She slipped off the bar stool. “Sure.”

At a quiet, corner table, Royce set their drinks down. He pulled one of the padded armchairs out for her, and she eased into the smooth, burgundy leather, crossing her legs and tugging her gold dress to midthigh.

“Hargrove Alston?” he asked as he took the seat opposite, moving the tiny table lamp to one side so their view of each other was unobstructed.

“He’s going to run for the U.S. Senate.”

“You’re marrying a politician?”

“Not necessarily-” She cut herself short. Wow. How had that turned into real words? “I mean, he hasn’t been elected yet,” she quickly qualified.

“And what do you do?” asked Royce.

Amber pursed her lips and lifted the fresh drink. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head. It was, sadly, the truth. “I graduated University of Chicago,” she offered.

“Fine Arts?” he asked.

“Public Administration. An honors degree.” It had seemed like a good idea, given Hargrove’s political aspirations. At least she’d be in a position to understand the complexities of his work.

“You’ve got my attention,” said Royce, with a look of admiration.

“Only just now?” she joked. But the moment the words were out, she realized what she’d done. She was flirting with Royce.

His blue eyes twinkled with awareness. Then they darkened and simmered. He eased forward. “Amber, you had my attention the second I laid eyes on you.”

She stilled, savoring the sound of her name, wrapping her mind around his words as a dangerous warmth sizzled up inside her. The rest of the room disappeared as seconds ticked by, while he waited for her response.

Then his smiled softened, and the predatory gleam went out of his eyes. “I take it that was an accident?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“Well, let me know when you decide.”

If flirting with him wasn’t an accident, it was definitely a mistake. She needed to get herself back under control. “Tell me about Montana,” she tried. “I’ve never been there.”