Before I can take my eyes off him, he turns around, explaining, “I don’t have much.”

“What’s that?” I spit out, almost forgetting how to speak.

“Were you just checking me out?”

“Uh, no,” I defend, my voice covered in guilt. “Why would you . . . I mean . . . no. I was not checking you out!” Carrying on about it probably isn’t helping my case. And of course he sees right through it, grinning at me like a fool.

“Okay then, Miss I Wasn’t Just Checking Out Your Ass,” he mocks. “Looks like your choices for breakfast are stale toast or leftover pizza.” Leaning across the small counter, his body eats up the space. His heat wraps around me, nearly melting me on the spot with his deep chocolate eyes and unbelievably beautiful face. I’m lost in his trance for a minute, unable to speak a word. His eyes lock on mine and we’re both frozen there, staring at each other, trying to figure this out. Sliding his hand across the counter top, his strong fingers dance across the top of my hand. With long, smooth strokes, he runs his fingertip up and down the length of each of my fingers. Shivers race up my arm, settling in fiery sparks on the needy peaks of my breasts. The fact that I’m not wearing a bra shatters through my brain like a freight train, pulling me back into the here and now.

“David,” I whisper, my voice thin and needy. His name on my lips feels right. It’s as if it is the only word my mouth was ever meant to speak. “What are we doing?”

He doesn’t move his hand, his fingers continuing on their delicious torture. And with every stroke of his skin on mine, all I can think about is what his fingers would feel like everywhere else. Keeping his eyes focused on my own, he smiles. His face is so damn perfect I almost need to reach out and touch it to make sure he’s really there in front of me. “I can’t speak for you, but I’m waiting for you to tell me what you want for breakfast.”

“Not that.” I nearly groan as his fingers move from my hand up my forearm. “This,” I add as I halt the progress of his sensual touches. With my fingers laced through his, I can at least focus on speaking without him touching me.

Cluing into the more serious nature of my question, he pulls us back to the couch. Sitting next to him does nothing to help me say any of what I need to say. He looks on, waiting for me to clarify, to say something, anything. “I know I complicated things the other day by saying we need to just be friends.” His hand covers mine again and he pulls our twisted-together fingers up to his mouth. Pressing a gentle kiss there, his lips pull into a sweet smile.

“Why did it complicate things?” His words speak of one thing, but his lips, moving from our hands, down to the soft inside of my wrist speaks of something else entirely.

“You can’t do that,” I protest weakly, my arm and body limp and relaxed with his tender kisses. He arches a brow, smiles against my skin, and continues his assault. “David,” I groan.

“How about you tell me what you really want?” Extending my arm fully, his lips move to the sensitive skin at the inside of my elbow. He gently nips me before kissing away the sting. Waiting for me to answer him, he looks up at me through his long, dark lashes. When he can tell he’s got me in the palm of his hand, he scoots closer to me, keeping one of his legs tucked under his strong, lean body. Closer now, he drops my arm gently back into my lap and moves his hand to the side of my neck. His thumb strokes over my jaw—back and forth, back and forth. It’s hypnotic. “Because here’s what I think.” His hand stills on my neck, holding me steady. “I think you never wanted to be just friends in the first place. I think that was a convenient excuse for you not to have to deal with what you’re feeling.”

“And what is that exactly?” My question comes out no more than a whisper, but even at that I’m sure he can hear the touch of sarcasm there, seeing as I make no effort to cover it up. “Since you so clearly know my deepest, darkest secrets, please tell me what I’m feeling.”

He chuckles softly, but holds firm to my neck. “I think you were jealous when you thought I was leaving the bar with Kelsey, which can only mean that you are feeling something for me.” Angling his head to the side, he asks, “Am I on the right track?”

Leaning into his hand, I let out a shuddery sigh. There’s nothing left for me to do but give into him. “You’re right. I didn’t really want to only be friends. I was jealous the other night, but it’s confusing.”

“How so?” His eyes shine with genuine interest. He’s listening to every word I’m saying and reading my body for all the ones I’m not.

“Because I don’t know you. And I . . .” Swallowing hard, I find the courage to say, “And I want you more than I should.”

A shy smile tugs at his full lips and for the briefest of seconds, I’m pretty sure I’ve caught him off guard. His eyes dance with so much emotion, I can’t comprehend it all. “Don’t you get it?” he asks, his voice an odd mixture of confidence and uncertainty. “I feel the same exact way.”

My chest tightens, making breathing more than a little difficult. This sweet, yet rugged, shy, yet confident man wants me. It seems far more likely that this is actually a dream and, in reality, I’m home in my own bed, sleeping away the lazy hours of a Sunday morning.

But I’m not. This is my reality. Sitting across from a beautiful man—a man who’s just confessed he wants me.

With a nervous energy pulsing around us, we both nearly jump out of our seats when the phone rings. “Let it go,” he dismisses the noise, keeping his attention on me. “Grace.” There’s a command and a promise when he speaks my name. His face inches closer to mine, so close his warm breath cascades over my skin, making me shiver on the spot. “I don’t even know what I want to say.” His eyes move from my eyes to my lips, back to my eyes again. “All I know is that I don’t think I can go much longer without feeling your lips on mine.”

Where my breathing is all labored and heavy, he’s calm and completely in control. His thumb grazes my lip and I give into my need, letting my tongue swipe against his roughened skin. On a sharp inhale, he leans forward, at the same time pulling me closer to him. With his lips mere centimeters from mine, he searches my eyes for permission.

Using the pause to my advantage, I take what I’ve wanted from the second I saw him. More than shocked at my boldness, he gasps when my lips touch his. Empowered by the growl of appreciation rumbling through his chest, I hold his face in my hands. Cupping my jaw, his lips lock firmly on mine. It’s a kiss of possession, of need, of passion—of all the things I’ve always wanted but never thought I’d have.

Neither of us pays any attention to the constant ringing of the phone in the background. It’s simply a continuous loop of white noise accompanying the sounds of our need.

When his hands fall to my waist and he lifts me onto his lap, I revel in the feel of his hard, strong body beneath mine. Thoughts of what it would feel like to be under that same body flash through my mind, melting every ounce of whatever restraint I thought I had.

Our tongues brush against one another. With heated and sensual slides, we get lost in what I will forever remember as the best first kiss of all time.

With one hand dancing up and down my back, he secures the other at the base of my neck, twisting it in my long hair. Breathless and needy, our bodies begin to move to the rhythmic pace of our kiss. He hardens beneath me as I melt above him. His groans of pleasure are echoed in my moans of need.

And if it wasn’t for the frantic sound of his mother’s voice playing over the answering machine, who knows how far we would have gone. Panic races through her words as she rambles, “Dave, you have to come over. There’s water everywhere. The plumber was here this morning and it’s all a mess. Please call us back. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you all morning. I’m starting to get worried. Please.”