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they’ll let a social climber like you into the inner circle—”
    “Social climber!” she exclaimed. She nearly added that he had her confused with her parents, but bit back the retort. She refused to give him any more ammunition. “I mean the catering business, you dolt!” She spun on her heel and strode away from him, furious at his accusation.
    He caught up with her. “Catering? What the hell are you talking about?”
    “I have a catering business,” she said. “I do dinner parties, private luncheons. That kind of thing.”
    “A froufrou,” he said.
    She stopped. “What?”
    “You’ve got a froufrou business. Something to keep you busy so you don’t live off Daddy’s money.”
    Hilary refrained from punching him. It wasn’t polite to punch your hostess’s grandson. All the etiquette books said so. “You are a crude, egotistical, Neanderthal snob.”
    “And you are a prissy, cold, social-climbing clinging vine,” he retorted.
    She smiled grimly. “Now that we’ve cleared theair.… If you pull another stunt like that again, I will quit this whole ridiculous scheme.”
    “Not if you want your grandfather happy, you won’t.”
    She paused, then came back with her own ammunition. “And do you want your grandmother off your back?”
    It was his turn to pause. “Yes.”
    “Then you will play by the rules. Are we understood?”
    He grinned. “Perfectly.”
    Hilary relaxed slightly. “Good. Now, let’s just go back inside and get the rest of the evening over with. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    They walked back to the house in silence. Hilary forced away the anger that had arisen in her from his comments. She shouldn’t care what Devlin Kitteridge thought of her. He was a reverse snob, the worst kind.
    They reached the French doors. Through the sheer curtain, she could see the women still at the table, talking. She groaned silently. They had already talked so much, her head ached from listening. But that was part of her business unfortunately. If she didn’t project the social graces all the time, no one would trust her to put together a proper social occasion. Ergo, no business. She was beginning to wonder if she’d lost track of the real Hilary behind the socially polite and correct facade.
    “Still yakking,” Dev said.
    She nodded.
    “Well, we’d better get going on scene two,” he added—and pulled her into his arms.

Two
    Dev swiftly lowered his head and captured her lips. They were softer than he’d expected, more full and more sweet. She grabbed his arms and tried to push him away, but he kept her tight against him.
    The resistance she was putting up couldn’t mask the unique feel of her. Her breasts and thighs branded his body, giving him a breathtaking taste of what she could do to a man if she weren’t so damn prissy.
    She twisted her head away, breaking the kiss. Her body wiggled against his as she struggled, wreaking havoc with his equilibrium. He gritted his teeth against the sensual onslaught heating his blood.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
    He tightened his hold on her, stopping her arousing wriggling. “Playing for the camera. There are eight pairs of eyes watching us. Don’t you want to look like we’re getting along?”
    “No. Let me go!”
    “Hilary, you’ve got to do better than this if you want my grandmother to get together with your grandfather.”
    “I’ll lock them in a closet,” she snapped. “Damn you, you promised you’d be a gentleman.”
    He chuckled. Her nails were digging into his skin, despite the protection of his jacket and shirt sleeves. They felt almost good. And he couldn’t blame her for being angry with him—again. He was acting like an obnoxious oaf, but he wanted to break through that social mask of hers. “My hands are on your back,” he said, “not where they’d really like to be. This is as gentlemanly as I get. We’ve got to do a little playacting for our audience, to show my grandmother her