Why would Jett run her name through the Pretorius Program? What was in it for her? Did Trey really have to ask?

She lifted her chin and glared at him. "I'd think that would be obvious, even to you."

"Sure. You hoped to get insider information on my company that would help your father take me down."

Jett started to plant her hands on her hips, then grabbed at the sheet when it began to fall. "Justice St. John doesn't need any help from me on that front. Not if you're as much of an idiot as you're acting."

He flinched as though she'd struck him. "You think you can turn this back on me? I'm not the one who got you into this mess. You and your father managed that quite nicely on your own."

"If I'd planned to somehow arrange for you to come here to gain insider information into your robotics firm, why would I have told you my real name? Since I'm lying about everything else, why wouldn't I have lied about that, too?"

"Hell." He scrubbed his hands across his face, the hint of beard shadowing his jaw creating a raspy sound. "Okay, that's a valid point."

"Thank you."

His blue eyes pinned her, hot and intense. "Not that you've answered my question."

"You know, I'd be a lot more inclined to answer your questions if you were actually dressed. For that matter, I'd be a lot more inclined to answer your questions if I were dressed, too. And had a shower. And a giant mug of hot coffee. So, you'll just have to wait until then to continue this discussion."

She turned on her heel, the sheet trailing behind her and dipping low enough on her spine for him to see the delightful curves of her backside. Impatience speared through him and he swore bitterly. What the hell had happened to his legendary self-control? It was one of his defining characteristics, along with his patience. And yet all it had taken was a St. John pixie to totally shred it. Worse, she was right. They'd both handle this situation better once showered, clothed, coffeed and fed. At least, he hoped so. Though knowing her, she'd soon prove him wrong on that front, too.

One other key question disturbed him. Whether Jett knew it or not, her father did know that she'd accessed the program…and knew who the program had selected as her perfect match. Why else would he have asked Trey for a meeting? That put St. John in an extremely vulnerable position. It was something Trey needed to think long and hard about.

A short fifteen minutes later Trey tracked Jett down in the kitchen, working on the coffee. Fair enough. He could manage some eggs and toast. They didn't speak, but went silently about their self-appointed tasks. Together they transferred breakfast to the dining room and took seats opposite each other. It was a far cry from last night's candlelit dinner.

"Eat first?" Jett suggested.

"Fine."

Gazes locked, they made short work of the food. Downed coffee strong enough to tap dance across the table on its own. They each reached for the pot for a refill at the exact same time. He won that battle, but then filled her cup first. It didn't matter how angry he was, innate courtesy had been ingrained in him practically from the cradle, courtesy of his mother.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"You ready?"

Jett sighed. "I guess."

Her eyes wandered to the lush tropical paradise on the other side of the windows, and the wistful sorrow in her expression—something that looked painfully like the death of dreams—threatened to gut him. Here they were in a current-day Eden and a virtual snake had invaded—one carrying the name Justice St. John—preventing them from enjoying their surroundings.

"Tell me the truth, Jett. Why did you run yourself through the Pretorius Program?"

She looked at him then, bleakness in her gaze. "B



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