The thought of hurting this beautiful creature, of giving her cause to think he wasn’t interested in her, emerged too much of an injustice to ignore.

And now as he sat there enjoying watching her, all misgivings disappeared.

Even her question about his career slid off his back with ease.

And he knew why. His physical need for her was increasing exponentially with each time their paths crossed, banning his mind from playing any role in what was happening between them on a primal level.

He also knew there was an answer to his dilemma. He could tell her the truth.

“NO, I DIDN’T DREAM OF BEING a car-parts salesman.” Drew searched for the words to tell her the truth. Tell her who he was and what his intentions were-his client and the consequences be damned. He had to tell her. He couldn’t continue without her knowing the truth.

“What did you dream of being?”

The question took Drew aback.

He could count on one hand the times he’d been asked something so personal. And even then the questions had been asked by people like school guidance counselors whose job it was to steer him toward something more productive than what his upbringing had prepared him for.

He looked at Josie now.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“There had to be something. A fireman? Policeman?”

“Indian chief?”

Her laugh reached in and touched something he hadn’t known was inside him. A sensitive place, a soft spot that absorbed her interest like a dry sponge drank up a drop of water.

“Funny. You know what I mean.”

And, remarkably, he did.

Had anyone else asked the question, he would have come up with some off-the cuff response like “A lawyer, because I used to watch Perry Mason.”

But he was finding that giving Josie any kind of easy, superficial response was impossible. And that he genuinely wanted to answer her questions.

“A postman.”

One of her finely shaped brows rose. “Like in mailman?”

“One and the same.” He finished his soup and took a sip of his wine. “Our mailman, George, was just about the only positive male influence I had in my life growing up. So I wanted to be like him.” He chuckled quietly, having long forgotten about George and the memories connected to him. “When I was seven I actually went and collected the mail from the neighbors’ boxes, put them in my own makeshift bag, then redelivered the mail.”

“Oh, boy,” Josie said.

“Oh, boy is right. A grumpy old man a couple of trailers up called the police on me. Who knew playing-although tampering is the word that was used-with the U.S. mail is a felony?” He shook his head. “The officer that responded seemed to understand, though. He ruffled my hair-which, of course, I hated. George never ruffled my hair. And he told me to go play kick ball or something else that didn’t involve the mail. Or if I felt the need to deliver, I could make up my own mail.”

“Did you?”

“No. By then the shine was off the silverware.”

Josie leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. “You know, listening to you makes me remember about how I once dreamed of being an actress.” She cringed as if the memory were embarrassing. “I’d watched a movie with Mae West in it, then found an old red boa in my granme’s things and proceeded to strut around the hotel flipping the boa and asking, ‘Why don’t you come up sometime and see me, big boy?’”

“Uh-oh…”

Drew looked around him, considering the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

Josie laughed. “My granme nearly strangled me with the boa when she caught a traveling salesman trying to take me up on my offer.” She visibly shuddered then smoothed the goose bumps from her arms by rubbing them. “Of course, I was six and had no idea what kind of trouble I could have gotten into if not for my grandmother, but now…”

Drew tried to imagine a six-year-old Josie slinking around the hotel lobby wearing a red boa and making dangerous propositions to strange men. And he felt a desire to protect her surge up within him that he didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Oh! I almost forgot the next course.”

Drew watched her clear the bowls of soup. “You mean there’s more?”

“Is there ever.” She took the top off a large pot. Steam rose up, dampening her honey-colored skin and pinkening her cheeks. “Move the silverware and the glasses off to the side of the table for me, will you?”

He did as asked, watching as she tipped a high container full of something he couldn’t see into the pot, then used a long-handled spoon to stir the mix. Then she turned and grabbed a small pile of newspapers.

“Here,” she said, “help me spread these across the cutting board.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, so he watched her open the papers and place them so they covered the surface before him. He did the same. Their hands bumped and they both paused, their gazes meeting between the short distance that separated them.

Up this close, her eyes were the palest shade of brown he’d ever seen. And were so damn captivating he didn’t dare blink.

She gave a shaky smile. “I think that should do it.”

Was it him or was her voice just a tad breathless?

She went to the pot and lifted what looked like a colander from inside it. Giving it a good shake, she stepped to the table then tipped the contents out onto the papers.

Crabs. Dozens of them. Orange and glistening and all about the size of his hand.

She put the colander back inside the pot then returned to the table, handing him what looked like a nutcracker.

“Blue crabs,” she said. “A Creole specialty. Although they’re better in the spring during the mating season, these will do.” She gestured to where he held his shell cracker awkwardly. “You probably won’t need those since the shells are soft.”

Drew chuckled, staring at the mass of seafood covering the papers between them. “What do I do?”

She picked up one of the crabs then inserted her fingertips into the top and pulled. The shell easily split in two. She picked meat out and slipped it into her mouth, moaning as she licked her fingers. “Try it.”

He did and found it amazingly easy to mimic her movements.

“No, don’t eat that,” she said. “Intestines.” She gestured toward the top half. “There.”

He carefully plucked out the meat and put it into his mouth. The texture was smooth and solid and magnificently good. The flavor exploded on Drew’s tongue. “Spicy.”

She smiled. “It’s the boil.”

He opened another crab.

“Mmm, a sook.” Josie leaned across the table and scooped something out near the bottom of the inner shell. “Here,” she murmured, holding the food near his mouth.

His heart beating thickly in his chest, he leaned forward and opened his mouth, slowly encircling her slender fingers with it. He closed his lips, enjoying the taste of the crab as much as the taste of her. Hot cayenne pepper and sweet Josie was a combination no man could resist. And Drew wasn’t in a resistant mood.

He sucked gently, then swirled his tongue around her index finger, his gaze glued to her expressive face. The black of her pupils nearly overtook the golden brown of her irises and she caught her breath as he trailed his own damp fingertips over the inside of her wrist.

“Those, um, are the female’s eggs.”

He withdrew his mouth. “Good thing you told me that after I ate them.”

She sat back down. “Best part of the crab.”

They ate in silence for the next few minutes, although Drew’s mind couldn’t have been farther from the food in front of him, no matter how good. Instead, his thoughts were solely on the delicious woman across from him.

Damn, but she was beautiful. And sexy. And the seductive way she cracked open the small crab claws and sucked the meat from them made his groin pull tight. What made him harder still was the unselfconscious way she ate, without concern of how she might appear, no pretense, no formalities. Only a pure enjoyment of the meal and of his company.