So much for playing it cool. She might as well write Seduce Me in big letters across her forehead. Though he seemed to hide his interest behind a mask of indifference, Marisol knew the real reason he’d come to her. It was evident in the predatory way his gaze followed her.

“I have so much to do,” she said.

Ian slowly stood, then set his glass down on the coffee table. When he reached the ladder, he braced his hands on either side of her legs, trapping her where she stood. “Why don’t you let me do that?” he said. An instant later, his lips touched the soft skin behind her knee. It was such a silly spot to kiss, but the warmth of his mouth sent a thrill to her very core.

She closed her eyes as he lifted her skirt, moving higher and higher with his mouth, the trail of kisses damp on the back of her thigh. On shaky legs, Marisol slowly descended the ladder, the bulb still clutched in her hand.

He didn’t step away, and as she continued down, she found herself brushing up against his body, her backside coming into contact with his crotch. It was as if he were challenging her, tempting her to react. She slowly turned, leaning back against the ladder for support.

“I’m trying to figure out why I want to kiss you so much,” he murmured, leaning closer.

“Is it necessary to have a reason?” she asked.

“Don’t you think it might be dangerous not to?”

“Curiosity,” she said, running her fingers through the hair at his temple. “There’s a good reason.”

“All right,” he said. “Curiosity, it is.”

Closing her eyes, she parted her lips and waited, certain it would be wonderful. The moment his lips touched hers, a wave of pleasure washed over her body. His hands skimmed along her torso, then caressed the curves of her hips and waist. It had been six months since she’d felt this desire, since she’d been touched so intimately by a man. As his tongue dipped into her mouth, Marisol’s knees went weak. What Ian Quinn knew about kissing was a lot more than most men knew, more than any man she’d ever kissed knew.