Check.

Wearing battered jeans and boots and a leather jacket.

Check!

Looking extremely tall and leanly muscled and full of mischief.

Check, check, check!

Instead of more cookies, she'd offered him a drink, which they'd shared at his place.

And then, because she'd had a shitty day, because she'd been feeling down and weak with it, because he'd looked as good as a long, tall drink of water, she'd given him a different welcome altogether: a horizontal one.

And it'd been spectacular.

Her job in advertising was high stress. Her life was high stress, and while she was very much on top of her universe, she occasionally felt the need to let go, to relax. Some people used Prozac. Mia didn't. She used other feel-good tactics, such as a good man, for instance. And sure, occasionally that meant a wild bout of mutually satisfying sex. Why not? It was immediate gratification, she enjoyed variety, and there were no calories involved.

Sure, it might have been a bad decision on her part that this man was now a neighbor and therefore on her home turf, but she couldn't resist. Besides, she'd intended to leave his bed before midnight, telling him that while he'd been fun, there'd be no repeats.

After all, she rarely repeated.

But then he'd kissed her again, and oh, God, was he good at that. And now he was looking at her, with that two-day growth on his lean jaw, with that bed-head hair that should have been so silly but she just wanted to sink her fingers into. Those melt-me eyes seemed to see right into her, a fact that rattled her enough that she pushed at his chest. "Move," she said.

He smiled and dipped his head, taking a playful nibble out of her throat, a lovely, sexy little nibble that had her eyes rolling into the back of her head and little zaps of sexual energy zinging all her happy spots.