“Put it in. I’m ready.”

The sound that came from Kit’s throat wasn’t compliant, but he fed her without further comment. A dense, smooth and very cold cake melted on her tongue.

“Mmm, that one’s powerful,” Sabrina said.

“Chocolate fondant cake. I thought we could make them in bite-size molds so the guests can sample without feeling guilty.”

“Except that one bite isn’t always enough.”

“Are you greedy?” He nudged against her thigh.

“No, but I am selfish,” she replied.

“What’s the difference?”

“Greedy grabs. Selfish…savors.” Sabrina moved her leg into the pressure, rocking her hips. “I want to savor you,” she said.

“I’ve been here for the taking.”

She was ready to sample every inch of Kit in bite-size gulps. Delaying had only made her more ravenous.

“Your chin is covered in chocolate dust.” He swiped at it with his thumb. She heard a smacking sound. “Umm. You taste good.”

“A kiss would taste even better,” she purred.

Dear Reader,

Survey says: 50% of women prefer chocolate to sex.

The reasoning is that when women eat chocolate, they experience the same pleasures in their brain as being in love. As a writer, when I read that, I immediately cooked up a story. If a woman was trying to give up men, would chocolate cure her craving? What type of man would most tempt her?

Sisters Sabrina and Mackenzie Bliss have made a bet to change their lives—with a diamond ring at stake. In the first book of the SEX & CANDY duo, pastry chef Kit Rex convinces Sabrina to indulge…in chocolate, in pleasure and in romance. Be sure to look for Mackenzie’s story, Sinfully Sweet, available in June.

Please visit my Web site at www.carriealexander.com for fun facts, a candy contest, Kit’s recipes and a chocolate personality quiz. I’d love to hear from you!

Carrie Alexander

Books by Carrie Alexander

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

839—SMOOTH MOVES

869—RISKY MOVES

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

20—PLAYING WITH FIRE

HARLEQUIN DUETS

25—CUSTOM-BUILT COWBOY

32—COUNTERFEIT COWBOY

38—KEEPSAKE COWBOY

83—ONCE UPON A TIARA

—HENRY EVER AFTER

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

1042—THE MAVERICK

1102—NORTH COUNTRY MAN

The Chocolate Seduction
Carrie Alexander

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the Aztec and Mayan discoverers of the cacao bean: all your fault!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Prologue

“SOME WEDDING,” Sabrina Bliss said to her sister. “I nearly lost it when the minister got to the ‘till death do us part’ part.” Mackenzie would understand what she meant.

“That’s why I pinched you!” Mackenzie tried to put on a scolding face, but warm laughter bubbled up instead. “It’s so rude to laugh in the middle of a wedding ceremony.”

Sabrina smiled, feeling oddly light and cheerful despite her doubts about the marriage. “You’ll notice I didn’t object, either.”

Mackenzie blinked. “Do you have objections?”

“Mmm…no, not really.”

“But you’re not optimistic.”

Sabrina tucked her fist beneath her chin, fingers tightening around the small velvet box in her palm. She should give it up, but…she just wasn’t sure about letting go.

“You know I don’t believe in fairy-tale endings,” she said.

Sabrina and Mackenzie had come out onto the balcony of the Fontaine Hotel to catch a quiet moment together, away from the reception. They’d found their newlywed parents, Charlie and Nicole Bliss, dancing beneath the starry sky on one of the brick paths of the hotel’s rose garden. Light and music spilled from the open French doors, dappling the scene with a particularly picturesque version of romance.

Bah, humbug, Sabrina thought, without much conviction. Her emotions were too close to the surface. Luckily she had plenty of experience in not letting them show.

Mackenzie was the opposite. And clearly a goner. She’d welled up throughout the ceremony, and now her gaze was pinned on their parents, her big dark eyes shining with hope.

A couple of months ago, Charlie and Nicole Bliss had confessed to their daughters that they’d never quite managed to fall out of love despite their divorce of long standing. They’d decided to give marriage another try. Sabrina and Mackenzie had been stunned. Aside from the occasional family Christmas dinner or birthday party, they hadn’t known that their parents were seeing each other. Naturally, Mackenzie found it all so touching and romantic. Sabrina wasn’t as ready to forget the perils of the rancorous divorce, even though it had taken place sixteen years ago, when she was thirteen. And she sure didn’t want to be around if the shrapnel started to fly again.

“Maybe it’s not a fairy-tale ending,” Mackenzie said softly. “Maybe it’s real.”

“Ha.” Sabrina raised a champagne glass to her lips. “When reality hits, I give them six months.”

Mackenzie wrapped a hand around her sister’s arm. She squeezed, making Sabrina wish she could take back her words. Mackenzie was a squeezer, a patter, a cheerer-upper. And a very good friend. They’d been apart for too long. Mackenzie was settled in New York City while Sabrina went wherever whim took her.

“You’re so cynical, Breen,” she said, reverting to the family nickname.

Did that mean they were a family again?

Sabrina shrugged. While she might have her doubts about her parents, Mackenzie was as reliable as a rock. The sisters had very different personalities, but they’d turned to each other for comfort after the divorce and had been close ever since, even when separated by thousands of miles.

“Look at the divorce statistics,” Mackenzie continued. “If half of all marriages fail, then Mom and Dad already have their divorce over and done with. This marriage is practically a sure thing.”

Sabrina scoffed. “Your numbers are skewed. I’d definitely double down on that bet.” She’d learned the lingo in Reno, where she’d once worked as a cocktail waitress after a stage magician had fired her for screaming bloody murder during a botched saw trick. “Here I thought logic was your strong suit.”

“This isn’t about logic. You’ve got to have faith.”

“Faith? How?”

Mackenzie gazed past the balcony to their parents. “Look at them. Tell me your heart doesn’t melt.”

Sabrina held the ring box in one hand and sipped champagne from the glass in the other, brooding over the sight of her parents exchanging whispers and kisses after all these years. They were a study in contrasts, much like their daughters. Charlie Bliss was tall and sandy-haired, prone to daydreaming and wild, irresponsible schemes. Nicole was as short, round and stable as Mackenzie, but not as gentle. She could be a bulldozer.

Sabrina truly wished them the best. But whatever faith she had had been left behind years ago, dug deep into the bottom of the backpack she’d lugged between their houses after the divorce.

Six months was generous, she decided. It wouldn’t be too much of a shock if they were arguing on the honeymoon cruise, when Charlie wanted to go para-sailing and Nicole chose to snorkel. Every little thing had once been a battle. The arguments were still familiar.

“Sure, they seem devoted,” Sabrina admitted. A spring breeze whipped up and stole the words “for now…” from her lips. Loose pink rose petals from the swags draped over the balcony railing scattered like confetti. Cream satin ribbons fluttered.

Below, Nicole’s delighted laughter rang out as Charlie removed the jacket of his tux and draped it over her shoulders. He used it to pull her toward his kiss.

Mackenzie sighed. “See that?”

Sabrina nodded, watching. Even her heart had melted…a little. Then the wind came again and she shivered in her whisper-of-silk slip dress. Ever practical and prepared, Mackenzie hooked an arm around Sabrina’s shoulders, sharing her pink cashmere wrap and her body warmth. Mackenzie was a home-and-hearth kind of girl. Sabrina was long and lean, built for running.

She was good at that. But then why was she still clutching the ring box so tightly?

Mackenzie stirred. “Doesn’t it make you think, Breen?”

“Think what?”

“Mom and Dad aren’t afraid to go for it. We shouldn’t be, either.”

Sabrina drew away. “What are you talking about? Love? Marriage? Me? Not on your life!”

Making a tutting noise, Mackenzie pulled off the wrap and arranged it around her sister. Her long hair covered her own shoulders like a cape. It was beautiful—waist-length, thick and wavy, the color of dark chocolate. She’d been wearing it in the same plain style since she was ten. “No, Sabrina. I mean change. Transformation, renewal, starting over—whatever you want to call it. Change would do us both good.”

Sabrina made a face. “It’s my policy to avoid anything that will do me good. And I like my life the way it is.”

Mackenzie’s brows went up. “Do you really?”

“Yes, really.”

“I remember a certain 3:00 a.m. phone call—”

“You swore you wouldn’t use that against me. It was no more than a bad breakup rant. I’d already done the sympathy margarita thing with my girlfriends. I was in the middle of the tearing-up-photos-and-freaking-long-distance stage.”

“Now, Sabrina, you were with the last guy for almost an entire winter. It was more than just another failed relationship. You’re used to those. If you weren’t hurt, you wouldn’t have packed up and flown to Mexico the very next day.”

“I’m used to doing that, too,” Sabrina pointed out.

Mackenzie got a stubborn look on her face. “Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean you like it. I distinctly remember that before the breakup you were wondering if it wasn’t time to settle down and start a real career.”

Sabrina hesitated. Mackenzie was right. Lately she’d been nagged by the feeling that she’d been a gypsy for long enough—continually moving from city to city, job to job, one boyfriend to the next. All that had gotten her was a lot of experience, an address book full of crossed-out names and a Mr. Wrong in nearly every state.

She was ready for a change—a smart one, this time.

“What about you?” she challenged Mackenzie. “I know you’re the good sister and all, but there’s room for improvement in your life, too. How long have you been in a holding pattern with Mr. Dull? And hasn’t your boss at Regal Foods been promising you a promotion to executive in charge of jawbreakers and Gummi Bears for, I don’t know, forever and a day?”

Mackenzie’s mouth pursed. “You haven’t been keeping up. I was promoted nearly a month ago, when you were jet-skiing in Mazatlan.”

“Uh, wow. That’s fabulous. Congrats, and all that.” Sabrina wondered how her sister stood it, being so steady and reliable all the time. She really ought to offer the family’s heirloom ring to Mackenzie, except that…

“And how is Mr. Dull?” Sabrina asked.

“His name is Jason Dole. He’s—”

“A deep snooze. A dead bore.”

“You’re wrong. He might not be up to your Danger Boy standards, but he’s a good guy.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “There’s that word again. Good. The kiss of death.”

“Not for me. We’re alike. We get along.”

“You wouldn’t be talking change if all you wanted was to ‘get along.”’ Ever since the divorce had turned their world upside down, Mackenzie had been resistant to change. She’d lived in the same apartment since college, worked at the same candy company as she slowly worked her way toward a position as the top Tootsie Roll. She had to be as tired of routine as Sabrina was of airports and train stations.

“Look,” she said, nudging Mackenzie toward the railing again. Charlie and Nicole had continued to kiss. Aside from the slight ew factor—this was their middle-aged parents, after all—the couple’s affection was enviable. “Tell me you have that much passion with Jason and I’ll gladly dance at your wedding.” And even surrender the ring.

“I can’t.” The admission came too fast. Mackenzie wasn’t nearly as resistant as Sabrina had expected.

“Well, then, there you go.” Sabrina cocked her head. Charlie and Nicole were still kissing. She leaned over the railing and yelled, “Hey! You kids down there. Getta room, why don’tcha?”

Her parents broke apart, looking around in surprise. When they spotted their daughters up on the balcony, they laughed and waved, calling hellos.

Sabrina lifted her glass to them, then drained the remaining champagne in one swallow. “Mackenzie—I’ve got it. You and I need to switch lives.”

“Oh, no. I’m not cut out for changing boyfriends with the seasons. And I can’t roller-skate.” Sabrina’s latest temporary job was as a roller-skating waitress in a fifties-theme drive-in restaurant in St. Louis, a city she’d chosen by poking her finger at a map in a travel agency’s window.

“But we do need to make changes,” Mackenzie went on. She took a breath. Stuck out her chin. “I will if you will.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “What did you have in mind?” It wasn’t like her sister to be reckless, so she was forced to be cautious in response. One way or another, they always balanced each other out.

“For your part, you’ll settle down in one city. Sign a real lease, not a month-by-month.”

That wasn’t so bad. “You have to break up with Mr. Dull.”

Mackenzie nodded. “I can do that. If you get a job—a job you like enough to stick with for at least a year.”

“An entire year…” Sabrina gulped, then leveled a finger at Mackenzie’s round face. “Fine, but you have to quit the candy company.”

“Quit Regal Foods? Why? I told you how I just got that big promotion.”

“You’ve always talked about running your own fancy candy store. I know you’ve been saving for it. Why not crack open your nest egg? There’s no better time to go for it.”

Mackenzie had paled, but she nodded. Reluctantly. “I’ll take the plunge if you promise to give up men,” she said, probably because she’d calculated that it was a safe offer which would never be accepted.

Celibacy? Sabrina thought. That was absurd! Impossible! But she retaliated without voicing her doubts. “Only if you cut your hair.”

“How short?”

“How long?” Sabrina said at the same time.

“Until you truly fall in love,” Mackenzie answered.

Sabrina’s fingers clenched on the ring box. “Then you go above the ears.”

The sisters stopped, momentarily dumbstruck by their careening conversation.

“My hair?” Mackenzie whispered, lifting a hand to stroke the dark length of it.

“No men?” Sabrina said, her voice faint and very far away. She couldn’t possibly. She loved men. She was addicted to testosterone.

Mackenzie’s eyes sharpened. “One year to change our lives. I say we shake on it!” And bam, she stuck out her hand without taking the usual week to think over the decision.

Sabrina wavered. “I…”

“Chicken?”

“Of course not. But what are the stakes?”

“The journey is its own reward.”

“Phooey. How about this?” Sabrina flung back the cashmere wrap and held out her hand, palm up.

Mackenzie froze, staring at the worn blue velvet box which was familiar to both of them. Finally she reached out to flip up the lid and reveal the diamond ring that Nicole Bliss had removed from her finger the day of her divorce and stuck way in the back of her jewel box, saying she never wanted to see it again. Now and then, when their mother wasn’t home, the sisters had sneaked in to take the ring out and try it on. Sabrina had wanted to believe that her attachment to the ring was the usual girlish attraction to shiny jewelry, but now that it was hers, she knew it meant more than that. Romance, love, marriage—which she wasn’t supposed to believe in.

“Grandmother’s diamond solitaire?” Mackenzie said, awed.

“Mom gave it to me before the ceremony.” Charlie had presented Nicole with a new ring to symbolize their fresh start, so she’d passed the heirloom on to her oldest daughter.

“But I’m not sure I want it,” Sabrina added hurriedly. “You’ll be getting married before me. I mean, I have no intention of ever getting—”

“No, no, you’re the oldest.” Mackenzie gazed longingly at the ring. “You should have it.”

“Ugh, I knew you’d be noble. That’s why I want to put it up as the prize in our bet. The one of us who most successfully changes her life in the next year gets to keep the ring. We’ll make the decision on our parent’s first anniversary—if they last that long.”

Mackenzie laughed in disbelief. “That’s so—so—”

“Sacrilegious? It’s only a ring.” Sabrina slapped the velvet box into Mackenzie’s palm, then impulsively tossed the champagne flute over the railing. “I’m not giving you time to change your mind. We have a deal!” They shook hands, clasping them around the treasured ring box. The sound of glass shattering on the patio below seemed appropriate. They were breaking out, starting off new. Just like—

Well, maybe not just like their parents, Sabrina thought when she glanced over the balcony. Charlie was laughing and Nicole was pulling out of his embrace, trying to get away so she could stalk over to the balcony and scold Sabrina for being so careless.

Typical.

But even as Sabrina watched, Charlie managed to grab hold of his wife’s hand. He kissed Nicole on the cheek, placating her with a few murmured words, then raised a fist, shaking it playfully at his daughters. “Which one broke the glass?” he called. “A shard might have flown up and nicked my beautiful bride’s face.”

Sabrina and Mackenzie looked at each other and grinned. “Sorry,” they sang in unison, standing shoulder to shoulder.

There was no good reason for it, especially with grown-up responsibility and a crazy celibacy promise looming in her future, but Sabrina’s spirits soared when she looked into her parents’ upturned faces. Charlie was balding and Nicole had lost the battle of the bulge. They had wrinkles and graying hair and fallen arches. There had been sieges when they’d threatened that widowhood was an even better solution than divorce, yet here they were, holding on to each other, trying again, their timeworn faces glowing with love. What courage they had.

Maybe, Sabrina thought, recognizing that the tiny part of herself that still believed in love wasn’t buried as deep as she’d thought. Maybe this time….

1

Six weeks later

FLEXING MUSCLES and swirling chocolate—Sabrina Bliss was in heaven. I could get used to this, she told herself, immensely pleased to have found an aspect of her new job that would still be fun a year from now…if she stayed with it that long.

And she might if this kept up, even without an heirloom engagement ring at stake. How lucky could one woman get?

The sight of male muscles bulging and rippling over pots of melting chocolate or whizzing mixers was an everyday occurrence at Decadence. In her first week as lunch manager, she’d learned to time her breaks to catch ten minutes of the show as Kristoffer “Call me Kit” Rex concocted the day’s desserts. The renowned pastry chef almost always featured chocolate, his specialty.

Today Kit was working with semisweet chocolate, coconut and phyllo triangles. Sheets of the paper-thin pastry were stacked nearby under a dampened kitchen towel. He removed the cover of the food processor he’d used to chop the high-quality French chocolate he insisted on even though it took a big bite out of the restaurant’s dessert budget. He added softened butter and the toasted coconut to the mixture.

“Please pass me the knife.” The request didn’t register with Sabrina for a second or two because she was distracted with comparing Kit’s rich voice to an image of warm chocolate pouring over his naked body.

When she didn’t react, he reached for the knife, his bare arm brushing against hers. Skin on skin, the contact was as sharp and sensual as a swallow of chocolate-laced amaretto cream. She could gain weight merely listening to him. Actual touching brought her one chocolate kiss away from orgasm.

I shouldn’t be here, she reminded herself, thinking of her pact with Mackenzie. The temptation is too much.

Kit’s knife was a blur as he chopped almonds in five seconds flat. He scraped them into the food processor, his biceps bulging as he lifted the hefty chopping board.

Yum. Sabrina tried to smack her lips, but her tongue was parched. Probably from all the panting.

Kit replaced the lid and blended the chocolate with the other ingredients, shooting a sexy little grin at his audience of one. She grinned back at him, not even trying to hide her interest. Let him think she was a wanna-be chef or a slavering chocoholic. Anything but what she was—a sex-starved celibate who was ready to crawl inside his starched white chef’s coat and eat him whole.

He moved over a step and stirred a saucepan of melting butter on the stove. She used the inside of her loose V-neck tank to blot the dampness on her chest. The kitchen was always hot, but even if they were in an igloo, watching Kit cook would make her sweat.

At five-eleven, he was only an inch or so taller than Sabrina, but his nicely developed chest, arms and thighs more than made up for the slight lack of height. He had black hair that was one week’s growth away from shaggy, penetrating blue eyes and the kind of hollow cheeks and strong jaw that looked best shadowed with stubble.

Fortunately for Manhattan’s female population, his stubble usually complied.

Sabrina fanned herself. Oh, yeah, the man was hot. The gold ring that pierced his left ear gave him the look of a pirate. Even his eyelids were sexy—drooping slightly whenever he lapsed into a moment of silent brooding. He didn’t talk a lot when he cooked—or any other time, for that matter—but he was quick with a smile or a joke. He cared about people. She’d seen him quietly inquiring after the dishwasher’s college applications and the vegetable delivery guy’s daughter who had tonsillitis.

Kristoffer Rex had fascinated Sabrina ever since her first day on the job at Decadence, a Manhattan restaurant that was a major step up from serving burgers on roller blades. Not a single member of the kitchen crew or serving staff had a bad word to say about him, but none of them knew his story either. She’d asked outright—asked everyone but Kit. The essence of himself, who he was, where he’d come from and how he lived outside of the restaurant, had been kept strictly private. To learn more, she’d have to get closer to the actual man.

And that, given her bet with Mackenzie, was simply not going to happen.

Sabrina gave a silent, inward groan. She’d have to content herself with watching Kit make his chocolate desserts. Even if that raised her body temperature to the boiling point.

A strip of the phyllo dough had been laid out on the work surface. He brushed melted butter across it, then looked over at Sabrina. “Want to help?” Practically the first words he’d spoken to her, other than “Taste this,” or “Good morning.”

She caught her tongue between her teeth, then nodded. “Sure.”

“Come over here beside me.”

She pushed off the stool and went to stand next to him. He smelled like bittersweet chocolate, darkly sweet and delicious. Gobble, gobble, slurp, she thought, humming with vibrations at his nearness.

“You can be the folder.” Kit put a heaping spoonful of his chocolate mixture onto a corner of the pastry strip. He showed her how to fold the corner into a triangle, then again onto itself, continuing along the entire strip until the filling was wrapped in the airy layers of phyllo dough.

“Not bad,” Sabrina said as she transferred the pastry puff onto a baking sheet.

“You’re a natural, kid.”

She looked into his amused eyes. They gave her a charge, even though she could see that he was humoring her. The other chefs tended be high-strung and easily annoyed, so she’d learned to stay out of their way. But the pastry chef’s work station was set off to one side, and Kit didn’t seem to mind when she hung around.

Still…

Kid, huh?

It had been a long time since an attractive man looked at her as a kid sister. She didn’t like it. True, she had no intentions of hooking up with Kit. Nevertheless it didn’t seem right for him to dismiss the possibility so easily.

“Fold,” he said, and she realized he’d laid out another strip of the delicate dough and spooned out a dollop of chocolate. They worked together in silence for a few minutes until the first pan was filled with neat rows of the triangles. Now and then, their elbows bumped or their hands brushed and Sabrina got more and more peeved that Kit had no reaction at all when she was struggling not to make cheesy analogies about oozing filling and hot home cookin’.

One of the servers, Charmaine Piasceki, stepped through the stainless-steel swinging doors that led out to the dining room. “Sabrina, your sister’s here.” She looked at Sabrina’s buttery fingers, then over at Kit. “Should I tell her you’re greased up with one of the chefs?”

Out of Kit’s range, Sabrina made a menacing face at Charmaine, who’d become a friend as soon as they realized they both had smart mouths, food tattoos and opposite tastes in men. Despite kooky pink hair and a Persephone’s pomegranate on the small of her back, Charmaine went for uptight lawyers and investment bankers. She liked to turn them on to their wild side.

Sabrina wiped her fingers on the towel keeping the phyllo dough pliable. “I’ll be there as soon as we’re finished with the filling.”

Charmaine pushed backward through the doors with her rump. She looked at Kit and laughed, flashing the silver stud in her tongue. “Sure thing. We wouldn’t want you two to skimp on the filling.”

Sabrina’s gaze skidded across Kit’s face. He was grinning at her again. She gulped, too aware of the heat flushing her cheeks. “Umm. Well, that was fun, but I have to get back out there.”

“I’ll bring you and your sister a sample, fresh from the oven. Well-filled.”

“Great.” She meant it. Maybe if Mackenzie saw Kit in the flesh—the living, breathing, warm, rippling flesh—she’d let Sabrina out of the “no men” part of their deal. Mackenzie was reasonable. She’d understand that there was only so much she could expect her sister to resist.

The quiet, clean public area of the restaurant was a relief after the hot zone of the kitchen. Sabrina stopped at the bar and got a couple of bottled waters from a small fridge. She uncapped one of them and took a long swig of the icy liquid to soothe her parched throat as she surveyed the activity in the front room. Servers moved from table to table in their stark white-and-black uniforms, doing the final prep work before they opened for the lunch trade.

Mackenzie had been seated at a table by one of the windows that overlooked West Broadway. The prime Tribeca location went hand in hand with the restaurant’s gourmet menu, hip reputation and a parade of well-heeled patrons who liked to rub shoulders with the funkier creative types. Word was that although a real working artist might actually starve on the minuscule portions served at Decadence, they could never afford them.

“Hey, sis.” Sabrina set the blue bottles on the table and slid into one of the Danish modern chairs. “What happened? Your hair’s still long.” She’d made an appointment for Mackenzie at a Madison Avenue salon recommended by one of the restaurant’s owners, the famously stylish Dominique Para.

Mackenzie looked up, guilt written across her face. “I’m sorry. I backed out at the last minute.”

“No! Do you know I had to give Dominique my favorite flea-market boots as a bribe for your appointment? I won’t mention how hard it is to find authentic Victorian lace-ups in my size.” Sabrina’s feet were long and thin, like the rest of her. Dominique, a former model, was a perfect match, size-wise.

“I just couldn’t go through with it,” Mackenzie said, blinking puppy-dog eyes.

“Do I have to go with you to hold your hand?”

“Yes, please.”

Sabrina wagged her head. “What’s the hang-up with your hair? You’ve managed everything else. You quit your job, the new candy store is opening on schedule, Mr. Dull has been given his walking papers…” She caught Mackenzie’s blank look. “He is gone, isn’t he?”

“More or less. It’s not my fault that he keeps sending flowers.”

Sabrina flipped a hand. “Jason has no imagination. He wants you back because you’re easy.”

“Ah, no, I think that would be you.” One side of Mackenzie’s mouth curled into a dimple as she twisted off the cap of her water.

“Touché. But you know I meant easy as in comfortable.” Sabrina moved restlessly in her chair, flinging one arm over the molded bird’s-eye maple backrest and tossing her hair over the other shoulder. “I’m not easy any longer, you know. And, man, is it killing me.”

Mackenzie was busy looking around the restaurant. Decadence was as polished and chic as Dominique Para herself, filled with a striking combination of mid-century design and trendy art-house accessories. Partial walls made of woven maple planks separated certain areas for privacy. Sculptural sheet-glass mobiles doubled as lighting. Swivel chairs in purple and acid-green, paired with steel ashtray pedestals from the ’50s, made the wait in the lounge for a table more of a pleasure than a bother. At first, Sabrina hadn’t been sure that she fit in at Decadence with a wardrobe that was primarily made up of jeans, sweats, tanks and bandannas, but Dominique had passed along a selection of designer dresses that were so perfectly simple and well-fitted they had to be couture.

Mackenzie returned her attention to her sister. “I thought the restaurant would be keeping you so busy you wouldn’t have time to think about men.”

“That would be the goal,” Sabrina said, “except I haven’t told you about Kit Rex yet.”

“Kit Rex? Isn’t he a rock star?”

“Not Kid Rock,” Sabrina started to explain, before she saw that Mackenzie was teasing.

“Super. There would have to be a man in the picture.” Mackenzie affected a put-upon sigh. “Okay. How bad do you have it?”

Sabrina fanned her face. “Very, very bad.”

Mackenzie didn’t speak for a long minute. Sabrina could see the cogs grinding beneath the mass of pinned-up hair. Her sister had a solution for every problem, if she was given enough time to think it over.

Mackenzie’s eyes slitted. Sabrina shifted under the scrutiny, examining her manicure, then flicking a dot of chocolate filling off the front of her hand-me-down dress. It was lilac, sleeveless, A-line—very Jackie O.

Finally Mackenzie lifted a finger. “Chocolate,” she announced.

“Chocolate? Chocolate is what’s getting me into this predicament.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sabrina leaned over the table, lowering her voice. “Kit is our head pastry chef. He specializes in chocolate desserts. Several times a day, I’m drawn into the kitchen by the force of his sheer animal magnetism to watch him work. He’s…well…he’s charming on the surface, but kind of quiet and deep underneath. He’s got major sex appeal without trying at all. I’m having fantasies about tying him up in apron strings and drizzling chocolate over his naked chest.” Sabrina stopped and sucked in a breath to steady herself. “So trust me, chocolate is not the answer.”

Mackenzie snapped her mouth shut. “Wow.” She glanced around the restaurant, probably looking for Kit. “I haven’t seen you this worked up in a long time.”

Sabrina had the answer to that. Normally she wasn’t overly introspective, but she’d had nothing to do for the past seven sleepless nights except think. “That’s because I usually satisfy my cravings as they come. I’ve never had to do this denial thing before. Turns out my willpower is flabby from lack of use.” She put her chin in her hand, ruing the day they’d made the bet. If the ring wasn’t at stake, and if she didn’t have this odd emotional attachment to it despite her negativity toward marriage…

“But you haven’t given in,” Mackenzie said with some doubt.

“Not yet. Hell, I’m not even sure that Kit is interested.”

Mackenzie laughed. “Right. Like I believe that.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Has there ever been a guy who didn’t want you? You’re the average American male’s dream girl. Tall, pretty, long legs, blond hair…”

“But no va-va-voom.” Sabrina motioned to her small breasts. “Maybe Kit is a boob man.”

Mackenzie giggled. “They’re all boob men. Fortunately, a woman needs only a pair of boobs to satisfy that requirement. Any size will do.”

“Doesn’t matter. Kit doesn’t seem like a T&A hound. Or if he is, he’s subtle about it.”

“Gay?”

“No way.” Half the chefs were, but not Kit.

“Maybe he senses your determination to remain celibate and he respects the decision.”

“Yeah, but the thing is…I’m not that determined.”

“You promised, Breen.”

“Don’t pull that Breen stuff. You got me at Mom and Dad’s wedding while I was momentarily overcome by sentiment. It’s not going to work again.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mackenzie said in her placid, content way. “The deal’s still in force.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts.”

“You haven’t met Kit. He’s a very big but.” Sabrina held up a hand. “Don’t laugh. As long as your hair hasn’t been cut—”

“Next week—no, tomorrow. I’ll get it cut tomorrow.”

“—I’m within my rights to renege. If Kit so much as wiggles a finger at me, I’m going to be naked and climbing all over him while the dishwashers applaud.”

“Good.” Mackenzie grinned. “I’ve always dreamed of getting grandmother’s ring.”

“Not so fast. I may be weak, but I’m still holding out.” Sabrina crossed her fingers beneath her chin in hopes that she could continue.

“Only another ten months or so to go,” Mackenzie said airily. “Remember, you have to last until Mom and Dad’s first anniversary.”

“You mean their second first anniversary.” Sabrina snorted. “Of course, you’re going to lose long before that if you don’t get your hair cut and send Mr. Dull to Decadence to meet Charmaine.”

Mackenzie hooted. “Wait a minute! What’s that about Charmaine?”

“Jason’s just her type. After she loosens his tie and gets him into a pair of leather pants, he’ll never bother you again. Unless you’d rather keep him than win the bet?”

“Sure, let Charmaine at him.” Mackenzie gave a careless wave. “You overplayed your hand. He was never my dream man.”

Sabrina’s thoughts immediately veered to Kit. She squirmed. “Oh, God, what have I done? I’ll never hold out for another month, let alone ten of them. I’m not sure I can do another day.”

Mackenzie cocked her head. Her lips had compressed into a smug little smile. “You can if we dose you up with chocolate.”

Sabrina was baffled. “All the better. I’ll apply the chocolate and he can lick it off me.”

“You miss my point. The chocolate will be a substitute for sex.”

Sabrina gaped, but before she could question the preposterous statement, she caught a glimpse of Kit, crossing the dining room. He carried two plates.

“Welcome to my torture,” she whispered to Mackenzie right before he arrived.

“Mademoiselles.” Kit bobbed his head so a curl of jet-black hair fell across his forehead. He set the dessert plates before them, his blue eyes twinkling.

Sabrina had to look away. She stared at the plate. The phyllo triangle had been baked golden brown, set in a pool of raspberry puree and drizzled with a spiderweb of dark chocolate syrup. A dollop of rich vanilla ice cream and a ripe red raspberry nestled beside it.

Too much temptation for one weak woman to withstand. She said in a low voice, “Mackenzie, this is Kristoffer Rex.”

Mackenzie was gazing up at him without blinking. “I figured.”

“Call me Kit,” he said.

“Kit, I’d like you to meet Mackenzie Bliss, my sister.”

Mackenzie’s smile was a little too wide and far too dazzled. “Nice to meet you.” She offered her hand.

Kit took it. “My pleasure.”

“Oh, no, the pleasure’s all mine.” Mackenzie raised her eyebrows at Sabrina, then glanced at her plate. “This looks scrumptious.”

“Phyllo with coconut, almond and chocolate filling. Please taste it before the ice cream melts.”

Mackenzie opened the chartreuse napkin folded around her utensils. “Won’t you join us?”

Sabrina’s stomach flip-flopped. “He can’t, he’s preparing—”

“Love to,” Kit said. “For a minute.” He glanced at Sabrina for approval before pulling a chair out.

She nodded, edging her chair over an inch. The kidney-shaped table shrank to half its previous size. “We should both get back to work.”

“You have time to test my dish. That’s work, isn’t it?” Kit’s eyes crinkled…at Mackenzie.

Sabrina stabbed the pastry and the warm chocolate filling oozed out. Mackenzie took a bite and rolled her eyes skyward. “Mmm, delicious.”

Kit smiled a thank-you and then looked at Sabrina. “What do you think, boss?”

She lifted a bit of the flaky pastry to her lips, wondering what had happened to kid. Kit knew she wasn’t his boss, of course. She was in charge of the serving staff and the lunch receipts and reported to the restaurant’s head manager each evening. The owners, Dominique and her partner, Curt Tyrone, dropped in occasionally, greeting guests and standing around gossiping while showing off their fabulous selves to best advantage.

“Very good,” Sabrina said. “Although I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

Kit lounged in his chair, fingers laced over his abdomen. “Oh?”

“It’s true,” Mackenzie put in earnestly. “Sabrina’s taste buds are geared toward spicy foods. But I was just telling her that she should start eating more chocolate.”

Sabrina would have kicked her sister under the table, but Kit’s stretched-out legs were in the way. He wore faded jeans and battered running shoes under his double-breasted chef’s coat.

“We should all make it a habit to eat a bit of chocolate every day,” Kit said. “It does a body good.”

“Exactly,” Mackenzie said. “But Sabrina only likes what’s bad for her.”

“Ha.” Sabrina licked ice cream off her spoon. “My sister’s in the candy business,” she told Kit.

“How interesting.” He focused on Mackenzie. “What do you do?”

“I worked at Regal Foods in the sweets division until recently. Now I’m opening my own penny-candy emporium in the Village. It’s to be called Sweet Something.” Mackenzie shot her sister a mischievous glance. “Sabrina will have to bring you to the grand opening.”

Kit’s gaze slid sideways; Sabrina felt it slip over her like warm honey. “I’d be delighted.”

She stabbed the phyllo. “That’s marvy. So would I.”

“Then it’s a date,” Mackenzie said.

Sabrina glared. She was going to take the scissors to her sister’s hair herself and she would be no gentler than when she’d shorn all their Barbie dolls and made Mackenzie cry.

Mackenzie went on as if Sabrina wasn’t giving her the squinty-eyed death ray. “What about you, Kit? How did you come to work at Decadence?”

He shrugged. “Curt and Dominique found me working at a resort in Tahiti. They liked my desserts and offered me a job. I’ve never lived in New York City, so I gave it a try.”

“Do you move around a lot?”

“I have.”

“So does Sabrina. You two must have a lot in common.”

Again, Sabrina felt Kit’s eyes on her, but this time they weren’t nearly as warm. “Is that so?”

“I like change.” She put down her spoon, realizing she’d polished her plate without being aware of it. The sweetness of the dessert lingered on her tongue, and she rather liked it. The rich chocolate was giving her a glow inside.

An awkward silence had fallen, so Mackenzie moved the conversation forward in her usual faciliatory way. “Where are you from, Kit?”

“A small town in Ohio. But I’ve lived all over.”

“You have the slightest accent. It doesn’t sound like Ohio to me.”

“I’m homogenized. A little Midwest twang, a little New England, a little French and Italian, all mixed up with a teaspoon of the lazy island lilt.”

Mackenzie was getting more out of him in five minutes than Sabrina had in a week. But then, very little of their time together had been spent talking. Just staring, at least for her part. “Mackenzie and I grew up in suburban New York.”

“Scarsdale.” Mackenzie nodded. “Our parents are still there.”

“What do you mean still?” Sabrina said, even though Kit was watching and listening.

“Again, then.” Mackenzie explained for Kit’s benefit. “Mom and Dad divorced when I was twelve and Sabrina was thirteen. They remarried six weeks ago.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “It’s a suburban American fairy tale.”

“Sounds like it to me.” Kit stood and took their plates. “I have to go back to work.”

“Too late,” Sabrina said, giving him a saucy chin tilt and a flick of her hair. “You’ve already been reported to management.”

Kit bent closer. “Then management will have to punish me.”

She was riveted by his eyes. “Fifty lashes with a limp cannoli.”

“Kinky,” he said, and walked away.

“Nice meeting you,” Mackenzie called. She waited until he’d disappeared behind the steel porthole doors. “Hot damn.”

Sabrina slumped. “You see what I’m up against?”

“And you think that man doesn’t want you?”

“He hasn’t made a single overture.”

Mackenzie stared after Kit. “He looks like the type to go in for a slow, teasing seduction,” she said softly. “You’re so lucky.”

“Lucky? Does that mean you’re letting me out of our deal?”

Mackenzie gave a start. Her thoughts seemed far away. “Oh.” She looked across the table at her sister. “Umm, no.”

“How can I possibly resist him?” Sabrina said with a soulful moan.

“I already told you. Chocolate.”

“That makes no sense. I ate an entire chocolate dessert two minutes ago and I can promise you that Kit looks just as attractive to me.”

“You need to let the chocolate chemicals accumulate in your brain and bloodstream.”

“Huh?”

“Look at it this way. How did the chocolate make you feel?” Mackenzie dabbed her lips with the napkin. “It was a fabulous dish, by the way. Kit obviously knows his stuff.”

“That’s for sure.” Sabrina sat up with her hands in her lap, thinking of how she’d inhaled the pastry even though she’d never been a chocolate fiend. “I guess I feel sort of satisfied. Warm and happy. It’s not quite an all-out sugar rush, but the chocolate gave me an emotional boost.” Or maybe that was Kit, she thought. For a man who moved with a languid deliberation, being around him certainly zapped her with energy.

“Did you know there was a survey that said fifty percent of American women prefer chocolate to sex?”

“No way!” Sabrina gawked. “They’re obviously not having the right kind of sex.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding me, Mackenzie. You made that up.”

“It’s true. I had to read lots of candy research for my old job.”

Sabrina was catching Mackenzie’s drift. “You are not suggesting that I feast on chocolate in place of sex.”

“Uh-huh. Pretty much.”

“Forget it.” Sabrina waved her arms like an umpire. “I’m outta here.” But she didn’t leave.

“What’s the alternative, Sabrina? Not only will you lose the bet and the ring, but you’ll go back to falling into one brief relationship after another. It’s your pattern.” Mackenzie put on her I’m-saying-this-for-your-own-good expression. There were times it was hard to believe she was the younger sister. “You see a guy, you fall in lust, you think he’s The One and a month later you’re on the phone to me complaining that he’s around all the time and you can’t breathe. Sound familiar?”

“Yeah.” Sabrina put her elbows on the table. “So?”

“The same thing will happen with Kit if you can’t control your craving.”

“I thought you said he’d go for the slow seduction.”

“That doesn’t mean he can resist if you go nuts one night and corner him in the kitchen to act out some crazy apron-stripping fantasy. He is a man, after all. It’s up to you to say no.”

Sabrina peered between her arms, head in hands. “I was never any good at that.”

“That’s why you turn to chocolate. Remember, I’ve seen the research. The chemicals that chocolate produces in your body are similar to the pleasurable effect you get from making love. Endorphins are released. Seratonin and caffeine and phenyethylamine—something like that. They’re natural opiates.” Mackenzie smiled. “To be fair, some scientists say you’d have to eat chocolate by the pound to truly be affected, but…whatever. I’m sure it would help a little.”

Sabrina dropped her hands. She was skeptical. “So every time I get an urge to suck on Kit’s tongue I should pop a Hershey’s Kiss instead?”

“Right. What could it hurt?”

“My dental bill. And pretty soon I wouldn’t be able to fit into Dominique’s dresses.”

“Pooh. You could stand to put on a few pounds.”

Sabrina ate, but her metabolism was high and she burned the calories off, unlike Mackenzie, who was prone to curling up on the couch with a good book and a bag of butterscotch candies.

“Are you game?” Mackenzie prompted.

Sabrina shrugged. She had nothing to lose. “I suppose. But you’re going in for that haircut as soon as I can wangle another appointment with Costas.”

Mackenzie didn’t hesitate. “I will, I promise.”

“Do I really have to hold out for the entire year?” Assuming Kit was interested…

“That would be ideal. Of course, I could be generous and give you some leeway if he proposes before that—” Mackenzie stopped and laughed at her sister’s horrified expression. “But I know that’s asking too much. If the threat of losing grandmother’s ring isn’t enough of a deterrence, could you at least pledge not to jump in bed with Kit until there’s a real, honest, emotional connection between you two? Get to know him as a friend first. You might be surprised how different making love with a friend will feel.”

“Well, you always went on and on about what a good friend Jason was, but I don’t remember you ever saying he gave you hot sweaty jungle love.”

“Our love life was satisfactory.”

Sabrina grimaced, staring at Mackenzie until she blushed. Anyone having merely satisfactory sex might as well gorge on chocolate instead, and they both knew it.

“Don’t worry,” Mackenzie said, deflecting the attention. “You and Kit have a different dynamic entirely.”

“Whatever it is will probably burn out before we get to the bedroom when I put this chocolate plan of yours into action,” Sabrina complained.

Mackenzie stood and slipped her handbag off the back of the chair. “Then it was never meant to be.”

“Meant to be?” Sabrina didn’t believe in soul mates and destiny. She believed in having fun while you could because who knew what tomorrow would bring. “Now you’re sounding like Mom and Dad, with all their explanations for why their divorce didn’t stick. But what do you want to bet they’re arguing when they get off the cruise ship?” For their second honeymoon, Charlie and Nicole had booked passage on a lengthy transatlantic cruise. They were due back in another week.

“You’ll see,” Mackenzie said with blithe assurance. “By the time our parents’ second first-year anniversary rolls around, all of us will know if we’ve been successful at changing our lives.”

“A year is a long, long time.”

Mackenzie squeezed Sabrina’s shoulder. “Not when the rewards are worth the wait.”

2

KIT WAS TRYING to convince himself that it wasn’t necessary for him to find out firsthand if Sabrina Bliss lived up to her name. Some things were better left to the imagination. This was one of them.

This…bliss.

So why had he volunteered to help her move?

She hadn’t asked for help. A couple of guys from the kitchen got the idea when she was recently telling them about finally finding an apartment after a month-long search. They’d roped Kit into the deal, and he’d been curious enough to agree. Sabrina came into the kitchen every day and watched him work, sitting silently on a stool, out of the way but very much on his mind. Usually he got into a zone when he cooked. The clamor of the busy restaurant kitchen faded away while he concentrated on molding chocolate tulip cups or icing a multilayered bombe. But Sabrina wasn’t an unobtrusive type of woman. She shot his concentration to bits.

Kit and Parker and Vijay piled out of their cab in Chelsea, telling the driver to wait. Sabrina had been staying with her sister while she searched for an apartment. Mackenzie Bliss had a ground-floor flat in a gently aged brownstone with ivy crawling up the lintel. The street door was open. Kit checked the mailboxes in the vestibule and rang the bell for 1A.

The door opened as far as the security chain allowed. “Why, good morning,” Mackenzie said through the two-inch gap between the door and jamb. Kit nodded. Parker gave her a broad smile. She shut the door, and the chain made a chunking sound when she slipped it free. The men crowded toward her as soon as she opened the door again. She stepped back, holding on to the lapels of her terry cloth robe. “Uh, hi, Kit. What’s going on?”

“This is Parker…” A roly-poly sous chef with a deceptively cherubic face. “And Vijay…” A handsome young Indian who had a deft touch with sauces. “And we’re here to help Sabrina move.”

Mackenzie was clearly surprised, but she recovered to exchange handshakes with the other men. Kit admired her aplomb. Except for minor facial similarities, she was the opposite of her sister—shorter and rounder, softer and kinder, where Sabrina was sharp angles and bright eyes and frequently outspoken. Except around him. With him, she was quiet, observant, a little nervous. Her watchful eyes made him too aware of himself.

“Sabrina’s not expecting you, is she?” Mackenzie let them in. They filed into a short, narrow hallway alongside two shoe boxes, a backpack, a suitcase and a rolled-up futon without a frame, not much thicker than a pallet. They were too early. The moving preparations had barely begun.

“It’s a random act of kindness,” Vijay explained. “Sabrina said to me she was moving this morning, so I came to be of assistance.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Mackenzie had a funny smile on her face as she led them into the living room. “Sabrina? Your movers have arrived.”

Sabrina entered, daubing a towel on her damp hair. She wore loose batik drawstring pants and a brief tank top that tented over her small, high breasts. Kit dropped his gaze to her bare feet, long and bony, then back up, drawn by the irresistible allure of perky, pointed nipples. Vijay was looking at the ceiling. Parker was looking in the same place Kit was, only his mouth was hanging open, showing a tongue wet with spittle.

A modest woman would have clutched the towel to her chest. Sabrina took a long look at the men, then bent at the waist to briskly rub her hair dry. She straightened, flinging the entire curly length of it back off her face. Her breasts moved beneath the top, rounding in the scoop neck before resettling, and Kit thought Parker was about to go into cardiac arrest. His own heart was jumping around in his chest like a caged monkey.

Unfazed, Sabrina threw the towel on the couch and put her hands on her hips. “Hi, gang. What’s up?”

Kit looked at Parker who looked at Vijay who was still looking at the ceiling.

“They’re here to help you move,” Mackenzie said. She stepped farther into the small, cozy room and plopped into a cushy armchair with an unexplained chuckle. She crossed her bare legs, pulling the robe over them. Kit had the sense that she was accustomed to sitting back and observing her sister’s untidy life with a fond, amused tolerance.

“Oh.” Sabrina’s nose crinkled. “All three of you, huh?”

“Muscle power,” said Kit.

“Such beautiful ladies should not be lifting heavy boxes,” Vijay said.

“The more hands we have, the faster it’ll go.” Parker forgot about ogling and cracked his knuckles. “Your new place is a third floor walk-up, hey? Big job.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Mackenzie said from the depths of the chair.

“I appreciate the thought, guys.” Sabrina came forward and gave Vijay’s cheek a pat. “But it’s not exactly necessary.”

A lot of Kit’s reactions to Sabrina weren’t necessary, but he had them anyway. After undertaking years of travel and adventure while he tried to figure out his place in the world, he’d finally come to the point where he was ready to settle down and make a real home. By all rights, he should have been attracted to Mackenzie. She appeared to be precisely the kind of woman who would suit his new vision for his life. But he couldn’t get Sabrina out of his head.

“We want to help,” said a ruddy-cheeked Vijay.

“You might be fooled,” Parker said, putting a hand on his midsection, “but this isn’t fat—it’s muscle.”

“Of course it is.” Sabrina reached out and squeezed Parker’s biceps. “One-hundred-percent muscle.”

“We’re here,” Kit said. “You might as well take advantage of us. We have a cab waiting outside, but we can also call for a van….”

Sabrina cocked her head to aim a smile his way, but she didn’t turn toward him or touch him. He tried not to feel seriously deprived, especially when he saw the chili pepper tattoo on the back of her bare shoulder. That tattoo had been driving him crazy for a week, peeping out from under the straps of her sleeveless dresses and tops, never quite showing itself.

“The thing is,” she said, “I travel light. Did you see the stuff in the hallway?” She gestured. “That’s all there is, aside from a garment bag and bunch of cleaning supplies that Mackenzie’s going to lug over so she can scrub out my new place.”

“You don’t have furniture?” Vijay asked, dismayed.

Parker was gleeful. “Man, this is the best moving job ever.”

Kit clapped his hands, being brisk to cover up his dismay at discovering that Sabrina was as flighty and footloose as he’d suspected. “Let’s load up then. Our cab’s waiting.”

He knew what it was like to travel light, had been that way himself for years. But he’d had enough of that lifestyle. Everything had changed for him a couple of months ago when he’d stood over a gravesite in Cleveland and said goodbye to the only family he’d had left. Now that he was completely and utterly alone, he finally understood how important it was to make a bond, to build a family, to have someone to hold on tight to.

First step was finding that someone.

Sabrina Bliss was the slippery type. Not what he was looking for.

“I can do it myself,” she was insisting, but the men were already discussing who should take which end of the futon. Kit solved the problem by slinging the awkward bundle over his shoulder. “Wait, let me get my shoes,” Sabrina said as he grabbed a string-tied shoe box and headed out. Mackenzie had already run off to the bedroom to change.

The luggage and the shoe boxes went into the cab’s trunk. Kit had to wedge the futon, folded like an overstuffed crepe, into the back seat. Sabrina loped out of the brownstone in sandals, her damp hair flying behind her. She climbed into the cab with her garment bag and a big straw satchel, sliding herself into a space beneath the futon.

Kit asked the driver if it was okay for a passenger to sit up front. “Mackenzie?” he said, opening the door.

She rattled down the stoop with a mop and a broom and a bucket filled with assorted cleansers, dressed in comfy sweats with her house key held between her teeth. “Mmph.”

He got her settled, then peered in the back of the cab. “Room for one more—the muscle of this operation.”

Vijay and Parker bumped into each other trying to get there first, but Kit moved nimbly past them and bent one end of the futon so he could squash it down and fit inside, his legs arranged like puzzle pieces. “Take the next cab,” he said, winking to the losers as the taxi drove away.

Sabrina stared straight ahead for a silent minute. “But Vijay doesn’t have the street address,” she said after they’d turned the corner onto Ninth Avenue.

“Damn,” Kit said cheerfully. Her thigh was pressed against his and he could feel the dampness of her hair seeping into his T-shirt. Her shampoo smelled like flowers in the rain.

Sabrina didn’t seem too concerned. “I guess we can manage on our own.” Her eyes slid sideways toward Kit. “Seeing as the muscle’s here.”

Mackenzie hooked a hand over the seat back as she turned to speak to them. “But that was rude, leaving Parker and Vijay at the curb when they were nice enough to…” Her voice trailed off when she saw that Kit and Sabrina weren’t really listening.

They were looking into each other’s eyes, pushing the rolled and folded futon down across their laps. “I’ll make it up to them,” Sabrina murmured.

“I’ll buy them beers after work.” Kit had never been this close to her. Her lashes were brown, and one of her eyes was slightly darker than the other, hazel mottled by green and gold flecks. Her nose was narrow, with a sharp tip, but her mouth looked soft, especially when she wet her lips. She didn’t have on a speck of makeup and he could see a couple of freckles and tiny dots of moles, plus a thin white scar on her chin and small lines around her mouth—imperfections that made her even more perfect. He thought that she was the kind of girl who wouldn’t care if her hair got tangled in the wind. She would exchange fun days in the hot sun for a few extra wrinkles later on. She’d laugh and frown and wear her expressions on her face without scheduling Botox injections first.

The lonely boy inside Kit wanted her as a friend. The man on the outside simply wanted her.

“You can come, too,” he said, “for beer.”

“I have the whole day off.” Her mouth, which was wide, became even wider when it stretched into a quick grin. “I needed it to make my big move, although I may have exaggerated the undertaking to Dominique and Curt.”

“You do have to wait for the cable guy. That could take all day.”

“Not on a Sunday. Besides, I don’t have a TV. Maybe I can wangle another day off to wait for the phone guy.”

They could have a fling, Kit thought. Sabrina was a flingy kind of woman. Just because he hoped to settle down didn’t mean every date had to be taken with serious intentions. It would be okay, spending several weeks, maybe a month—or two—with Sabrina. From the little he knew of her work history, and going by the severe lack of possessions, she didn’t stick with anything for long. She’d be ready to move on before he started feeling too serious about her. They’d go their separate ways, no harm, no foul.

A perfectly imperfect solution.

“So you’re saying you have a free day with almost nothing to do?” Kit eyed Sabrina.

She’d turned her face away, but he could see her very flirtatious, very female smile. “I wonder what I should do with myself. Any suggestions?”

“You’re forgetting the cleaning,” Mackenzie said, raising her voice above the traffic.

“That should take an hour.” Sabrina glanced at Kit. “Not only is my new place a scuzzy rat hole, it’s an extremely small scuzzy rat hole.”

“Welcome to the Manhattan working class.” He touched his fingertips to her leg, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin cotton pants. The scratchy seat of the cab thrummed beneath him. “What should we do with the rest of the day?”

“We?”

“I’m not working until the dinner shift.”

“Umm.” Sabrina jiggled her leg and he lifted his fingers away for an instant before dropping his palm over her thigh, soothing the pent-up energy that ran through her like an electric current. He heard as her breath caught short, then released in a luxurious sigh. “Umm. I suppose we’ll have to think of a way to entertain ourselves.”

At her low velvety purr, Kit’s libido leaped right past thoughts of homey comforts and women who’d make good wives and mothers. Parker had been right—this was the best moving job ever.

“Stop!” Mackenzie suddenly commanded from the front seat. “Stop. Right here, in front of the candy store.”

The car screeched across a lane of traffic and pulled halfway into an illegal parking spot by a fire hydrant. “Mizzy, I can’t stay here—” the driver beseeched as his passenger jumped from the cab.

Kit gaped at what had caught Mackenzie’s attention. The display window of the narrow storefront was piled high with gold boxes and trays of chocolates in all sizes and shapes. Sabrina leaned past the futon, took one look and muttered a dire warning under her breath.

Mackenzie slammed the car door as she got out. “I’ll only be a minute. I need to buy my sister a housewarming gift.” Suddenly her face loomed in the open back window, serious with a disapproval Kit didn’t understand. “A nice big box of fudge.”

“NO, THIS ISN’T the closet,” Sabrina said, triumphantly throwing open the door of her third-floor flat after a delay that had entailed a journey into a dark, dank basement to hunt down the super and receive her new keys. “It’s the apartment.”

The wall opposite was so close it bore scrape marks from the front door. Kit edged in backward, dragging the futon. He expected to see a room opening off the narrow hall, so it took him a few seconds to understand that the hall was the room. It widened by several feet on the right—that was the living room—and culminated in a tiny stove and a sink built into the wall on the left, which was the kitchen. The scarred doors midway in between might open onto a vast ballroom with skylights and a light-filled conservatory, but he was betting on a closet and airplane-sized bathroom. Although the ceiling over the living area was high, it slanted sharply, giving the space an odd lopsided feel.

There was only one place to put the futon. He dropped it beneath a double-hung window covered with filth so thick it served as soundproofing as well as an effective sunblock. A layer of black soot lined the sill. It was only May, but already the apartment was airless and stifling.

Mackenzie hauled in the cleaning supplies. She carried the enormous box of fudge to the kitchen, took one look at the stained sink and said, “Sabrina, are you sure about this? I’ll loan you the money for first and last if you want to get a bigger place….”

“Nonsense. If I’m going to be responsible and live within my means, this was the best I could find in a safe neighborhood. You can think of the place as an atelier, if that helps. I’ll give the walls a coat of paint and it will be fine for a year.” She glanced at Kit. “Or at least a few months.”

Stepping on the futon, Sabrina flicked the latch and tugged on the window. It didn’t budge. Kit shoved hard on the upper sill and it opened with a screech of the ancient wood and a shower of paint chips. The view was of electric lines looped to the backside of an old button factory on West End Avenue. An enormous water tower loomed beyond the neighboring brick ledge, which threw a shadow into the apartment.

Sabrina wilted. “I’ll paint it sunshine yellow.”

“If you want to live in an egg yolk. Personally, I’d paint everything a bright, clean white. And put up a lot of mirrors.” Mackenzie approached the taps with caution. The pipes clanked when she turned on the water, then spurted out a stream of rusty water.

Kit lugged in the suitcase and the backpack. Sabrina hung her garment bag in the closet and put her shoe boxes on the open shelves above a built-in dresser. “There you go. I’m all moved in.” She dusted off her hands. “Yet another benefit of traveling light.”

“How do you live without accumulating stuff?” Mackenzie asked over the sound of rushing water filling her bucket. “Don’t you read? Listen to music? Cook?” She dumped in half a bottle of Mr. Clean. The stagnant air grew sharp with ammonia.

“I give books away when I’m finished with them. I go to clubs for music. Pots and pans I leave behind for the next tenant.”

Kit leaned across Mackenzie to open the kitchen cupboards. “You’re going to need new ones now. These are empty.” Except for the roaches, scuttling toward the cracks and crevices.

Sabrina had regained her optimism. “Good—a reason to go to the flea market.”

Kit thought of the displays of stainless steel cookware in Williams-Sonoma. Glasses, china, silver…He could outfit her kitchen faster than a bridezilla with a scanner in one hand and a registry in the other. But Sabrina would probably hate that.

Could he have a fling with a woman who didn’t know the joys of copper-bottomed sauté pans?

One look at her bending over to unzip the suitcase answered that question. Hell, yes.

In the other direction, Mackenzie was down on hands and knees scrubbing out the undercounter refrigerator. Her rear end was better than Sabrina’s, from an objective viewpoint. He gazed thoughtfully, but aside from a pleasant moment of appreciation for the female form, Mackenzie’s backside did little for him.

“What are you looking at, Kit?” Sabrina stood watching him, a small tarnished bronze horse statue in her hands.

“I was wondering where to put a dining table.”

“I don’t need one. I’ll eat cross-legged on the futon.”

“Too many crumbs. You’ll get roaches.”

“She already has roaches,” Mackenzie said under her breath.

“That’s not civilized,” Kit insisted. He’d hated the stuffy sit-down dinners at his guardian’s house, but then a few years later when his last-chance foster mother—a Frenchwoman known to all as Ma’am—had laid down the law that her kids must be home for dinner every evening, he’d come to look forward to the tradition. Even though on arrival he’d rudely sworn he’d break every rule she set. A proper dinner and the conversation and connection it established between the “family” had ended up being a rule that held deep significance for him.

“You definitely need a table,” he said.

“I might be able to wedge a bistro table in here. Or I could put it on the fire escape.”

“And when it rains?”

“I’ll eat at Decadence.”

“We can fit one in the hall, here, if the table’s narrow enough. Very, very narrow—a console.” He measured the space with hand spans. “The chairs would have to tuck under or there’d be no room to walk by.”

Sabrina shrugged. “Good thing I’m skinny.”

The comment drew his eyes to her like a moth hurtling into a flame. He could almost hear the snap and sizzle of his single-minded desire hitting the blaze. Her golden hair had dried into rippling waves that skimmed over her shoulder blades. The red pepper tattoo flashed at him, then disappeared when she twisted and turned. He loved watching her move—bending, lifting, stretching to place items from her shoe boxes on her freshly scrubbed shelves, every motion suffused with the athletic grace of a ballerina.

“What now?” she said, catching his eye.

“Were you ever a dancer?”

Her eyes danced while the rest of her went still. “Are you telling me I look anorexic?”

“No. But you could use some fattening up.”

Mackenzie sat back on her heels. “Sabrina’s the ectomorph of the family.” She swiped the heel of a rubber-gloved hand over her brow. “I’ve learned to accept that.”

“Ah, but you’re sisters—both attractive, in your own way.” Kit reached for the broom. “It’s just my cooking gene showing. You have an instinct to nest, Sabrina has one to roam, and I want to stock and furnish this sad excuse for a kitchen.”

Having emptied the suitcase, Sabrina zipped it shut and trundled it into the closet. “I can’t get used to being around all these men who cook,” she said from inside the door. “If only the average husband knew how attractive their wives would find them if they put on an apron now and again.” She poked her head out and winked at Kit. “Tell me, do you have groupies, huh?”

He batted her gorgeous backside with the broom. “Only you.”

“That’s what you think,” she said with an airy laugh. “Actually, I’m only interested in the chocolate.”

He raised a wicked eyebrow. “Hmm. Is that so?”

She blushed. Must have remembered previously admitting to her sweet tooth deficiency. “It is. Now that I’m in restaurant management, I have to develop my taste buds.”

“I’ll cook for you anytime.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to lower, but it had, making the offer more suggestive than friendly. Sabrina swayed toward him, her eyes liquid and alive.

Mackenzie gave a discreet cough.

Sabrina was quick to back off, blinking. “That won’t be necessary, thanks. The super told me there’s a Korean grocery around the corner. I’ll go later and pick up a few staples.”

“There’s always the fudge,” Mackenzie said. “A piece a day keeps the testosterone away.”

“What does that mean?” Kit asked, sensing an undercurrent between the sisters. They were up to something.

“Oh, nothing you’d want to know about, Chocomeister.” Sabrina’s voice was too innocent. “Wowza,” she said, “there’s a giant spider web in here. With mummified remains and all. Give me that broom.” She held out an open hand, her long fingers motioning to him from around the closet door.

Kit came up behind her. “Aren’t you afraid of spiders?”

“Not at all. I’ve lived in too many hovels to squeal over every creepy-crawly creature that appears.” She lay her hand on his forearm. The hair on it prickled even after she’d released him, muttering a throaty “Sorry.”

He slid in beside her, making as if he was examining the web, but actually consumed with the sweep of her hair over his arm, the warmth of her body so close to his. The sound of her breathing filled the closet. Was it short? Was it shallow? Was she as aware of him as he was of her?

“Do you have a paper?” he croaked.

“Umm.” Sabrina left the closet, but was back in an instant, handing him a white square. “A paper towel.”

He took it, angling toward the spider web. She leaned with him, her arm resting across his shoulders. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Just kill it. Stomp it.”

He touched the paper towel to the web, coaxing the fat spider onto it. “Out of my way.”

Sabrina nimbly stepped aside. He carried the paper towel to the open window, turning it over as the spider crawled along the edge toward his fingers. He shook the towel outside, over the fire escape. “Go, little spider. You’ve been set free.”

“Free to build a new web on my fire escape,” Sabrina said, elbows propped up on the sill beside him. A touch of a breeze fingered through her hair, blowing strands of it across his face. She drew it back behind her ears in the way that women did, making a ponytail. The neck of her top gaped a little, displaying her collarbone and the shadowed hollow between her breasts. He imagined touching her there, with his fingertips. Tasting her, with his lips.

Her mouth curved. “So…the mystery man reveals a soft heart.”

“I’m no mystery man.”

Her eyes engaged his. “And your heart?”

“Give it a little time,” he said. “Maybe you’ll find out.”

AN HOUR LATER, the three of them sat in a row on the thin futon, looking at the apartment, freshly cleaned but still sadly bleak. Mackenzie and Kit had stretched out their legs. Sabrina’s knees were drawn up to use as a desk. She was making a list on the back of a dry cleaner’s receipt.

“Pillows,” Mackenzie said.

“Pots and pans,” said Kit.

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