“I Know That Some Nights You Dance Alone In Your Kitchen, Megan,” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Epilogue Copyright

“I Know That Some Nights You Dance Alone In Your Kitchen, Megan,”

Nick said, stepping closer. “That tells me you still have faith in your hopes and dreams. Let me in on them, sweet girl.”

Her hopes and dreams. Megan winced when she remembered that uppity speech she had delivered to Nick a decade ago about her hopes and dreams. How different her life had turned out.

“Nick, you just don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “But doesn’t it mean something to you that I want to?”

Then he closed his arms around her and rocked her gently in his embrace. Closing her eyes, she quietly acknowledged the truth to herself.

No one had ever held her like this. No one had ever made her feel so safe, yet so close to danger.

And it felt so good she never wanted to let go.

Dear Reader,

Hello’ For the past few months I’m sure you’ve noticed the new (but probably familiar) name at the bottom of this letter I was previously the senior editor of the Silhouette Romance line, and now, as senior editor of Silhouette Desire, I’m thrilled to bring you six sensuous, deeply emotional Silhouette Desire novels every month by some of the bestselling—and most beloved—authors in the genre.

January begins with The Cowboy Steals a Lady. January’s MAN OF THE MONTH title and the latest book in bestselling author Anne McAllister’s CODE OF THE WEST series. You should see the look on Shane Nichols’s handsome face when he realizes he’s stolen the wrong woman.. especially when she doesn’t mind being stolen or trapped with Mr. January one bit....

Wife for a Night by Carol Grace is a sexy tale of a woman who’d been too young for her handsome groom-to-be years ago, but is all grown up now.... And in Raye Morgan’s The Hand-Picked Bride, what’s a man to do when he craves the lady he’d hand-picked to be his brother’s bride?

Plus, we have Tall, Dark and Temporary by Susan Connell, the latest in THE GIRLS MOST LIKELY TO... miniseries; The Love Twin by ultrasensuous writer Patty Salier, and Judith McWilliams’s The Boss, the Beauty and the Bargain. All as irresistible as they sound!

I hope you enjoy January’s selections, and here’s to a very happy New Year (with promises of many more Silhouette Desire novels you won’t want to miss)!

Regards,

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo. NY 14269

Canadian. P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie. Ont. L2A 5X3

Tall, Dark And Temporary

Susan Connell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN CONNELL

has a love of traveling that has taken her all over the world—Greece, Spain, Portugal, Central and South America, to name just a few places. While working for the foreign service she met a U.S. Navy pilot, and eight days later they were engaged. Twenty-one years and several moves later, Susan, her husband, Jim, and daughter, Catherine, call the New Jersey shore home. When she’s not writing, her part-time job at a local bookstore, Mediterranean cooking and traveling with her family are some of her favorite activities. Susan has been honored by New Jersey Romance Writers with their coveted Golden Leaf Award. She loves hearing from her readers.

Cindy Gerard and Leanne Banks—

Recently Voted: The Friends Most Likely To

Stay on My Speed-dial

Prologue

“Hey, girlfriend, who says you can’t go home again?”

Another warm wave of nostalgia washed over Megan Sloan at the spirited sound of her old high-school classmate. Megan was already smiling as she turned to face the woman walking toward her across the dimly lit dance floor.

“Unlike you, Rebecca, some of us never left,” Megan said, sharing a hug. “I’m so glad you made it back.”

“Me, too.” Rebecca Barnett reached out to run her hand through the curtain of crepe-paper streamers billowing behind them. “It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years since we graduated from this place.”

“Not if you squint a little. Try it. It’s like being back at the senior prom.”

Megan knew; she’d been stealing filtered looks back to the past since the first couple wandered out onto the dance floor over an hour ago. The silly thrill she experienced each time she did it was embarrassing. Or would have been if anyone knew what memories she was stirring up. But that’s what high-school reunions were all about. Reliving moments from another lifetime. At least, the good ones, she thought, glancing toward the red and white streamers.

She fidgeted with one of her earrings, then took a long, quiet breath before turning her attention back to Rebecca. The strikingly attractive brunette tilted her head and dutifully squinted for several seconds before turning a doubtful gaze to Megan.

“I don’t know, Meggie,” Rebecca said, a teasing reprimand in her tone. “As the person in charge of this reunion, you did one heck of a good job. But that’s not exactly Prom Night, Part Two going on out there.”

“And what’s not working for you?” Megan asked, pretending disbelief. “The fake French café? The golden oldies?”

Rebecca stepped closer. “John Canfield and Freddie Wagner,” she whispered behind the curled fingers of one hand.

Leave it to Rebecca to make her feel as if they were standing by their lockers exchanging high-school gossip once again. “What about them?” Megan asked, while somehow managing not to move her lips.

“Their hair,” Rebecca whispered. “How could they have lost so much of it in just one decade?”

Biting back a laugh, Megan managed to shrug. “You’ve been away a long time.”

“And while I’m dishing,” Rebecca said, leaning closer to deliver her critical, if not downright comical commentary, “what’s with Michelle Barante’s dress? It’s not exactly the purple satin slip thing she wore without a bra to the prom. She looks puffy tonight.”

“Well, you would, too, if you were dressing for three. She’s expecting twins.”

Rebecca delivered a deadpan stare, along with a slow and solemn nod. “That would explain it.”

“Let’s get Jade in on this.”

“Good idea,” Rebecca said as they reached out to close their hands around the wrist of the pretty redhead walking by them.

The faraway look in Jade Macleod’s eyes suddenly focused on Rebecca and then Megan. She ran a nervous hand over the waist of her black velvet cocktail dress. “Hi, you two. What’s happening?”

“We’re trying to time travel back to the prom, but reality keeps tripping us up.”

“Help us out here, Jade.”

After stealing a glance at her escort standing several yards away, Jade gave them a bewildered look. “Why would we want to do that? We’re doing exactly the same thing we did at the prom.”

Megan and Rebecca looked at each other and then at Jade.

“What are we doing?” they both asked.

Jade gave an exaggerated shiver. “We’re standing on the edge of the dance floor. Alone. Again. Without men.”

Shaking her head, Rebecca gave in to a lively burst of laughter. “She’s right, Meggie. We are back at the prom.” Jutting her chin toward a couple standing several yards away from them, she added, “Listen to that. Lily Magnusson is still arguing with her date.”

“I think that’s her fourth husband, Reb,” Jade said as the couple’s arguing got louder, “but my mother told me it’s impolite to count them after the second divorce.”

As Jade and Rebecca continued the high-spirited repartee, Megan blew softly through her lips as another memory wedged itself into the moment.

When she and Andy used to fight like that, she lived in constant fear that they would be overheard. Even though she’d been widowed over five years ago, she could still recite their arguments line for line. Closing her eyes, she pulled in a deep breath, then swallowed hard. She had looked forward to this reunion for months, and she wasn’t going to allow the memory of Andy Sloan to ruin it now that it was here.

“Hey, you two, I have some very good memories of prom night,” Megan said.

“You do?” Jade smiled encouragingly as she moved to face her. “We’re listening.”

“We dare you,” Rebecca said, folding her arms across her midriff. “Tell us something that will make us go all gooey.”

“Hold on.” Megan waggled a finger, as if to stir up a memory. But the memory was already there. Complete, intact, and still shimmering with promised pleasures. “Rory Buchanan almost didn’t come because she broke up with her boyfriend the day before. At the last minute, her cousin Nick volunteered to bring her.”

Jade shook her head. “Give the lady a ribbon, Reb. I’m actually feeling gooey inside.”

“Nick Buchanan,” Rebecca said. “Did that guy look great in a rented tux or what?”

“He looked great,” Megan said, her heart thumping hard against the inside of her rib cage. She looked out at the crowded dance floor. He smelled great, too. And when he took my hand and led me behind the curtain of crepe-paper streamers, I began to understand what temptation was all about.

Megan closed her eyes, her insides tingling at the memory of Nick Buchanan’s body pressed against hers and moving seductively to a song that was now a decade old. Maybe it was rubbing up against his bad-boy reputation that still held the power to stir her and her imagination. But was there really any harm in a hardworking widow who was raising her child alone indulging in a sexy fantasy now and then? She pressed her lips together. It wasn’t as if Nick was around to tempt her. He had roared out of town on his motorcycle shortly after the prom. She had never seen him again, except in her fantasies.

“Meggie?” Jade asked softly.

Megan opened her eyes to see Jade and Rebecca quietly watching her.

“Are you thinking about Andy?” Rebecca asked.

Megan plastered a smile on her face. A well-practiced smile that she knew would never betray the mixed emotions she felt toward her dead husband. “I’m thinking about when we believed that every dream could become a reality, if we just tried hard enough.”

“They still can, Meggie.” Jade turned to look at Rebecca. “Don’t you agree?” she asked a bit too earnestly.

“Maybe,” Rebecca said as she turned a soft smile toward Megan. “If you’re willing to be a little flexible with them.” A few seconds later her thoughtful expression changed as she looked past Megan. “Look who’s coming over. It’s Rory.”

“We were just talking about you and your gorgeous cousin, Nick,” Rebecca said as they welcomed her into their circle. “What ever happened to him?”

Megan held her breath. Her head was suddenly pounding and a wave of panic was threatening to turn nostalgia to nausea. She didn’t need to know what happened to Nick. She didn’t want to know that he’d probably settled down, gotten married and was developing a paunch while raising his two-point-five children in a heavily mortgaged one-and-three-quarter-bath split-level somewhere in suburbia. Selfish as it sounded, she preferred to remember him as the bad boy who dared to whisper naughty suggestions in her ear while he danced with her in a stolen moment of make-believe.

“Nick moved out to California, but he’s never there. His work keeps him on the road.”

“That must be hard on his wife and kids,” Jade said.

“Nick? Married?” Rory rolled her eyes.

And Megan sighed with relief. At least she didn’t have to feel guilty fantasizing about a married man. The last thing she wanted was a dose of reality interfering with one of the few pleasures she had. She still could allow herself the occasional luxury of an innocuous fantasy.

“You know, it’s so strange that you asked about Nick though,” Rory said. “I had a Christmas card from him last week. He said he’s coming back to town next year.”

Rebecca shook her head. “So Follett River’s bad boy is finally coming home.”

“Imagine that,” said Jade.

Megan stared at all three women, wanting desperately to echo a comparable sentiment. But the breath had left her lungs at the mention of Nick’s return.

One

“You married who?!‘”

Nick Buchanan’s casual glance down Main Street careened back to his old friend. The pretty brunette gave him her trademark smile, a mischievous lopsided grin, and the sultry August night was suddenly buzzing.

Rebecca was teasing.

She had to be.

He shook his head. “Reb, you really had me going there for a second. But you always could pull off a good practical joke when anyone least—” He broke off as she lifted her left hand and wriggled her fingers. Her diamond engagement ring and studded wedding band glittered under the street lamp.

“I married Raleigh Hanlon.”

Since arriving in the small New Jersey town that afternoon, Nick had been happily connecting present-day reality with scattered memories. Even after a ten-year absence most of the images were dovetailing easily. This one was decidedly more challenging.

“You married your senior-class history teacher?” He blinked twice. “You married Show-No-Mercy Hanlon?”

She nodded.

“How? When?”

“Earlier this year. I came back for the high-school reunion, and well, things started happening.” A faraway look came into her eyes, accompanied by a smile of satisfaction he could only wonder about.

“Well, congratulations,” he said with a sincere nod. “You look happy, Reb. That must have been one hell of a reunion.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, it was. Remember Jade Macleod? She showed up with a stranger she met on her way there. They’re getting married next month. And come to think of it, someone even brought up your name that night.” Shaking her finger at him and laughing, Reb leaned closer. “You’d better watch yourself, Nick Buchanan. Coming back to Follett River after all these years could change your life, too.”

He gave a playful shudder. “Warning taken.”

“Good,” she said, glancing at her watch then backing away. “Look, I have to see a man about installing a pool heater, but I’ll call you soon. You’re staying at the Hotel Maxwell. Right?”

“Yes,” he said, before lifting his chin and stilling her steps. “Hold on a second. Whatever happened to that pretty blond friend of yours? You know. The one who’d planned out her whole life. She was dating Andy Sloan, I think.” He scratched at the side of his head. “What was her name? Maggie?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t.

“Meggie? You mean Megan?”

He nodded. “That’s it.”

Rebecca studied him for a few seconds, then beamed him a smile. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? She’s over at Bailey’s. Except it’s not Bailey’s anymore. It’s the Chocolate Chip Café now.”

Rebecca Hanlon stepped into the street and around to her car door. “Meggie bought the business and turned it into a kind of coffee bar.”

Nick felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. The night he left Follett River Megan had told him a lot of things, but planning to own a coffee bar wasn’t one of them.

“Did she ever—?”

“Gotta run, Nick,” Reb said, cutting him off as she got into her car. “Oh. Ignore the Closed sign on the door. This time of night Meggie’s in the back baking. Just go on in and surprise her. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

Love to see me? He waved as Rebecca drove off. I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Besides, he really didn’t have time for personal visits tonight. Running into Rebecca had been a fluke, and the minutes he’d taken reminiscing with her were already cutting into the hour he’d set aside to study zoning ordinances. Then he thought about the promotion he was being considered for. What he ought to be doing was cutting across the town square to the hotel, instead of thinking about looking up a pretty blonde he hadn’t seen in a decade.

Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the last time he saw Megan. She was standing beside his motorcycle, glaring at him while turning down his offer to relieve her of her virginity.

“I want a life, Nick. Not just one wild moment I’m sure I’ll regret. And, please,” she said primly, “don’t tell me again what I’ll be missing. It’s what you’ll be missing that should concern you. A safe, secure and respectable life right here in Follett River.”

She took a step closer and wrapped her fingers around the bike’s handlebar. “Nick, I want it to be someone who cares enough to offer me his last name. Not a forwarding address.”

Back then, Nick had recognized the budding signs of Megan’s sensual nature even if she hadn’t, but at age twenty the last thing he wanted was a white picket fence defining the parameters of his young life. Playing his bad-boy image to the hilt, he’d pulled her into his arms, closed his mouth over hers and begun the hottest, deepest, wettest kiss of his life. When he felt her beginning to respond, he eased away, gave her a “whatever” shrug, then rode off.

He thought about how cavalier, if not downright insensitive he’d acted that night. She was barely eighteen then, and as innocent as they came. He rubbed at his chin, surprised, after all this time, by the trace of guilt still niggling at him. Letting his breath out slowly, he looked toward her café. Hesitation resonated within him.

“Get over it,” he murmured, heading up the street. He was thirty years old, not thirteen. She had most likely forgotten the incident. Besides, he thought as he stared at the doorknob, they were bound to run into each other anyway, since he would be in town for the next several months. What would it hurt to stop by and say hello?

The first thing that struck him as he walked inside the shadowed interior was the aroma of coffee and spice and the sense of orderliness about the place. But what had he expected? The lingering smell of greasy French fries? Cola syrup sticking to the bottoms of his shoes? Those No Loitering signs thumbtacked to the walls? Not likely, with Megan in charge.

As he headed for the rectangle of light at the back of the place, he took in the brass-framed posters of European cafés adorning the walls, the ornate cappuccino machine behind the counter and the lavishly decorated desserts in the display case.

This definitely wasn’t Bailey’s hangout anymore. He stopped at the open door, looked into the brightly lit kitchen and smiled. Not Bailey’s by a mile.

A long-legged blonde, leaning over the work surface, was sprinkling powdered sugar across a tray of pastries. Salsa music blared at top volume from a radio just inside the door. Each shake of the sugar can coincided with the beat of the music, while her hips kept time with the rhythm. Firm, curvy, shorts-covered hips. Short shorts. When the music suddenly broke into a conga, she reached to lift her sun-streaked blond hair off her neck. Flexing her knees, she managed an enticing series of bumps and grinds while shimmying her shoulders.

Nick repositioned the pager attached to his belt, then leaned against the doorjamb as the woman continued to do amazing things to his libido. He pictured himself curving his hands around her hips to feel them moving. Or to hold them still. He cleared his throat noisily.

“Can I cut in? Or don’t you need a partner for that?”

The instant he spoke, the spirited show ended in an arcing cloud of powdered sugar as she whipped around to face him. She lost her grip on the can, sending it flying across the room. He momentarily lost her in the white swirl.

When the air began to clear, Nick barely noticed the white powder on his shoes; he was too busy admiring the way it was settling on her. From those high cheekbones, all the way to her lightly tanned thighs, she looked as if she’d been hit with a miniature blizzard. Her grape-colored cropped top had moved upward with her jerky movements, revealing a sugar-filled belly button surrounded by flawless porcelain skin.

She squinted under the bright lights, then turned to snatch a cream puff from the tray.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, raising the pastry high as if it were a hand grenade. More powdered sugar drifted through the air, but she waved it away.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he said, taking a step inside the kitchen. He turned down the volume on the radio, then raised his hands in mock surrender. “It’s not Elvis.”

Her green eyes widened. And those full, soft and lusciously kissable lips parted. The last time he saw her, she had the same expression on her face. He smiled with purely masculine satisfaction, knowing that he could still elicit the same response. And this time, he hadn’t even stolen a kiss from her.

“Remember me, Megan?”

“Nick?” she whispered, lowering the cream puff. “Nick Buchanan?” Her disbelieving stare continued for several more enjoyable seconds. Then she laughed.

He remembered her laugh. Flustered and hesitant, the breathy exhalation sounded the same as it had a decade ago when he’d held her in his arms and danced with her at her prom. And right or wrong, for better or worse, he knew why she was the first person he’d asked about on his return. He knew it from the way her laughter still echoed through him.

She shifted her backside against the edge of the table, then nervously licked at the corner of her mouth. A rosy blush continued creeping over her cheeks.

“You surprised me,” she said as she tried and failed to maintain eye contact with him. “I—I was just—”

“You certainly were,” he said, referring to the sexy dance he’d caught her performing. “And doing a damn fine job of it, too.”

When she brushed her fingers across her face and under her chin, he looked for a ring and saw none. Good, he thought, pleased beyond measure to know another man’s wife wasn’t having this stirring effect on him.

In the shared and silent stares that followed, the only sounds came from the hum of the refrigerator, punctuated by the occasional crackle from the bug zapper outside in the alley. The moment shimmered with the almost painful pleasure of knowing he hadn’t been wrong all those years ago. Maybe it was revealed at night and only in her kitchen, but Megan’s budding sensuality had definitely blossomed.

“You cut your hair.”

“You let yours grow.”

This time they laughed together and he knew he could easily spend the rest of the night in that kitchen exchanging banalities with her. What did he care about the paperwork waiting for him in his hotel room? Or the dozen or so calls he had to make before his meeting tomorrow night? He’d stumbled on his own welcome-home party and he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon.

“You look good, Megan.”

“So do you.”

Smiling at her whispered reply, he picked up the can of sugar, took it across the room and set it next to the tray. When he turned to face her, he realized he was close enough to brush the sugar from her forehead... or lick it from her cheek. The thought made his mouth go dry. He leaned his hip against the edge of the table and pointed at the cream puff.

“You have a license to use that, lady?”

“What?” She looked at the pastry in her right hand, then rolled her eyes as she replaced it on the tray.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked, pretending Rebecca hadn’t already told him. “Besides making cream puffs to lob at your old friends.”

“I bought out Bailey’s.” Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she looked up at him and smiled. “This is all mine,” she said, opening her arms, “as long as I pay the rent.”

He nodded, noting she was finally beginning to relax a little. “From the looks of things when I walked in, I’d say you bring a lot of enthusiasm to your work. But I thought that Andy Sloan would have had you living in one of those big houses out on Red Oak Road by now,” he said, referring to the most exclusive area in Follett River.

She looked away, rubbing her thumb against her lips as his gaze drifted over her. The signs of her sensual nature were still there, peeking through as surely as the white satin strap of her bra peeked out of her grape-colored top. Or in the curvy white-blond tempting-to-touch hair tickling at her collarbone. His gaze wandered to her eyes, then drifted downward again. “So whatever happened to Andy?”

“Nick,” she said, folding her arms across her midriff, effectively cutting off his view of the taut belly softly punctuated by a sugar-filled navel. “Andy did marry me.”

Nick blinked, then looked up, his lighthearted mood disappearing in her news flash. She was another man’s wife; she’d probably removed her wedding band when she’d started to make the pastries. Where was his head? A beautiful, sensual creature like Megan not married?

“Whoa,” he said, taking a step back. “I have been away a long time, haven’t I?” He tubbed at the back of his neck, then gave her an apologetic wink. “How is Andy? Still shaking up everyone over at the country club with his tennis scores? Did he become district attorney, like you predicted?”

Megan stared into the darkened dining room of the café. “Nick, Andy died.”

If hearing she was married had surprised him, this news threatened to take his breath away. “Megan, I am really sorry. I had no idea.”

“That’s okay,” she said, offering him a forgiving smile before her gaze shifted to the floor.

“How did it happen?” he asked, then wished he hadn’t. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel more uncomfortable by dragging up heavyhearted memories.

“He’d been away on business in the southern part of the state,” she said, staring at her white tennis shoes. She crossed one foot over the other and rested it on its toe. “He was driving back and fell asleep at the wheel.”

Nick gave a sympathetic shake of his head. What he wanted to do was take her in his arms and comfort her, but that was probably the last thing she wanted from him after he’d just been teasing her about Andy.

Shifting uneasily, he studied her profile, hoping to find a clue for what to do or say next. Her eyes were dry. Her chin wasn’t trembling. Her lips weren’t quivering. All in all, she was handling the tragedy remarkably well. Come to think of it, he wasn’t surprised. Even at the untested age of eighteen, she had impressed him with an unusual strength of character. That same strength was now seeing her through the brittle reality of death.

Closing his hand over her shoulder, he managed, in the process, to tangle his fingers in her silky blond vanilla-scented hair. Those strands of hair might as well be made of steel cables and her shoulder a magnet holding him fast. He swallowed hard. Until that moment, he had no idea how strong his desire was to touch her. “Megan, is there anything I can do?”

Keeping her head bowed, she smoothed the toe of her shoe along an imaginary line on the floor. “It happened a long time ago.”

“I see,” he said, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze while he tried and failed to ignore what her nearness was doing to him.

Looking up at him, she let her gaze wander over his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time. Or memorizing it for the last time. Whatever the case, that glimmer of heated awareness he saw in her eyes was undeniable. So was that tugging sensation low in his belly. “How long ago, Megan?”

She was staring at his mouth now. “This September will be six years.”

“Six years,” he repeated as vague feelings of guilt scattered to make way for the relief rushing through him. Six years? The tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his shoulders began to uncoil. He wasn’t certain about the protocol on such things, but six years sounded like a long enough grieving period to him. By the look in Megan’s eyes, he thought it safe to assume that she did, too.

He lifted a lock of her hair and moved it behind her shoulder. “Six years is a long time to be alone,” he said, one breath away from a kiss.

Megan Sloan froze on his last words. That Nick Buchanan had walked in on her while she was in the middle of a wildly sexy fantasy about him was astonishing. That she hadn’t screamed, passed out, or worse, tried to start a conga line with him was a miracle. But he’d just sent her crashing to earth with his last remark. She stepped away from the table.

She’d always known what to do with him in her fantasies, but dealing with him in real life wasn’t the same. And with everything else going on in her life right now, she did not need more impossible visions of Nick Buchanan crowding her thoughts. He’d taken a piece of her heart when he left town ten years ago. She wasn’t about to let that happen again.

Pulling at the hem of her shirt, she made several unsuccessful attempts at covering her navel before she gave up and crossed her arms over it. “I haven’t exactly been alone for the last six years.”

He leaned an elbow on the worktable and smiled. She remembered that smile so well. Part tease, part challenge, all bad boy and designed to make any woman who saw it melt. That damn smile. He could make curved lips and a riveting stare say more than mere spoken words ever could.

“So what are you saying? Is there someone special?”

“Very special.” The sooner Nick knew, the sooner he’d take the next predictable step...like every other man she’d met since Andy died. He’d leave. And she could start to forget that the gap between fantasy and reality had been bridged tonight. “Nick, I was pregnant when Andy died. I have a little girl.”

“A little girl?” He blinked as he pushed up from the table. “And you’re raising her all by yourself?”

“Aunt Sandra, my mother’s sister, watches her during the day, and for that matter, most anytime I need her to.”

Megan walked over to the framed corkboard next to the refrigerator. “Her photo’s over here,” she said, pushing aside several colorful crayon drawings to reveal a department-store photo. The plastic puppy barrettes and infectious grin only added to the charm of her child’s button-nosed beauty.

Nick walked up behind her, curved his hand over her shoulder and leaned to get a good look at the photo.

My God, she thought, I wasn’t imagining it before. He’s wearing the same aftershave he used ten years ago. A peppery lime scent that smelled like citrus punch on other men and a private party waiting to happen on him.

Megan held her breath as he reached past her. “What’s her name?” he asked as he worked out the plastic pushpin and lifted the photo.

“Paige. She’ll be starting kindergarten soon.”

“I have to get a better look,” he said, taking the photo from the shadowed corner of the kitchen to the bright light over the worktable.

Megan watched him study the picture for a few strangely heart-thumping seconds.

“She’s got your hair and that one dimple of yours,” he said, nodding as he touched his own cheek. “And she tilts her head like you do.”

“Does she? Let me see.” She joined him by the table. “You’re right,” she said, looking up to find him staring at her and not the photo. “I never noticed that before.”

His soft laughter made her ears tickle and her breath catch. “She’s beautiful, Megan. Are those boys in kindergarten ready for her?”

“Well, I don’t know about them,” she said, halfway disarmed by the genuine tone of his comments, “but she’s ready. She’s had her clothes picked out for the first day for over a month. The shoes, she tells me, are another matter completely.”

Resting his hands comfortably on his hips, he shifted his weight to lean against the table. “So what’s that about?” he asked, pretending mild confusion over the child’s whimsical concern.

He appeared in no hurry to rush out the door. If anything, he looked as if he was enjoying their conversation and wanting more of it.

Taking the photo from him, she tapped it lightly against her palm. A ripple of misgiving moved through her. Was she crazy? Nick couldn’t possibly be interested in the domestic details of her ordinary life. Turning away, she headed back to the corkboard.

“She can’t make up her mind between her tap shoes and her new red ones. But enough about that,” she said, firmly securing the photo to the board with the pushpin before turning to face him again. “You’ve been away so long, Nick. What brings you back to Follett River now?”

“Work,” he said, replacing his inquisitive expression with that impossible-to-read smile.

Every time he looked at her or spoke, pangs of pleasure erupted low in her belly, then spiraled out slowly to her breasts and thighs. She attempted to ignore the last and most powerful sensations as she walked back to him, but the closer she got the more intense they became. By the time she reached him, it was all she could do to grab hold of the table and not him.

“I was talking to your cousin at my class reunion last winter,” she said as she concentrated on her white-knuckle grip. “Rory said something about you being on the road a tot. What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m in construction.” He placed his hand on the table next to hers. “I’m here with the Murano Group for the River Walk project. Have you heard about it?”

“Everyone has. It’s the main topic of conversation with us local business owners,” she said, trying not to stare at his well-tanned, hair-roughened hand resting on a layer of powdered sugar beside her fair-skinned one. She closed her eyes. Instantly, images of him stripped to the waist and standing in a layer of sawdust slipped unbidden into her mind’s eye. With one hand firmly gripped around a piece of lumber, he was hammering nails with strong, even strokes. The scene was taking place out at the old warehouse, the sun blazing across his perfectly tanned shoulders. Rivulets of sweat were trickling down his spine and into the waistband of his jeans. She licked nervously at her lips as she opened her eyes. Her gaze darted from his hands to his face and back again. “I always thought of you doing it, I mean, doing something outdoors.”

“I’m indoors a lot, too.” A frown that did nothing to diminish his good looks fell across his face as he snapped his fingers. “The business owners’ association. That reminds me,” he said, checking his watch. “I have a few more things to take care of tonight. Will I see you at the hotel tomorrow night for the meeting the Murano Group is hosting?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll look for you,” he said, turning to go. One step toward the door and he slowed to a stop. “Oh.” Turning around, he raised his index finger and smiled. “Didn’t you forget something?”

He was coming toward her again. Just like before. Ten years hadn’t tarnished his appeal. If anything, she was even more attracted to him now. Dangerously attracted.

“What?” she managed to ask.

As he closed the space between them, she reached back with her other hand to brace herself.

“I guess it slipped your mind once we started talking,” he said, his deep voice vibrating nerve endings she thought long dead. “That’s okay. I’ll just help myself.”

He kept on coming closer until she was bending backward and he was reaching past her, his arm gently brushing hers. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as his chest grazed the tips of her breasts. A second later he was pulling back with a cream puff in his hand.

“Got it.”

“Nick Buchanan,” she said with a breathless laugh meant to hide her disappointment. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said, winking at her as he headed for the back door.

The bang of the screen door punctuated his exit as smartly as the flourish of a magician’s wand. Megan stood alone in the kitchen, aware of a sudden and immense silence. For one delusional moment, she wondered if she’d conjured up his surprise visit. Then she glanced down at the tray of cream puffs. Nick Buchanan had been there. One was missing. And so was another piece of her heart.

Two

“Come on, Rebecca,” Megan murmured. “You never used to be late to anything. Don’t start now.”

Pacing inside the Hotel Maxwell lobby the next evening, Megan alternately glanced at her watch, then rimmed its band with her fingertip. Ten minutes and counting until representatives from the Murano Group were scheduled to start their meeting for business owners, private investors and the local media about the River Walk project. Everyone expected to attend the well-publicized meeting had arrived except Rebecca.

And Nick Buchanan.

Megan stopped to look toward the glass-and-brass revolving doors. The last thing she wanted was to run into Nick. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she’d seen him. Plenty of time to sort through and make sense of her reaction to his surprise visit, but not quite enough time to feel altogether comfortable with the decision she’d come to.

Maybe it was a tad excessive, but avoiding a roustabout construction worker who spent his life on the road was the smartest thing a woman in her position could do. The smartest and the hardest.

She tried convincing herself that the thoughts he’d stirred up by his surprise appearance would settle down by the time her radio buzzed her awake the next morning. But the buzz she was experiencing eight hours after his visit had been going on long before her radio alarm.

Enticing dreams about Nick left her feeling as if she were in a modified version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Tossing and turning in her single bed, the once comfortable piece of furniture was suddenly too big and too small.

The truth was undeniable. Nick Buchanan, the bad-boy charmer of ten years ago, the centerpiece of her sexiest fantasies, the man she was losing valuable sleep over, was back in her life and majorly capable of distracting her from her goals, if she let him. She tugged at her watchband. Those fantasies! She had to put a stop to them.

Closing her eyes, she settled both hands over her rib cage and tried pulling in an even, calming breath. Without warning, Nick’s naughtiest smile slipped into her mind’s eye. The tantalizing rush of pleasure cascading through her a second later caused her lips to part and her resolve to rapidly soften. That naughty smile of his was hinting at something memorable. Nibbling at her lips, she gave in to a luxurious sigh as the vision behind her eyelids began surging to life.

They were in the café kitchen alone, sometime after midnight. Soft music drifted around them as they made minimal efforts to keep on dancing. Pressed against Nick’s masculine form, she felt light-headed with growing desire. After all these years, being this close to him was too much, yet it wasn’t enough for her. Sliding her hands down his back, she gazed up at him.

“Nick,” she whispered, unable to keep the aching need out of her voice. Drawing her nails against the small of his back, she gently nudged him with her hips.

“Please, Nick.”

“You’ve been alone for such a long time, Meggie,” he said as he set her away from him and against the worktable. “I don’t want to hurt you. We have time.”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she said, brazenly slipping her hand between them to press against the hard evidence of his arousal. “You want me, Nick. I can tell you want me. ”

“Hell, yes, I want you,” he whispered on the end of a groan Staring down at her with half-closed passion-hot eyes, he sealed his lips to hers with a quick, hungry kiss. “Keep touching me like that, and we aren’t going to make it to a bed.”

She kept touching him like that. “I don’t need a bed, Nick. I need you. Right here. Right now.”

Cursing the state of his arousal, he pulled away from her, then swept the worktable clear. Pastry trays were still clattering on the floor as he lifted her onto the edge of the table and began to answer questions she’d only dreamed about.

Her eyes flew open, then continued to widen as several highly erotic possibilities of what might happen next began forming in the steamier recesses of her imagination. The tips of her breasts, the tops of her thighs and every inch in between tingled.

She looked guiltily around the lobby, scolding herself for thinking about what kind of a lover the real Nick would make. Transitioning into full-time catering to insure a financially secure future was supposed to be the only thing on her mind. Her busy life was complicated enough without Nick, thank you very much. Especially after that letter from her landlord last week, warning her about the rent increases.

Staring at her reflection in a nearby mirror, she shook her head at the jumble of thoughts crowding in. She had to keep herself directed toward goals that could and would come true. Not toward self-indulgent flights of fancy that were getting completely out of hand.

But how had those self-induced visions become so achingly explicit? They weren’t inspired by any sexual experiences she’d had. No, sex with Andy had never hinted at anything so... interesting.

She rubbed at her temples. If the reality of Nick was half as potent as the Nick in her fantasies, she could be in trouble. She sighed. Big trouble. Of course, she had no intention of placing herself in a position to find out just how big. Besides, wasn’t it painfully obvious that she was anything but a wild, hot seductress? Her lips suddenly thinned with annoyance as she narrowed her eyes toward her reflection.

“Pull it together, Meggie,” she mumbled. “Come on, just like you always do when things get dicey. Think about that sweet little girl who needs you. And how nothing is more important than making a better life for her.”

“I heard that mumbling.”

“Rebecca!” Megan whirled around to face her.

“Hey, girlfriend, I thought you would have gone in and gotten us seats.”

“I told you I’d wait for you here,” she said, looking over Rebecca’s shoulder toward the revolving doors. Thankfully, Nick was still nowhere in sight. “Where have you been?”

“I’m still on my honeymoon.”

“But you were married months ago,” she said, taking her by the elbow and drawing her across the empty lobby. “How long is a honeymoon supposed to last?”

Rebecca gave her a devilish grin. “As far as I’m concerned, as long as Raleigh can.”

Megan’s breath caught in her throat. A second later she was stealing a glance at her friend. Was it true? Was the kind of wild, unbridled passion she’d only imagined really possible?

“Meggie, darling, I always could make your ears turn red. Couldn’t I?”

“Your talents know no boundaries, Reb,” Megan said, shaking her head with genuine amusement as she reached for the door to the meeting room.

“That’s what Raleigh keeps telling me. You want to fill me in on what that conversation you were having with the mirror was all about?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me. Your eyes would glaze over. Let’s just go inside and find seats,” she said, grabbing two programs from the table near the doors.

As they headed for the front of the room, she couldn’t help herself. She made a quick scan of the room looking for Nick. Maybe she’d missed him. Maybe he’d slipped in a side entrance to the hotel. Taking a seat in the front row, she began fanning herself with the programs.

Maybe he wasn’t coming. She wouldn’t be surprised. If he was anything like he was ten years ago, missing this meeting would be right in character for Nick. She pictured him in his jeans and leather jacket, roaring down the highway to who knew where. Wind whipping through his hair, his thighs tightly gripping his motorcycle, that hell-bent look in his eyes....

She fanned a little faster. He’d probably already forgotten he’d stopped by last night That would be the best possible thing that could happen. In small-town Follett River, an absence of curious questions would make her plan for avoiding him a lot easier.

“So I hear you had a surprise visitor last night.”

The programs crumpled in her grip. She turned to her friend.

“He told you?”

“Well—”

Grabbing Rebecca by the wrist, she leaned toward her and lowered her chin. “He actually told you he caught me dancing by myself in the kitchen?” she asked in a choked whisper.

“Dancing?” Rebecca did a double take, then looked around before she leaned closer. “Meggie, Nick caught you dancing? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Oh.” Pulling back, she stared straight ahead. “I’d appreciate it if you’d forget I ever mentioned that,” she said, relaxing in her seat as she smoothed out the programs.

“No problem, Megan.”

She slapped a program into Rebecca’s hand. “Good.”

“Right. Thanks. So, then what happened?”

Megan twisted to face her again as someone took the empty seat on her right side. A trousered leg brushed against hers, sending her short skirt higher up her thigh.

“Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing,” she said, tugging down her hem as her friend’s face lit up with a suspicious smile. “Reb, if you tell one person I told you that, I will never forgive you.”

“My lips are sealed.” Rebecca raised an eyebrow as she looked past Megan.

“How about you, Nick? Are you going to tell anyone you caught Megan dancing alone in her kitchen last night?”

Megan felt her breath catch in her throat as his arm settled over the back of her chair and the broad and solid wall of his chest touched her shoulder.

“Consider my lips sealed, too,” he said, reaching in front of Megan to share a high five with Rebecca.

Megan’s gaze slid to one side. His lips were not sealed. They were open in a heart-stealing grin, now fixed on her.

She was trapped between a treacherous friend and temptation powerful enough to make her hands shake. She held back a groan. Why was nothing ever easy in her life? And wasn’t it time for someone to strike the gavel? For the floor to open up and swallow her? Or for aliens to beam her up to the mother ship?

She managed to give Nick a closemouthed smile before turning her face to Rebecca. “Give me a break here,” she silently mouthed, then quickly looked toward the podium.

“Oh, Nick,” Rebecca said in a tone too casual to be believed, “I finally remembered who it was that brought up your name at the reunion.”

Megan instantly tensed.

“Who?” he asked.

“You’re sitting next to her.”

“Is that right?” he asked.

Megan nodded. A moment later she felt the vibrations from the rumble of his soft, deep laughter. The masculine sensation played along every nerve ending in her body, making her feel as if they’d both been laughing. Laughing the way old friends laughed. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Or new lovers.

“What made you think of me?” he asked, leaning his head to fix a curious stare on her.

She managed a shrug as she dropped her gaze to the perfect creases in the trousers of his summer suit. He didn’t look like any construction worker she’d daydreamed about. He must have come straight from another meeting. She swallowed hard. Or a date. “I don’t remember what made me think of you,” she said, moving her leg away from his. That did little to stop the sensation of sparklers sending out their tiny explosions of stinging tickles beneath her skin.

Rebecca leaned closer. “I do. Jade Macleod and I were complaining about the bad time we had at our prom. You know, the one you took your cousin Rory to. Anyway, Megan insisted she had some very good memories from that night.”

He rubbed a growing smile from his mouth and nodded. “Yeah. It turned out better than I expected.”

It had turned out better than she expected, too. The memory of his tempting whispers and what they’d done to her had her breathing deeply. She smoothed her hand over her leg. Please, Lord, make him forget we spent all that time behind the crepe-paper curtain, and I swear I’ll never...

He looked at her and smiled. “We did a little dancing. Do you remember?”

“That was such a long time ago.”

“Really?” Rebecca asked. “It seems like yesterday to me.”

At the sound of her friend’s voice, the sparklers gave a sputtering hiss, then died Lord, was she losing it or what? The man had simply brushed against her and she had been imagining spontaneous combustion under her skin.

Turning away from Nick, she lifted the program from her lap. If she kept her hands busy, she would have a harder time strangling her friend for starting this conversation.

“When I got home last night,” Rebecca continued, “I pulled out my yearbook. Raleigh and I spent the rest of the evening looking through it. Nick, did you know that you’re in one of the prom photos?”

“No. I’d like to see that.”

“I’m going to New York tomorrow morning, but I’m stopping by Megan’s café first. If you want to meet me there, I’ll bring it with me.”

“Sounds great. Seven okay?”

“Perfect.” Rebecca closed her hands over Megan’s wrists. “Meggie, stop thumbing through that program and listen.”

Listen? Her ears were burning! They were coming to the café tomorrow morning and there was nothing she could do about it. And why hadn’t anyone started the meeting yet?

“Do you remember your line from the Girls Most Likely to... list?”

“No,” she said, giving Rebecca a warning look. “But whatever it was, I’m sure it was way off the mark.”

“Not necessarily. You were voted the Girl Most Likely to Surprise Us with Her Secret Fantasies.”

Megan managed to stop herself, just before giving in to a full cringe. Everyone, including her, had laughed at that line ten years ago. But she wasn’t laughing anymore. Rolling the program into a tight cylinder she tapped the edge on her knee.

“Your point, Reb?” she asked, turning a weak smile toward Nick before glowering at Rebecca again. “And I’m sure you have one.”

“Well, who knows?” Rebecca gave an overly dramatic shrug and widened her eyes. “With all this dancing I’m hearing about, maybe you secretly wanted to be a showgirl.”

Looking over at Nick, Rebecca kinked a brow. “What do you think, Nick? You’ve seen her dancing a few times. Has she missed her calling?”

Smiling to himself, Nick checked his watch, then stood up. Bracing his hand on the back of Megan’s chair, he leaned in, giving her the momentary illusion that he was going to kiss her. He wasn’t. At least, not tonight.

“Could be, Reb,” he said, looking directly into Megan’s eyes. “Then again, I’ve eaten one of her cream puffs. That was a mighty tasty experience, too.” Before Megan could close her mouth, he went on. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have a speech to make.” Stepping into the aisle, he headed for the podium.

Those stolen glances she’d sent his way, the way she’d fidgeted, and that one long look that connected deep in his gut were all answers to his prayers. Whether Megan Sloan looked ready to admit it or not, she was as strongly attracted to him as he was to her.

Taking the steps to the stage, he walked across it to the lectern. The crowded room suddenly grew quiet. He knew what most of them were probably thinking. The same thing Megan was. Follett River’s notorious motorcycle bad boy, who once enjoyed the dubious distinction of scaring the hell out of every parent of a teenage daughter in the county, was back in town. But what was he doing there?

Picking up the gavel, he twirled the head against the palm of his hand as he looked out at his audience. “Since I already appear to have your attention, I don’t think I’ll need this.” During the light laughter that followed, he set the gavel aside.

“Good evening. Most of you know me. For those of you who don’t, I’m Nick Buchanan.” Murmurs started again, and he wondered how many different escapades of his teen years were being recounted around the room.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “That Nick Buchanan.”

Again the crowd laughed, a little louder this time and a little longer. Even Megan couldn’t help herself.

He let the good-natured response continue for a few more seconds before holding up his hands to quiet the group.

From the corner of his eye he could see Rebecca whispering to Megan. Whatever Follett River’s resident rebel spirit was saying was turning Megan’s ears an impressive shade of red. Holding back a smile, Nick lowered his hands to close them over the sides of the lectern.

“Back to business. The good people of the Murano Group have asked me to welcome all of you to our program this evening. Before I tell you why they asked me and before I introduce our speakers, I have a few personal remarks.

“First,” he said, allowing his drifting gaze to settle on Megan, “let me say that it’s a pleasure being back in Follett River. I’m looking forward to getting reacquainted with old friends.”

Megan still appeared to be in a mild state of shock that he was the one leading the meeting. Ten years back he would have found that hard to believe, too. Smiling at her, he waited until her green-eyed stare was locked with his. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Megan’s lips parted the tiniest bit.

That’s right, sweet girl, I’m talking about you and me.

As if she’d read his thoughts, she nervously moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, then looked down at her program. Her thick blond hair formed a layered curtain around either side of her face, but it was too late. He’d already seen the blush he’d caused. He had no desire to publicly embarrass her with unwanted attention; he’d suffered enough of that in his childhood. Enduring the humiliation of being known as a member of the neediest family in Follett River had nearly destroyed him. It had also, in the end, given him the impetus to move on to better things.

With the finesse of a seasoned politician, he turned his head for a polite cough before continuing. “I’m also looking forward to being job-site foreman on the River Walk project as well as the general liaison between you and the Murano Group.” The room hummed again. He arched a brow. “Unless the Murano Group tells me I’m desperately needed elsewhere, I’m here for the duration of this project.”

As another ripple of good-natured laughter filled the room, Nick’s hand made an involuntary pass over the pager at his hip. What appeared to be a casual gesture had become a second-nature response whenever thoughts about the promotion filtered through. If and when the home office decided to put him in charge of the company’s western division, he wanted to be the first to know. He’d worked hard for the position, proving to himself and his boss that he was capable of the challenge. He smiled at his next thought. The strangest irony was that he would probably find out about the promotion while he was here in Follett River, the very place where he once craved recognition and respect.

“If at any time you have a problem, a comment or a question about anything,” he said as he scanned the room again, “and I’m sensing by all that whispering out there that you do, feel free to come to me. I want what you want for the River Walk project. A good start to a new beginning for Follett River. So don’t be afraid to speak up. I’m here to listen. I’m here to help. Any time.” Playfully shaking his finger at the audience, he let his gaze move back to Megan. “But just remember, turnabout is fair play on any of those questions.”

Three

Early morning sunlight was streaming through the bay window of the Chocolate Chip Café as Megan tamped the ground espresso beans into the portafilter. “So far, so good,” she said to herself as she gave the cappuccino machine a warning glance. Wiping her palm against the front of her apron, she went to the machine, slipped the portafilter into place and attempted to secure it with a solid yank. The handle didn’t budge.

Pulling it out, she tried again, beginning with a few faint jiggles, progressing to one firm pull and ending with a series of solid jerks. Still no secure connection. Of all times for the gasket to slip! Megan glanced back at Nick. He was sitting nearby with Rebecca and Raleigh, happily poring over Rebecca’s yearbook while he waited for his drink.

Megan turned back to jerking the handle. It might have been the Rock of Gibraltar for all it moved. Closing her fingers in a choke hold around the smooth plastic, she leaned her forehead against her wrist and stifled a scream of frustration.

Last night Nick had talked about new beginnings, but how was she going to get to hers if she had to write another check to the restaurant supply company? Gritting her teeth, she returned to jerking as she pictured the two rent checks she had to write out tonight. Rent checks that included the new increases on both her apartment and the café. “Ouch!”

Staring at the tender flesh on the heel of her hand, she swore under her breath, then applied a soothing lick against the reddened indentations. Why was nothing ever easy? she wondered as she shifted her stance and began again from a different angle.

Nick’s voice sounded from the end of the counter. “Can I help you with that?”

Her gaze slid toward him. He was casually resting his forearms on the counter, his brows raised in expectation of her response.

Help!

But hadn’t she sworn she wasn’t going to involve Nick in any aspect of her life? Looking back at the brass-and-copper monstrosity dominating the back wall, she quietly groaned. Any minute now, the morning crowd would be coming through the door and demanding their favorite coffee drinks from the list on the wall. Preparing all of them started with an easy pull on the handle of the portafilter. A handle that remained stubbornly immovable.

If this wasn’t her busiest time of day, she would have politely declined Nick’s offer. But this was the busiest time of day and there was nothing more unpleasant than trying to pacify a mob of caffeine-challenged customers with a penchant for exotic coffees when there were none available.

Squinching her lips, she glared at the machine. What choice did she have? Desperate situations called for desperate measures.

With an odd mixture of defeat and gratitude, she wiped her sore hand on her apron and turned back to Nick. “Do you know anything about cranky cappuccino machines?”

“No, but I doubt beating the hell out of it is going to help,” he said, walking behind the counter with a reassuring grin. “Let’s have a look.”

If she felt closed in by his presence in her kitchen that first night, she felt positively trapped behind the counter this morning. Though lean and well muscled, he was also tall and broad shouldered. And she was having a slight case of hysterical paralysis, all because of a flashback to her prom, when he had brazenly approached her for a dance.

True, his black T-shirt was about as far from a tuxedo as one could go in the world of fashion, but when it came to sex appeal Nick still ruled. Killer grin, faded jeans and all. His masculine presence was as unnerving as it was invigorating. Or maybe that was just the two espressos she’d had this morning before the machine rejected the portafilter.

As he approached, she could think of only one thing. Sharing the small space behind the counter with Nick was going to be more challenging than sharing it with two of her waitresses and little Paige, all at the same time. Quickly checking behind her, she backed herself into the corner next to the machine just before he reached her.

“Okay, Megan,” he said, pinning her in place with those big brown bedroom eyes. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I don’t—I don’t have a problem.”

“I’m sure you don’t, beautiful. I meant with your cappuccino machine.”

“Oh, right. Let me show you,” she said, attempting to sound nonchalant while she untangled her fingers from the apron strings tied around her waist She waited for him to take a step backward before she took a small one forward. Carefully positioning herself in front of the machine, she made certain Nick was behind and to the side of her before she reached for the portafilter and promptly jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. His surprise exhalation both warmed the back of her neck and made her shiver. Wrestling herself into a tight turn, she didn’t stop until she was facing him. “Nick, I’m sorry,” she said, running her fingertips over the spot she’d connected with..

He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “No damage done.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, not wanting to take her hand away from the solid wall of sculpted muscle. “I gave you a good one.”

“Believe me, this body has survived worse.”

Taking a step away from her, he gave her the room she needed to make an uneventful turn back around to the machine. She’d just started breathing a little easier when he came in close again and lowered his head next to hers.

“This is a tricky position,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “but if you relax, I can promise you that neither of us will do anything we’ll be sorry for later.”

There was a double entendre in there someplace, but she wasn’t going to dwell on it now. Using her other hand, she closed her fingers around the handle and tugged.

“See? When I do this, it doesn’t budge. The gasket slipped and it’s totally locked up.”

Before she could step aside, he reached around her with both arms, caging her in a parody of an embrace.

“Like this?” he asked, as he began tugging the handle.

“Exactly like that,” she said, closing her eyes as his jarring moves became a masculine force field surrounding her. It would be so easy to melt back against his body and lose herself in the enticing vibrations.

“Nick, I hope you know what you’re doing.” Because being this close to you, I don’t.

“Trust me.”

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