I stomped stiffly toward the bathroom, acutely aware that everyone was watching me. There was no sound, other than our footsteps. No silverware clanged. No ice cubes clinked. There was just me and my walk of shame.

In the back hall, Ian held the door to the tiny, one-person women’s room for me, then followed me in and bolted the door while I cursed under my breath. “It’s just a little water,” he said, pulling handfuls of brown paper towels from the dispenser next to the sink.

“It’s fucking Niagara Falls in my pants. With ice.”

“There is a backlog of crude jokes in here just begging to be cracked,” he said, tapping his own temple for emphasis. “But I want you to know that I’m holding them all back out of respect for your pain. I, too, have been the victim of an ice-water crotch deluge. There’s no way to bear it gracefully.”

“You’re fucking right about that.” And frankly, I was surprised to hear that he knew any crude jokes.

He chuckled again while I snatched the first handful of towels from him and started blotting my pants. “You can’t help it, can you?”

“Can’t help what?” I was cold. And wet. And starting to shiver, which pissed me off.

“Profanity flows through your veins like blood, doesn’t it? I bet you can’t go a single day without bursting into a string of expletives foul enough to set a nun’s habit on fire.”

“The hell I can’t,” I mumbled, and he laughed again. “I said I could. I didn’t say I would.”

Ian stared down at me, green eyes practically shining with amusement, and my pulse spiked when I realized how small the bathroom was, and how close together we stood. “I dare you.” The words were soft, his voice intense, like he was challenging more than just my proclivity for profanity.

I had to reach around him to drop the first handful of wet paper towels into the trash, and for one dizzying second, the full length of his body was pressed against mine, because there was nowhere else to go. “What are we, twelve?” I asked, desperately hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in my voice.

“No self-respecting twelve-year-old would balk over a simple dare.”

“I’m not balking,” I insisted, suddenly short of breath now that the shocking cold of spilled water had given way to the body heat building between us in the small space. “This is not what I look like when I balk.”

“You’re right.” He tilted his head, pretending to study me from another angle. “This is definitely the face of cowardice. It’s a subtle difference.”

“Smart-ass.” I took the next handful of tissues as he offered them. “Fine. But for the record, this is a stupid fucking dare. What are the terms?”

“It’s a bet, not a contract negotiation.” He shrugged. “Don’t cuss. If you do, you lose.”

I frowned up at him, trying not to see the flecks of brown in his green eyes, almost mesmerizing from such a close vantage point. “You’re a piss-poor negotiator. Do yourself a favor. Take a lawyer with you when you meet with Jake.”

“I kind of feel like I need one now.”

“You and me both. State your terms.” Was the air-conditioning even on? How could I be so warm now, when I was freezing a minute earlier?

“Twenty-four hours. No cussing. No exceptions.”

“What about life-and-death situations? No one could keep from cussing with a knife in her back or a bullet lodged in her chest,” I said, plucking at the wet material clinging to my legs—until my hand brushed his thigh, and I froze, half embarrassed, half…intrigued.

“Are you planning to be shot or stabbed in the next twenty-four hours?” he asked, like he hadn’t even noticed, and I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved by that or insulted.

“Were you there in the alley? If I get hurt, it’ll be in the line of duty, keeping your ass from getting poached.”

“No exceptions,” Ian insisted. “But if that’s too much for you…?”

I frowned up at him. “You are such a child. Fine. No cussing for twenty-four hours. Starting now.” I pulled my phone from my pocket to glance at the time. “Two thirty-four p.m. What do I get when I win?”

He smiled and spread both arms, and for a moment, I thought he was offering himself as the prize, and I flushed at the thought. For just a second. “My undying respect.”

I didn’t even bother to hide my disappointment. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

His left eyebrow rose. “My respect has no value to you?”

“That’s not what I…” In fact, for no reason I could explain, considering that we’d just met, I did want his respect. But I also wanted free will, a billion dollars and a bathtub full of Häagen-Dazs, and I wasn’t going to get any of those, either. “How ’bout we assume the fair market value of your undying respect is…a bottle of Grey Goose. The big one. Because your respect means that much to me.”

He laughed. “Oddly, I’m flattered.”

“But are you ready to put your money where your mouth is? I dare you to go the rest of your visit without slacks.”

His mouth actually dropped open a little in surprise. “You want me to take off my pants?” he said, and when I realized what my dare had sounded like, I could feel my cheeks flame. But I couldn’t make my tongue work right.

“That’s not what I… I mean, I dare you to wear jeans for the rest of your visit, instead of slacks. And no tie. I bet you can’t go the next four and a half days without your stuffy, corporate zombie clothes.”