He watched her finish one glass of wine and start on another. She took a nibble on her thumbnail. The gesture seemed out of character for such an earnest woman, which made it weirdly erotic.

He studied the other women in the café, but his eyes kept returning to her. He sipped his wine and thought it over. Women found him-he never went after them. But it had been a long time, and there was something about this one.

What the hell…

He leaned back in his chair and gave her his patented smoldering gaze.

Isabel felt his eyes on her. The man oozed sex. Her third glass of wine had lifted the leading edge of her dismal mood, and his attention lifted it a bit higher. Here was a person who knew something about passion.

He shifted his weight slightly and raised one dark, angular eyebrow. She wasn’t used to such a blatant come-on. Gorgeous men wanted counseling from Dr. Isabel Favor, not sex. She was too intimidating.

She moved the silverware half an inch to the right. He didn’t look American, and she had no international following, so he wouldn’t have recognized her. No, this man wasn’t interested in Dr. Favor’s wisdom. He just wanted sex.

“It’s not my problem, Isabel. It’s yours.”

She looked up, and his lips curved. Her bruised heart, numbed by the wine, feasted on that slight smile.

This man doesn’t think I’m schizo, Michael. This man recognizes a powerfully sexual woman when he sees one.

He locked his eyes with hers and deliberately touched the corner of his mouth with his knuckle. Something warm unfolded inside her, like a layer of puff pastry plumping in an oven. She watched, fascinated, as his knuckle drifted toward the slight indentation in his bottom lip. The gesture was so blatantly sexual she should have been offended. Instead, she took another sip and waited to see what he’d do next.