Hot to the Touch

“Shower later. You and me now …”

“You smell delicious.” Troy whispered as he kissed Darcy’s bare shoulder, the base of her neck, her throat. “I want you now. No waiting …”

His hunger grew as he undid his jeans, pushing until they fell to his ankles and then stepping out of them. Finally, he found her mouth, wrapped her tightly in his arms and lifted her, making her clutch at his shoulders and moan against his lips.

Yes.

She wanted him, this stunning, incredibly hot, mysterious woman. She wasn’t as indifferent as her methodical striptease had suggested.

His ego swelled along with other parts.

He was going to make this good for her, good enough to break through that iron control.

So what if she hadn’t told him anything about herself? She’d tell him plenty with her body by the time this night was over …

Dear Reader,

Have you ever locked eyes with a stranger and felt deep emotion you can’t explain away as simple attraction? Given that love develops over time, that it involves two people knowing and accepting each other completely, the concept of love at first sight seems dubious. But how else to explain that intense reaction?

For beautiful restaurateur Darcy Clark and sexy tech-guy/triathlete Troy Cahill, the third and final hero and heroine of my CHECKING E-MALES series, this thunderbolt of desire leaves them with no clue how to fit all the new and tempestuous emotions into what they think know about love and relationships. It was great fun to watch them squirm and try to avoid the obvious truth. Also in this book, our beloved master matchmaker, Marie, owner of Milwaukeedates.com, gets another stab at convincing the charming Quinn Peters that she doesn’t remind him of his sister after all …

I hope you’ve read and enjoyed the first two books in this series, Turn up the Heat and Long Slow Burn, and that you’ll consider Hot to the Touch an appropriate send-off for Candy, Kim, Darcy and Marie. I’ll really miss these women!

Cheers,

Isabel Sharpe

www.IsabelSharpe.com

About the Author

ISABEL SHARPE was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her first-born son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than twenty novels—along with another son—Isabel is more than happy with her choice these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.IsabelSharpe.com.

Hot to
the Touch

Isabel Sharpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To Sienna, Ruby and Leia,

who have made life so much cheerier.

Prologue

“CAN WE TALK ABOUT SOMETHING other than men?” Darcy flipped back her dark hair, an impatient scowl marring her beautiful features. “I think I’m getting heartburn.”

Across the table, Marie Hewitt watched her carefully. Every month the four of them, restaurant owner and chef Darcy Clark, plus web designer Kim Horton, event planner Candy Graham and herself, CEO of Milwaukeedates.com, gathered for this third-Wednesday breakfast meeting of Women in Power, Milwaukee’s organization of female business owners. Since Marie started her matchmaking campaign in January for her three younger, never-married friends, Candy and Kim had fallen. Candy and Justin Case had become engaged back in February on a wonderful if slightly out of control Valentine’s day. Nathan Alexander had asked Kim to marry him the previous month, on April fifteenth, her thirtieth birthday.

Until now, Darcy had seemed genuinely thrilled for them, though stubbornly resistant to any and all attempts to entice her into signing up for Marie’s online dating company in order to find her own happiness. Could her sudden irritability have anything to do with envy? Was she finally cracking, and would a little of her suppressed longing for love start oozing out? Marie was counting on that happening eventually. Darcy’s I-hate-men act might fool some people, but the more she saw, the less Marie was buying it.

“Sorry.” Kim put her hand on Darcy’s arm, eyes warm with contrition. “I know Candy and I are being nauseating going on about wedding plans when we’re all here to talk business. Tell us how life was last month in the restaurant world. Though I keep hearing people raving about Gladiolas so I probably don’t need to ask how it’s doing.”

“Things are okay.” Darcy settled her coffee mug back on the table. “Do you all remember Raoul?”

Kim made a disgusted face. “The slimeball you fired? The one who was having the affair with the married waitress, stole from the restaurant and came on to you to try and get professional favors?”

Darcy nodded grimly. “Yup. That slimeball.”

“What about him?” Marie went on alert. “He’s not still trying to land you, is he?”

“Worse. He’s starting his own restaurant. Emphasis on local and organic while keeping prices affordable. A short, seasonal menu and daily specials with whimsical names. Sound familiar?”

“Sounds exactly like Gladiolas.” Candy looked helplessly furious. “What a scum. That is disgusting.”

“Ya think?” Darcy shrugged. “Who knows, word has it his investor might back out. I hope so.”

“We all hope so,” Candy said. “But if he doesn’t, after the restaurant opens we’ll plant roaches and rats in the kitchen, then report Raoul to the health inspector.”

“Oh, good one.” Kim patted Candy’s shoulder affectionately. “How about I post viciously negative reviews all over the internet?”

“Very nice, Kim.” Marie smiled her approval. “I’ll book the whole place every night and then cancel at the last minute.”

“Thanks, guys.” Darcy grinned warmly. It was great to see her smile. She didn’t do so often enough. “Look, I didn’t mean to rain on the wedding parade before. I don’t know where that came from. PMS probably.”

Marie smirked. PMS? Nuh-uh. Though Darcy would probably be the last to figure it out.

“No, no, you were absolutely right.” Candy gracefully waved away the apology; Justin’s ring, which he’d planted in a delivery pizza, flashed on her left hand. “We were being disgusting. You and Marie must be ready to scream.”

“Not me.” Marie pulled off the crisp end of her croissant and spread jam on it. “I’m delighted. And I know Darcy is, too.”

“Yes. I really am.” Darcy nodded emphatically. “If you guys are happy that’s—”

“However, she is also ragingly jealous.” Marie bit casually into her pastry, counting down to Darcy’s anticipated explosion. Three … two … one …

“Jealous!” Darcy cracked up too loudly. “Oh, right. Deep down I really want my own self-centered man-child keeping me enslaved for the rest of my life.”

She laughed again harshly, grabbed her mug and gripped it between her palms as if it was her salvation.

“Jeez, Darcy.” Candy frowned at her. “Could you turn up the bitterness a little more? I’m not sure it’s coming across.”

“Nathan and Justin aren’t like that.” Kim’s soft tone was uncharacteristically firm.

“They’re all like that.” Darcy’s voice broke. She jerked the mug to her lips and took a sip.

“Not all of them.” Marie spoke gently, heart aching for her friend. Would Darcy ever admit she needed someone in her life to help share her burdens, to help her open up and trust again? Would she ever admit that in the midst of a full and successful life she was isolated and lonely? “With the right man, you’ll never feel that you’re—”

“No.” Darcy held up her hand. “I’m not going there, Marie. Find someone else if you need to keep foisting women onto lonely men. I like my freedom, making my own decisions. I take care of myself and of Gladiolas. I don’t have time or energy for another guy to make the whole relationship about him and his needs, and to hell with mine.”

“I understand.” Marie waited a beat, then met Kim’s blue eyes, which were helpless with worry, and Candy’s brown ones, dark with frustration. She smiled reassuringly. They’d get Darcy to fall somehow, sooner or later.

Maybe not overtly, by making her an appointment at Milwaukeedates.com, the way Marie had been able to with Candy and Kim. Maybe not by making reasonable overtures and putting forth reasonable logic. Some other method.

The Women in Power president came to the podium and called the room to order. Members finished sentences and cups of coffee, turned their chairs and settled in to pay attention.

Marie folded her arms on the table, her gaze focused on the back of Darcy’s dark head. There would be some chink, some fault line, some way into the warmth and passion Darcy kept bottled up out of fear, and Marie was going to find it, no matter how much resistance Darcy mustered.

She lowered her brows thoughtfully, imagining the profile she’d love to put up for Darcy on Milwaukeedates.com. Men would fall all over themselves wanting her. Eventually the right one would come along, a man strong and secure enough to let Darcy be the woman she needed to be, if only Darcy would give him a chance.

The president introduced the morning’s speaker and with the applause the glimmer of an idea rose into Marie’s mind and floated enticingly, even as she knew she’d have to reject it for ethical reasons.

Though when it came to Darcy, maybe ethics were beside the point. Maybe the only way Marie could win this battle against stubborn denial was to get stubborn herself. Stubborn and persistent.

Stubborn, persistent and willing to fight dirty.

1

“RADISHES.” DARCY TAPPED HER PENCIL on the gleaming wooden bar, made from salvaged Wisconsin oak. Her thoughts were drifting from Gladiolas’s emptying dining room around her to the side dish she was imagining for her restaurant’s summer menu, though it being merely the end of May in Wisconsin, summer seemed depressingly far away. Sauteed radishes, smoothed with butter, accented with salt and chives. And something else … sugar snap peas for color, texture and to balance the slight bite with sweetness. Or would a complementing strong taste be better, to deepen the flavor? Chard? Watercress?

“Radishes sound perfect for my mood.”

Darcy snapped out of her vegetable reverie and squinted at Amy Walker, her dining room manager. “What mood, crunchy?”

“Round and bitter.” Amy tipped back the last of the cup of coffee she never seemed to be without. Her plump body was slumped onto her stool, her short, flaming red ponytail shedding strands that hung around her cheeks.

“Bitter? I like that. Maybe we can use that in a menu name. ‘Love failed me—I’m bitter.’ A pork dish with bitter orange, a side of greens and radishes, something like that.” She made a few notes on a paper in front of her, then remembered they were talking about Amy. “Sorry, my brain went AWOL. Why are you bitter? Not Colin …”

“He hasn’t called for two days or answered my emails. I’m thinking I’ve worked my Amy-magic again and am being dumped.”

“No way.” Darcy felt familiar anger churn in her stomach. Yes, she had issues, but it was hard to work through them when men kept providing more and more examples of selfish behavior. “I thought this guy was really into you.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Amy laughed harshly. “And they say women play mind games and are hard to figure out.”

“I’m sorry. But you know men. They have a completely bizarre concept of time. He’ll reappear when you least expect it, without a clue he’d left you hanging.” Darcy pushed her untouched glass of chardonnay over to her friend, and signaled their handsome, burly bartender, Jeff, to get her another. “In the meantime, drink away your sorrows, honey. At least alcohol is dependable.”

“And a depressant.” Amy lifted the glass anyway and took a healthy swallow. “I don’t know. It’s too easy to blame men. Sometimes I think it’s just me, Ms. Man-Poison.”

“You are not—”

“No, really, I’m serious. I think there’s something about me that horrifies them. Until I find out what that is, maybe there’s no point looking anymore. I’m thinking of giving up.”

“No.” Darcy held up a hand for emphasis. “I’m the cynical, damaged one. I’m the one headed for a life of questionable hygiene, living alone in a ramshackle house overrun with cats. Not you.”

“Maybe.” Amy fingered the stem of her wineglass, eyes down. “I want to find a guy who accepts me, warts and all, who’ll consciously work on the relationship and compromise when necessary, someone for whom my happiness is nearly as important as his. Because that’s exactly what I’d do for him.”

“Oh, that guy!” Darcy accepted her new wine from Jeff. “I know exactly where he is.”

“Where?” Amy lifted a skeptical brow.

“Hanging out with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny!”

Amy snorted. “I know, I know. But I can’t totally crush hope the way you have. I wish I could. It would save me a lot of trouble and a lot of pain. I really thought Colin would hang around. Of course I probably thought that about all of them at one time.”

“Uh … yeah.” Darcy nudged her affectionately. “Didn’t we all.”

“It’s just that it can happen, out of the blue, when you least expect it. My sister met her husband on her millionth blind date, sick to death of trying to find someone, and they were both struck stupid with love the second they saw each other. They’re still wildly happy.”

“Because they’re stupid. You said it yourself.”

Amy finally loosened up enough to let out her trademark cascade of giggles. “I did. Now enough of my whining. Back to your radishes.”

“Nah.” Darcy lifted her glass, irritated by the story of Amy’s sister. People who were disgustingly goopy like that made her sick. Or jealous. Sometimes she wasn’t sure which. “Forget the radishes for now. We need to cheer you up first.”

“Good luck.”

“Ooh, I know. Ken, the new Lenson’s sales rep, came by this morning with industry gossip.” Darcy sipped her wine. She’d stick to the gossip that had been pleasant. The rest had been eating at her all day. “The new place down National near Fourth Street? Esmee? The chef is Lebanese. He’s supposedly giving the usual bar food an innovative Middle Eastern kick. Want to check it out? Get your mind off Colin?”

“Oh, that would be—” Amy’s cell rang with the theme to Love Story. She fished it out of her pocket and gasped at the display. “It’s him.”

“Ha!” Darcy smacked the bar with her palm, wanting to tell Amy not to answer it. “Told you he’d show up.”

“Oh, my gosh.” Amy took a deep breath, smoothing her hair, and connected the call. “Hey, Colin! How are you? Good. Yes, I’m fine. But I was worried, since I haven’t heard—”

Darcy shook her head urgently. Rule number one: never let a guy think you’ve been sitting around waiting for his call.

Amy cringed and nodded understanding. “Heard from my family in a while and was thinking you were one of them checking in.”

Darcy gave her a thumbs-up.

“Uh-huh. As far as I know. Oh, tonight?” She looked pleadingly at Darcy. “I’m, um …”

Darcy shook her head again, hard enough that her bobbed hair flew out nearly horizontal. Rule number two: Never be immediately available to a guy who hasn’t been available to you.

“I’d love to.” Amy spoke firmly, turning away from Darcy who rolled her eyes. “I’ve really missed you.”

Darcy let out a sound of disgust purposely loud enough for Amy to hear.

“Yes. I know where that is. Okay. Yes. See you in a few.” She shut her phone with a soft sigh.

“Amy. At least pretend you haven’t been panting after his call for—”

“I know.” She held up a hand to stop Darcy’s lecture. “I know.”

“Seriously, if you want men to stop taking you for granted …” She tried to soften the frustration in her voice. “You have to show them you’re worth better treatment.”

“Yes. But as I said, I have really missed him.” She slid off the stool and squeezed Darcy’s shoulder. “You’re right. I know you are. In a week or a month I’ll be miserable over him again. I just—”

“Have really missed him.”

“Wow, how did you know?” Amy looked like a different person, cheeks flushed, eyes snapping excitement. Even her hair had revived.

“Wild guess.” Darcy managed a smile. “Go. Have fun. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Undoubtedly. And I’ll be screwed over in the end. It’s what men do to me. Then you can say, ‘Ha-ha, told you so,’ and watch in amazement at my masochistic stupidity while I proceed to do it all again with someone else.”

“Gee, um, I’m really looking forward to that.” Darcy rolled her eyes in exaggerated dismay. “Wouldn’t it be easier to stay single?”

“Easier, yes. Better? No.” Amy jumped off the bar stool and strode over to their hostess, Kelly, to ask her to close up.

Darcy watched her go. Easier, but not better … She turned resolutely away and pushed her glass to the bartender. “G’night, Jeff.”

“‘Night, chef. You heading out?”

“Yeah. New place to try tonight.” Darcy had to force the enthusiasm, when she generally loved discovering neighborhood gems. She didn’t mind going out alone, either. In fact, sometimes she preferred the opportunity to concentrate on the food instead of on making conversation.

But tonight …

Among the gossip Ken passed along was that Raoul, Darcy’s unlamented ex-employee, had secured new wads of cash for his restaurant after the original investor had indeed backed out. James Thomas, one of Milwaukee’s wealthiest, had turned Darcy down for Gladiolas, saying women had no place in the restaurant business. She’d had to settle for a lesser amount from the bank, which meant shelving plans for a more elegant downtown address and locating Gladiolas where she could afford to lease.

“Sounds good. Report back.” Jeff, classic stud of few words, acknowledged a patron’s signal and went over to refill his drink.

Darcy slid off her stool and strode through the dining room and into the gleaming stainless kitchen she was so proud of, inhaling the fragrance of food in its many stages of preparation. She collected her things and called out a good-night to the staff, including Gladiolas’s dishwasher, real name Francis McDonald, but everyone called him Ace. Great kid, reliable, could be pulled onto the line when things got crazy busy in the kitchen, but from what Darcy could tell, he lived most of the time in a chemically enhanced universe.

She banged out the alley door, got into her car and drove down National Avenue from her own place on Fourteenth Street to Fourth. Short hop, but she’d been on her feet all day, and while she wouldn’t mind walking over, after a drink and some food, she’d want to get home quickly to her tiny house in Washington Heights, which she’d bought five years earlier after saving every cent she could for the downpayment.

Too bad Amy hadn’t wanted to come tonight. Another wonderful, funny, smart, talented friend wasted on the male population of Milwaukee. Maybe Darcy should introduce Amy to Milwaukeedates.com owner, Marie Hewitt, who’d matched up two of the town’s best and brightest, Candy and Kim. But talking to Marie about matching up Amy would invariably segue into Marie talking about matching up Darcy, and sorry, but Darcy couldn’t be less interested. Though seeing Amy so happy when Colin called …

Nuh-uh, she wasn’t going there. Some women could find happiness in men. Darcy wasn’t one of them. The guys she fell for were angry, controlling and uninterested in supporting her, especially her ambition. Someone had to break that pattern and protect her, and Darcy had nominated herself for the job. Once in a while she allowed herself the luxury of a one-night stand or a casual series of dates, but she drew the line there. Any longer and it became apparent men wanted women who were home for them every night, not out on the front lines battling for their own success. Recently Darcy had also been denying herself those brief encounters. Even those had become dangerous to her sanity.

She found the restaurant and parked on a side street, emerged into the too-chilly air and hurried into the small, warm, welcoming space whose dim lighting created nice intimacy. A clean but battered wooden bar, kept on from the Irish pub this place used to be, dominated the room, furnished with booths and a few tables. Nearly every table and booth was taken, the bar three-quarters full. A good sign, though Darcy was attracting more attention than she liked from the mostly male clientele, even wearing an outfit about as revealing as a Girl Scout’s, an outfit which also happened to be pretty ripe from an evening sweating in the kitchen.

Three stools sat empty at the end of the bar. Darcy chose the nearest to the door, leaving two unoccupied seats next to her, hoping no one would sit in search of a chatting partner.

“Hi, there.” Nice-looking bartender, big guy, middle-aged, with warm gray eyes. Ten years and thirty pounds ago, he would have been a serious temptation. “What can I get you?”

“Arak, please.”

He broke into a smile, bushy eyebrows raised, and responded in Arabic.

“No, no.” Darcy shook her head regretfully. “Not native. I just know the drink.”

“Ah, okay. Coming right up.”

“What didja order? Ah-rack?” The pink-faced guy to her right looked as if he’d been at the bar most of the week.

“Arak. Anise liquor. Very dry. Very good.”

He made a face. “Anise, like licorice? Licorice is candy. Sissy drink.”

Darcy snorted. Said he who was drinking rum and Coke.

“Enjoy.” The bartender set in front of her a glass of clear liquid, another of ice and a small carafe of water. “Like a menu?”

“Definitely.” She ignored Mr. Sissy Drink, who was still muttering about alcoholic candy. Darcy would love to see him try to walk straight after a couple of glasses of arak. Strong as well as delicious.

“Here you go.” The bartender handed her a menu.

Darcy opened it and fell in love. Burgers, salads, sandwiches and pizzas, but in each category a twist. You could have a burger with ketchup, mustard and pickle, or with parsley, onion, cinnamon and tahini sauce. Pizza with cheese and sausage or with ground lamb, diced red peppers and halloumi cheese. Iceberg salad with shredded cheddar, croutons and ranch dressing or romaine with toasted pita and feta, dressed with olive oil, garlic and mint.

After a terrible time deciding, she succumbed to the lamb pizza and the romaine salad. The bartender brought her a small bowl of olives, a few tiny round loaves of pita, about the diameter of tangerines, and a dish of a soft creamy white cheese with the tang of yogurt.

Darcy poured water into her arak, which turned it pearly-white, and added a few cubes of ice. She took a small gulp and sighed in pleasure. The anise flavor was clear and light, beautifully refreshing. A few sips later, she mingled the taste with a mouthful of bread stuffed with cheese and an olive. Heaven.

As usual, the experience of good food relaxed her, and she felt ready to check out her surroundings. Good crowd for a Wednesday night. A few couples on dates, a few single men at the bar, groups of guys out for a guy-time, one table of women. Most were neat and presentable, not too different from the crowd she attracted to Gladiolas. Neighborhood people out for the night. What crowd would Raoul get with his fancy backer and address? High prices would mean clientele with money to burn and similarly situated friends who had friends, who had friends …

Movement caught her eye, and she realized she’d been staring at a good-looking guy in a red shirt drinking with friends; he leered and toasted her with his beer.

Ugh. The last thing she needed was some guy thinking she was out trolling for the same thing he was.

Her food came, a happy distraction. The aroma made her stomach growl and her hand reach eagerly for a slice of the pizza, which she immediately launched toward her mouth.

Mmm. The crust was charred appetizingly around the edges, the lamb and peppers fragrant and subtly spiced, the cheese tender, mild and sparingly used so its bland richness didn’t overwhelm the dish.

Delicious. After a few more ravenous bites, she gathered a forkful of the fresh-looking salad, preparing to dive in.

“So I was wondering …” A man’s shape entered her peripheral vision. Red shirt. Ugh again. He leaned on the bar next to her, too close, talking too loudly. His too-sweet aftershave intruded on her smell and taste. “Has anyone ever mentioned that you look like Catherine Zeta-Jones?”

“Yes.” She glanced at him witheringly. “And they didn’t get anywhere, either.”

“Hey, now, don’t be like that.” His ingratiating grin didn’t falter, if anything he was talking louder. She became aware that they were attracting interest from Pink-Faced Sissy-Drink two stools to her right, and from the guy’s table of friends; she wanted to drop to all fours and growl threateningly. “Give me a break here. I’m a nice guy.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’m only interested in food tonight.”

“Aw, c’mon. Help me out here, beautiful. I bet my friends that I could buy you a drink.”

“Really?” She picked up her arak, sipped it leisurely. “Sorry, you lost that one.”

“I’m Jay.” He winked. “And I never lose.”

“First time for everything.”

He chuckled and leaned in. “Seriously, I’m harmless. Just want to buy you a drink. You won’t regret—”

“I already do.” She turned deliberately toward him. “Go away.”

“Wow.” He stared at her for a few seconds, then gave a bitter chuckle. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“Yup.” Darcy held his gaze calmly. “But it’s better than being a buttwipe.”

He left, but not before he called Darcy another of her least favorite words. What a jerk.

She turned back to her dinner, having to force herself to resume eating, which was the jerk’s worst offense, because the food was damn good. Halfway through the pizza and salad, two-thirds of the way through her arak and undisturbed further, she managed to regain her composure.

“I’m outta here.” The pink-faced guy seemed to be talking to no one in particular. He moved off his stool and for a second, Darcy expected him to hit the floor, slumped like a sack of potatoes. Miraculously he managed to stay upright.

The bartender reached to shake his hand. “See ya, Fred.”

“See ya tomorrow.” Fred wobbled behind Darcy toward the door. She hoped he wasn’t driving.

“Another arak?”

Darcy looked up to decline, but while the bartender was standing in front of her, he was asking the guy who’d been sitting three chairs down, just to the right of Pink-Faced Guy. Darcy turned to see who else was drinking the ambrosia of Lebanon.

He was dark, but his features looked too Waspy to be Arabic. Handsome, several years younger than she was, she’d guess mid-twenties, dressed in a dark shirt and black jeans that showed his body to be tall, lean and nicely shaped. Well, well. Male candy. Too bad she’d put herself on a diet.

The bartender put a new glass of arak in front of him. He lifted the carafe of water to pour with very nice hands, strong-looking, fingers long and masculine, nails blunt and clean. Definitely an attractive—

He turned and met her eyes. Darcy froze with her arak halfway to her mouth. An electric storm sprang to life in her chest, spread to her stomach, down her torso, tingling through her arms and legs. Immediately, she glanced away. Then back, unable to resist. He was still watching her; his impossibly dark and deep eyes made it tough to breathe or think. What the hell was that?

She forced her attention back to her meal, but could only gaze at it, as if waiting for the food to rise up and eat her instead.

Instant lust, instant attraction. Sure Darcy had experienced those before, but never like this. She must be feeling particularly vulnerable tonight? Tired? On edge? Ovulating? She wanted to look again, felt almost compelled to, but there was fear she’d be giving something away, something very important she had to keep.

Like mental stability.

A deep breath, and she made herself eat salad, fragrant with mint, bold with garlic. The bite of vinegar and the soothing fruit of olive oil grounded her. This was real. This was what she’d come here for. Another bite of pizza, and she managed to finish the slice, finish the salad, finish her drink, feeling the man’s pull throughout, fighting her desire to look again, to see if he was watching her. To see if he’d felt even half of what she had.

She pulled out her wallet, resisting the urge to order another drink, to linger and taunt herself with what could be possible. It was late. Another long day tomorrow.

“Leaving?”

Darcy’s hand stilled in the act of pulling out her credit card. She turned, braced this time for the impact of those eyes. The preparation didn’t help much. She felt as if her body had gone into overdrive. Shaky overdrive. Shaky, helpless overdrive. “Thought I would.”

“Can I buy you another drink instead?”

She didn’t move. If he bought her a drink, they’d start talking. She’d get a pretty serious buzz from more arak, dangerous around this powerful chemistry. She’d want to spend the night with him. Inevitably, the sex would be hot, satisfying and for one night her problems could be pushed aside, along with her responsibilities. For one night she’d be part of something bigger than just herself.

But then she might wake up with that horrible empty longing again, the grief she never admitted to anyone she’d had, the one she didn’t even like to acknowledge to herself. Last time the morning after had been so hard, she’d promised herself no more one-night stands. Sex was lovely, but she wouldn’t die without it. Though now that she’d met this man, she might.