She smiled. “Thanks. I’m meeting friends for drinks. How are things going? Are you making progress?”

“Yes and no,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Things never go smoothly on all counts. I’m used to it.”

Trying to ignore the impressive width of his shoulders on display in his lounging pose, she nodded toward the two cases of her wine stacked under the counter. “I thought I’d stop by and check, but I’m guessing you’re not interested in any more of my wine.”

Oh, Christ-he hadn’t moved them very far. “I’ve just been too busy to get back to you. Actually, I am interested.” In her, not her wines, particularly in that sunflower-yellow dress with those little ties on her shoulders that looked like they’d open real easily. “Why don’t I double Chaz’s order.” How could it hurt to have sex with another good-looking blonde? In this case, a blonde with big, lush breasts that he could reach out and touch if he was real stupid, he thought, flexing his fingers against the uncool impulse.

“You don’t have to be nice just to be nice.” He obviously was, but for reasons that didn’t bear close scrutiny, she found herself willing to overlook his diplomatic reply.

“No, really, it was an oversight. I’ve been busy as hell.” He smiled. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lame-ass salesman?”

“I know. Fortunately, I don’t have to actually make a living doing this.” She pushed her chair back, realizing she’d better leave before those hard muscles under his T-shirt got to her any more than they already had.

“Why don’t I try your wines as long as you’re here,” he quickly suggested, his weeklong celibacy steamrolling over saner counsel. “You could give me some background on your operation.”

She glanced at her watch, lied to herself that this was strictly business, and said, “Sure, why not. I have time.”

The word time hung in the air for a flashing moment while two minds sent up word balloons rife with possibility and/or knotty complications.