“I think you better stay the night,” Adam had whispered a few hours before, as Jane sat with him on the plush hotel room couch, cradled in his lap. Now it was getting late, and she cuddled drowsily with him beneath the rumpled covers of the king-sized bed, her eyelids starting to droop.

“Tell me a secret,” she whispered.

“What kind of secret?”

“Tell me something I can’t read in the magazines.”

“Do you read that garbage?” He grinned at her.

“Sometimes,” she confessed. “How many women have you really slept with?”

“Oh no,” he laughed. “No way am I telling you that.”

“You can tell me,” she coaxed. “I won’t judge, I promise.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, who was the best you’ve ever been with, then?”

“The best sex?” He gave her a sidelong glance as she nodded.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Not telling you that either.”

She gave him a little shove. “You’re no fun,” she pouted.

“I’ll show you fun, little girl.” He pulled her against him, but she held up a hand to stop him from kissing her. She wasn’t giving up that easily.

“No kiss until you tell me who Kiwi was about.”

He smiled, cocking his head at her, and then squinted his eyes seductively, running one hand along the outside of her thigh as he began singing:

Sweet kiwi, your juice is dripping down my chin,

So please let me. Don’t stop me before it begins.

Jane felt herself blush under his gaze and reached down to stop his hand. “So?” she demanded sternly.

He brought his face close to hers and gave her a mischievous grin. “So… you were at my show this morning, and you clearly know my backlist… I think you’re a Marooner!”

Jane looked away for a second and gave an exaggerated shrug. “They’re OK.”

He gave a crow of pleasure, and she blushed a shade deeper. It was more information than she’d intended to give him. “So?” she prompted again. “Sweet Kiwi?”

He was still cackling to himself. “That is a secret I will take with me to the grave.”

“Dammit, Adam!” She rolled her eyes impatiently.

“OK, OK,” he said, forcing the corners of his mouth back into a serious expression. “Ask me something else. Anything else.”

“OK, then who was the worst you ever had?”

“The worst?” he replied slowly, thinking.

“The worst celebrity, anyway. Someone I would have heard of.”

“Hmmmm. Probably Jessica.”

“Jessica who? Jessica Simpson?”

“No comment.”

Jane giggled. “Maybe she just wasn’t that into you.”

“Please.” He shot her a skeptical look. “OK, your turn. Who was the worst you ever had?”

“Oh, gosh I don’t know. I mean, there were a few that couldn’t get it up.”

“A few?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“That’s what happens when they get past 45 or so.”

“45 years old? Is that what you go for these days?”

“More like that’s who goes for me,” she replied, looking down for a moment. “Men don’t like women who make more money than they do.”

“So have you gotten serious with any of these AARP members?”

She shrugged. “I’m not really looking for anything too deep, with work and everything. And guys that age tend to be the type that have kids on alternating weekends. Hard to get serious with someone you only see twice a month.”

“Sounds to me like you’re not even trying,” he said, the playfulness leaving his voice. It annoyed her. So what if she wasn’t? She was focused on other things.

“That’s funny, coming from you,” she replied a little too sharply. “Aren’t you the guy that has his picture in the dictionary next to the word ‘modelizer’?”

It was Adam’s turn to be annoyed. He hated that word. “Oh, so you won’t judge, huh? What, was I never supposed to sleep with anyone else?”

She felt like he had slapped her. “No, of course you were,” she replied defensively. “I never asked you for anything. I never even contacted you!”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, he put his hands up in a gesture of de-escalation. “Sorry,” he said. “Let’s rewind.”

Jane took a deep breath. “What are we doing here, Adam?”

He put his arms back around her. “We’re spending some time together.”

“Why?”

He gave her a smirk. “Do you really need me to answer that?”

“No, I mean why me? Out of all the women in New York City you could get to go to bed with you?”

He didn’t quite know the answer himself. “Do you remember my cousin Jeffrey’s wedding?” he asked at last.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. Do you remember?”

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