”
    “You . . . want to have sex with me?”
    “Is that so hard to believe?”
    “Yes.”
    He cupped her neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin under her ear. “Why?”
    She sucked in a soft breath. “No one’s ever wanted to before.”
    “Then the men in your life have either been blind or fools.”
    “There haven’t been many,” she