She had hit a rut. Dating had begun to feel like a chore and each disastrous date was making her increasingly despondent about the whole thing. She hadn’t been kissed in a while, she hadn’t had sex in…

Biting down on her lip, she tried to calculate the days in her head. Too damn long. She speared a piece of lamb with her fork and popped it into her mouth.

Maybe that was why she thought about Des constantly. She was parched and he was the refreshment she craved. It was a totally natural response, her body’s way of telling her what it needed.

So why didn’t she feel that way about anyone else?

Watching Gracie eat was unsettlingly erotic. She savored every mouthful, pulling the fork through her lips slowly with each bite as though she wanted the moment to last forever. Des had to shift in his seat; he found everything about her so carnal he was in a constant state of arousal. It wasn’t healthy, particularly if she had a rule against that kind of thing.

Des wasn’t a rules guy. In fact, some of the best experiences of his life had come out of breaking the rules—or ignoring them at the very least.

“Aren’t you enjoying your meal?” She motioned to his plate with her fork. He’d barely touched the moussaka, mainly because he’d been fighting off thoughts of devouring her instead.

“No, it’s good.” He stuffed a forkful into his mouth and she grinned. Under the table their knees touched, and his blood pulsed hotly. “Tell me, Gracie Greene, what do you look for in a man? ’Cause I’m not sure, beyond briefcases, shiny shoes, and bald patches.”

She laughed and reached for the plastic cup that held her wine. “The bald patch wasn’t a plus.” She took a delicate sip. “I look for a guy who’s got it together, who’s successful and serious. I look for someone who’s going to be reliable and stable.”

Des studied her. Those were all things that were far removed from who Gracie was. Not that she wasn’t successful or stable, but she appeared to be so brimming with light and passion that it baffled him that she would look for a guy who sounded so…dull.

“It sounds like you’re shopping for insurance.”

“And you look for a girl who’s into extreme sports and body piercing?” she drawled.

“I don’t look for anyone, truth be told.” He speared another piece of moussaka with his plastic fork. “I’ve been off the dating scene for a long, long time.”

“Why?”

“Picked the wrong girl, got burned, didn’t feel the need to try it again.” And he hadn’t experienced the desire to get close to anyone…until now.

Damn.

He might not be looking for someone in particular but he seemed to be falling for exactly the type of girl he promised himself he’d stay away from. There was no way he’d go through the constant judgement and shame of being considered “lesser” ever again.

Except he was sure Gracie was a different person underneath the ridiculous list-checking and rule-making behavior.

“It happens.” She shrugged, tossing her curls over one shoulder. But her nonchalance didn’t come off as sincere. “That’s why I don’t leave things to chance, much less allow the opportunity for things to get out of hand that way.”

“Don’t you ever want to get out of hand?” He reached over the table and grabbed her wrists. They were small and delicate between his fingers. She’d covered them with thin, gold bangles and he could feel her pulse racing. “Don’t you ever want to go crazy?”

“I don’t do crazy.” She looked at him through long, thick lashes. How could this girl look like a luminous, free-spirited gypsy, have a light inside her like she was wild and passionate, yet be so careful and cautious? “Rule number three, don’t go crazy.”

“That’s a terrible rule.”

She laughed, her jewelery jangling as she threw her head back. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a little security in life.”

“It’s an illusion, Gracie. Nothing is secure.” He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories of his relationship crumbling like an old building. It had happened so suddenly; at least it had felt that way at the time. Looking back, he saw he’d been in denial for a long time.

“Maybe that’s because you don’t plan things properly. I plan, I think about all the things that could go wrong, and I make contingencies.” She speared another piece of her dinner and chewed thoughtfully. “I wasn’t always like this you know.”

“Like what?”

“Concerned with rules and planning.”

As he’d suspected, she was forcing herself into a mold. For some reason this admission made his chest ache. Who had made her feel so unworthy that she’d squeezed her life into such a neat, risk-free box?

“Why did you change?” he asked.

She shrugged and pushed the remainder of her dinner away. “I made a few mistakes and I realized the error of my ways.”

“You don’t get to say that and then not provide me with an example.” Color him curious. Gracie didn’t talk much about her past and this was like getting a glimpse at a unicorn.

“I dated the wrong guy. It caused my family and me a lot of pain. I decided I wasn’t going to do that again.”

Now that was something they had in common.

“I figured if I put so much effort into choosing the right career and the right apartment, then I should do the same for a partner.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Hell, I put more effort into choosing an outfit for work than I did into choosing my first real boyfriend.”

“Don’t you think these things should happen naturally?”

“In a perfect world…maybe. But what if I left it all to chance and then I ended up alone?”

She looked genuinely stricken and Des had to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her. He was supposed to be here to help her on her manhunt, not to protect her. Not to comfort her.

“You would never end up alone, Gracie. You’re gorgeous and any guy would be lucky to have you.”

Her lip trembled for a moment before she plastered a slightly too-wide smile on her face. “I’m done with dinner, what’s next?”

“Music.”

Standing, he extended a hand and she took it, her delicate fingers intertwining with his. A short walk from the food area a band played jazz music.

“And dancing.” He led her to an empty space near the band, where a few people were moving to the music.

“Oh no.” She pulled back, digging her heels in and leaning away from him. “Rule number four, no dancing.”

He swayed his hips in time to the music and pulled her close. Someone nearby cheered. “I’m in charge tonight and there will be dancing.”

“Hell no, I don’t dance for anyone.” Her eyes were wide, pure terror rolling off her in waves. “Besides, there’s no way I’d meet a guy on the dance floor.”

The fact that Gracie Greene didn’t dance was a crime against humanity. Every single curve on her body looked as though it was made for music, for sambas, for jazz and gyrating. Releasing her hand, he watched as she shrunk back into the crowd, but he kept going, the beat running through his body.

Dancing was a part of his life in the most fundamental way. He’d grown up watching his Sicilian grandparents dance at every family function, every wedding, every Christmas. Dancing could convey all of the emotions that he couldn’t string into a sentence. His body communicated better than his mouth ever could.

More of the crowd joined in, but he kept his eyes on Gracie. Her luscious, cherry-colored lips were open, her eyes wide as she watched him. She inched closer, sticking with the group, but as more people moved to the music she gained confidence. Enveloped and concealed by the throng, she came back to him, but resisted dancing.

“The dance floor is a great place to meet guys,” he said, leaning forward to speak directly into her ear. “Guys who can dance are better in bed.”

Hot pink color flooded her cheeks and a nervous giggle escaped her lips. Gracie Greene getting turned on was about the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—she seemed suddenly shyer, a little more tentative, a little more vulnerable.