“I’ll make you dinner afterward.”

The soft, lush intonation drifted after her. She knew what afterward meant. She knew what before afterward entailed. She should keep walking. She should go through that door, get in her truck, and drive away. “What would you make?” she asked, turning back.

“Anything you want.” His smile was benevolent. “Anything at all.”

Oh my God! She could feel his sexy promise of anything pulse through her vagina, whisper over her nipples, drift across the heated surface of her skin, spike through her brain. “I’m really tempted,” she said on a small, caught breath. “I’ve never had a personal chef,” she murmured, or any of the other pleasures her brain was suddenly conjuring up just looking at God’s gift to women standing no more than six feet away.

“There’s always a first time for everything,” he said softly.

He obviously wasn’t talking about food. Nor was she actually thinking about food.

“If it helps,” he added, moving toward her slowly, as though understanding her indecision required a certain degree of finesse, “I’m probably more tempted than you. I was planning on going to bed early and watching TV.” He lifted his shoulder slightly in a small renunciatory gesture as he reached her. “You changed my mind. I think it’s-” He caught himself before he said something outrageously stupid like the glow of your sun-kissed skin. Instead, he lightly touched her bottom lip with the pad of his index finger. “You know you’re beautiful. You hear it all the time, I expect. But you are.”

She started to say, Thank you, but his mouth suddenly covered hers and swallowed up her words, his kiss hard, invasive.

And a helluva lot more feverish than he would have liked.