“And vice versa.” Daintily she bit into a carrot stick while begrudging the fact it didn’t smell nearly as good as the peanut butter.

  “You always eat rabbit food?”

  For about the millionth time she cursed her curvy, fat-loving body, especially when he dug into a big bag of chips. Barbecue. “You’re going to plug your arteries.”

  “I think you’re jealous.” He lifted the bag, offering, shrugging when she shook her head. “Suit yourself.” He put a big chip in his mouth, closed his eyes and licked his fingers.

  Dimi stared at her pathetic little rabbit lunch of carrot sticks and celery and wanted to smack him. “Okay, maybe just one.”

  “Nope,” he said, pulling the bag to his chest. “Too late.”

  “Give me a chip.”

  He smiled. “What will you do for it?”

  She could already smell and taste it. She had to have one and would have done anything, anything at all for it, until she saw the gleam of triumph in his dark gaze.

  “Come on,” he taunted. “Surely you can think of something you’re willing to do for a chip. Why don’t you…oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me why you’re all of a sudden trying to drive me crazy with that incredible body of yours. Not that I mind, you understand. I’m just wondering.”

  “Maybe there’s no reason.” She reached for a chip, but he withheld them with a shake of his head.

  “There’s a reason,” he stated flatly.

  “Okay.” She lifted a shoulder. “You got me. It’s because you’re easy. Now give me a chip.”

  He offered her the bag, watching her dig in. “I’m not always easy,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Just for you.”

  Her gaze jerked up from the precious chips, and she studied him, uncertain if he was kidding, but she decided he had to be. “Sure. I believe that one.”

  Did she imagine the flash of hurt that crossed his face?

  Definitely.

  But when she found herself alone at lunch with him the next day, as well, and then the next, too, and each time he was nothing but funny, sharp-witted and all around enjoyable, if not too damn sexy for her mental health, she had to wonder.

  “Lunch tomorrow,” he said on the fourth day. “At a restaurant this time. With food someone else prepares.”

  She went still. “Just you and me?”

  “Yep.”

  “As in…a date?”

  “Yep.”

  “But we’re not dating.”

  He looked at her.

  “We’re not!”

  “I’m not asking you to grow old with me, Dimi. Just have lunch. It won’t be something you haven’t done before.”

  So why did she feel like a trembling virgin? “Um…”

  “Yes or no.”

  “I, uh…okay. Yes.” And all she could think was, she’d live to regret this, big time.

  But she didn’t. They had lunch.

  They had dinner—three nights running.

  “This wasn’t a date,” she told him on the fourth night.

  Again, he looked at her.

  “This isn’t a relationship,” she told him on the seventh night when he walked her to her door.

  And he just smiled.

  THE WRAPAROUND DRESS was Suzie’s idea. It took Dimi forever to figure out all the various little places to tuck and wrap so she was finally completely covered in a light but vibrantly colored Indian silk.

  “Gorgeous,” Suzie declared, backing up, studying her with a critical eye. “Just double knot that tie,” she said, pointing to the one at Dimi’s right hip, which by some miracle kept the entire ensemble together and her body decently covered.

  “If I double tie it, I’ll never get out of it.”

  They both studied Dimi’s reflection in the mirror. It was an earthy, sexy, fun look that definitely worked. It was relatively conservative, if one discounted the wicked hint of a length of leg and the low dipping neckline.

  “Just be careful,” Suzie said, frowning at the knot on Dimi’s hip.

  Famous last words.

  On the set only half an hour later, while explaining to both the camera and Mitch the complicated process of layering the ingredients for her special enchilada mix, Dimi skimmed around the counter, hands full, mouth going a mile a minute, and caught herself on one of the loose tiles on the corner.

  Right at hip level. Which meant that delicate Indian silk, and the knot that had so worried Suzie, loosened.

  Then gave completely.

  Later Dimi would console herself with the fact that most people had a phobia of losing their clothes in front of their peers. It was why so many had nightmares of going to school without their clothes on. Dimi had had this nightmare herself, plenty of times.

  As it was, standing there in front of a live camera, hands full, mouth open in shock, looking at herself as her dress fell away from her body, Dimi felt nothing but the horror of what tomorrow’s headlines would be.

  Sex Kitten Corrupts Innocent Viewers During Family Hour.

  Whirling her back to the camera, Dimi dropped the dish in her hand to the counter and grabbed the material, wrapping it around herself as she heard Mitch order a cut to commercial break.

  Good. Commercial. That was really good.

  “Trouble?”

  She wasn’t ready to turn and look at the face that went along with that extraordinary voice. She just wasn’t. But when she continued to fumble with the new knot—which she’d double and triple tie, dammit—a set of big, warm hands firmly turned her around.

  “If you laugh at me, I swear,” she said in a warning tone, “I’ll—”

  “I’m not going to laugh,” Mitch assured her grimly as he shoved her hands away and took care of the knot himself. “I might beg, but I won’t laugh.”

  “What would you beg for? You’re not the one who flashed her plain white cotton underwear to the entire world.”

  “Maybe not. But baby, there’s nothing plain about that underwear you’re wearing, trust me on this.”

  His face was tight in a grimace she would have thought was pain, only he hadn’t hurt himself. So that pain must be…yep, definitely she’d gotten to him, and good. Enough to make a grown man want to beg.

  It made her public humiliation only slightly bearable.

  “No one saw anything,” Leo called, his eyes glued to the repeat of the take he was watching on the monitor as he spoke. “Thank my quick trigger finger for that, sweet cakes.”

  “Really? Oh, Leo, I could kiss you!” Dimi declared.

  Leo looked thrilled until he caught Mitch’s glare. “Um…you have a minute left of commercial time.” He scrambled out of sight.

  Mitch’s fingers were still working the dress, quickly and efficiently figuring out the complicated mess in a quarter of the time it had taken her. He lifted his head and pierced her with a look of such unadulterated heat she went weak. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’m coming over tonight.”

  At his near growl, a shiver of a thrill shot through her. “I’m busy.”

  “Doing what? Devising new ways to torture me?”

  “No. I…have to wash my hair.”

  Slowly he shook his head. “We need to talk.”

  “Talk?” Okay, she could do that. Maybe. Probably. “That would be okay, I guess. Just talking.”

  “Yeah. Among other things.” And then he walked away, leaving her clinging to the counter for balance in a world where there was no balance to be had.

  10

  WHAT HAD HAPPENED to casual? Everything was supposed to be casual! But Mitch had no illusions as he drove to Dimi’s town house that night and sat on his bike, staring at the lights, staring past the place to the lake and the dancing of the moonlight across the whitecaps.

  He’d come for sex.

  Talking not required.

  He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d changed his mind and decided he had to have her, but it was a foregone conclusion now.

  Even though he’d be leaving for Los Angeles in less than a week. He was ready to go.

  After this, that is. After he went inside and hauled Dimi into his arms and gave them both what they’d been panting after for weeks.

  Yeah, then he’d feel better.

  Sure of it, he got off the bike and headed up the path. He faltered twice, but then figured with any luck Dimi would come to her senses, remember her asinine no-men rule and not let him within ten feet of her, anyway.

  DIMI STOOD inside her kitchen, cooking with a frenzy she knew to be sheer panic mingled with wild hope. She set a Hershey’s kiss on top of a sugar cookie, gluing it there with frosting, taking the extra time to lick the knife.

  She set the useless knife on the growing stack of other useless knives and grabbed a clean one out of the drawer.

  Her last one. How had that happened?

  She refused to admit or dwell on the fact that she’d taken twenty-three licks of frosting or exactly how many fat grams that might equal.

  She also refused to allow herself to look at the clock again, as she’d been looking every ten seconds or so, driving herself crazy. But she peeked, anyway, pretending to be checking on Brownie, who was fast asleep in her hut.

  Seven o’clock.

  Surely if Mitch had meant it, he’d have been here by now.

  But what if he showed up, looking all rough and tough, wanting to talk, among other things?

  Just remembering the kiss they’d shared was enough to have her sucking in a shaky breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed that way, so intimately it had been like making love. And if he kissed that good, she could only imagine how good he’d be at all the other stuff, the stuff that most guys were in a hurry to get past just to get to the end.

  She had a feeling Mitch wouldn’t be in a hurry to get past anything.

  She pressed a hand to her racing heart and spread chocolate frosting all over her blouse. But that’s what she got for creating cookies and thinking of Mitch at the same time.

  Shaking her head, she bent to her task once again, carefully spreading frosting over the next cookie. A knock came at her back door.

  She dropped the knife and went very still.

  Knock, knock.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin. She went to the back door and put a hand on the knob. No need for this heart-pounding anticipation, not when it was probably just Cami wanting some cookies.

  “Dimi.” The voice coming through the wood was deep and husky and almost unbearably familiar.

  Not Cami.

  She jerked her hand from the knob, then reached for it again. Then stood there frozen.

  “Dimi? Can I come in?”

  Yes. No. Yes. “I don’t know.”

  He made a small sound, one of understanding, amusement. Desire.

  It was the last that had her fisting the knob again. Shaking, she opened the door. “I thought maybe you were Cami. You know, for food. And then I thought, no, Cami wouldn’t be showing up this late, not when she has Tanner, and so all these cookies are going to go to waste. Or into my stomach, neither of which really appeals, and—”

  Mercifully, he shut her up by stepping inside, sweeping her into his arms and covering her mouth with his. His lips were as firm as his body, which was pressed so satisfyingly to hers. As he’d turned her world on its axis, she had to clutch at his shirt for support, but still, thankfully, he kissed her.

  And kissed her.

  When he finally pulled back, he looked down and smiled. “You taste like chocolate.”

  Dazed, she could only nod.

  “Cookies, huh?” As if he hadn’t just kissed her stupid, he grabbed one off the counter and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm, good.” His eyes darkened when they lit on her again. “Not as good as you, though. Come here, Dimi.”

  Oh, boy. “I’m…sticky.” She backed up. “I’ve got to go wash up.”

  “I don’t mind a little sticky.”

  “Good, because your shirt is a mess. I’m sorry about that. I’ll be right back.”

  When he looked at himself, at the shirt she’d personally smeared with frosting, she took the chance to bail. Down the hall she ran, like a chicken, shutting herself in the bathroom.

  She’d been in a hurry that morning, so it was a mess. Makeup was scattered across the countertop. A box of tampons, not in use at the moment, was precariously perched by the sink. So was her shower cap, for those miracle mornings when washing her hair wasn’t a necessity. She’d left the toilet lid up and the cap off the toothpaste, reminding her what Cami had always claimed.

  She’d make a better husband than a wife.

  Which was convenient, really, because no one wanted her as a wife.

  The mirror above the sink reflected a rosy-cheeked, glassy-eyed, wet-mouthed, incredibly ravaged-looking woman she hardly recognized. “What are you doing?” she asked that woman.

  “What we’ve been heading toward since that very first day.”

  Mitch. He’d pushed open the door she hadn’t locked and come up behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

  “I’m…very busy,” she said.

  “I can see that.”

  His chest brushed her back. Her heart beat even faster, and was joined by a tightening from deep within. Lust to the tenth degree, she figured. Then he touched her hair, ran his fingers through the long strands in a way that made her want to stretch and purr like a cat. He eased the heavy mass aside and bent, putting his mouth to the incredibly sensitive spot beneath her ear.

  Her knees wobbled, and she grabbed the porcelain sink for all it was worth. “Mitch—”

  His hands found her hips, eased them to the juncture between his so that she could feel exactly what was happening inside him, as well.

  She was still trying to catch her breath over that when he slid his hands up, up, up, splaying with characteristic bluntness past the chocolate stains and over her breasts. His mouth was busy nibbling her neck, and his fingers occupied themselves, as well, unbuttoning her blouse and slipping inside to unclasp her front-hook bra.

  “I’m sticky,” she said inanely, watching with utter fascination in the mirror as he slipped her blouse down her shoulders. Then her bra, too, until she was standing there nude from the waist up with nothing to say except a little squeak when he cupped the weight of her breasts, his fingers stroking her nipples to two hard, begging peaks. “Really sticky,” she murmured weakly, shamelessly pressing her hips against his.

  “I happen to like sticky. You’re so beautiful, Dimi,” he said, shocking her, not because of his words, but because of the look in his eyes, as if he really, truly meant them, and not just as a line to get her into bed.

  “Watch me touch you,” he said, dragging hot, wet, openmouthed kisses along her shoulder while his fingers continued to drive her to the very edge.

  “I need to wash up,” she said on a low moan.

  “I’ll help you. In a minute.” The rasp of a zipper came next, hers, and then her skirt pooled on the floor, leaving her in nothing but her plain white serviceable panties, which naturally made him smile.

  She covered them with her hands, which he gently but firmly moved away. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, and I love your underwear.” His eyes gleamed with affection and a hunger that took her breath. “Now let’s take them off.”

  “I—” But nothing else came out, except for maybe another squeak as he skimmed them down her thighs to puddle around her ankles on top of her lonely skirt, blouse and bra.

  Which pretty much left her entirely naked, facing a mirror, in the embrace of a fully clothed, fully aroused man, whose hands were driving her directly to heaven and beyond.

  He danced those very clever, very talented fingers down her quivering belly, his mouth on her neck, her shoulders, everywhere, and then suddenly his fingers were between her thighs, softly stroking exactly where she needed them, starting a rhythm that made her cry out helplessly. She grabbed for support, and in the process knocked the box of tampons over, scattering them into the sink, onto the floor, on top of her clothes at their feet.

  Staring at the paper-covered columns did one thing—it allowed some sanity to return. Along with a good amount of humility.

  Mitch let out a soft laugh and lifted her face. “So you use tampons. More than half the female population uses tampons.”

  At the word coming out of his mouth, tampon, such a feminine word, she groaned.

  And he just laughed. Then kissed her, kissed her until she managed to topple some of her makeup to join the tampons.

  “And so you’re a slob,” he added, lifting his head and looking around at the havoc. “And yeah, okay, you do own a dorky shower cap. I just don’t care, Dimi.” He turned her to face him, cupping her jaw in his big, warm hands, waiting with barely restrained patience until she opened her eyes to look at him. “I don’t care about any of it except sinking into you, hearing you cry out my name, feeling your legs wrap around my hips and knowing I can’t tell where you end and I start.”

  A tremor started at the region of her heart.

  “I just want you,” he whispered. “All of you.” His hands skimmed down her body, renewing the flame as he eased her onto the counter, stepping between her legs so she had no choice but to wrap herself around him.

  “Want me back,” he murmured, sinking his fingers into her hair, placing his mouth over her jaw, her lips, her throat, renewing the heat and need in less than two seconds flat. “Say it.”

  Not a problem, since every inch of her shook with the need. “I want you back.” And because she did, because she wanted him with everything she had, she tugged at his black leather jacket, which he shrugged off to join her discarded things. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?” she demanded, going to work on the buttons of his shirt.

  Grinning, he added his hands to the mix, and then he was as wonderfully, gloriously naked as she.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him. “Wow.” She ran her hands over his leanly muscled chest, his flat belly, his amazingly strong shoulders, anywhere and everywhere except the one place on his body that was currently nudging her in the belly because…well, quite frankly, that made her very nervous.