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plates.
    “Fine. We .”
    One by one, she placed the dirty kitchenware in the dishwasher. “I’ll take this moment to go issue a blanket invitation to the line of hunks hovering at my doorstep.” Noting the knot between his thick brows, she heaved a sigh. “Fine. We’re exclusive. Anything else?”
    Pulling a small tin out of his pocket, he popped a white lozenge into his mouth before sliding it over the counter. A set of keys followed. “You’ve got girly shampoo. If you could grab mine along with a few sets of clean clothes from my place, I’d appreciate it.”
    She wished the man were kidding, but his grinning mug suggested otherwise. Not certain how to proceed, she reached for a mint. Crunching the hard candy, she kicked her brain back into gear. “I’m not an expert on these things, but I’m sure giving me your keys skips a few dozen steps.”
    He rose to his feet and walked to her side. Crouching, he reached under the sink and grabbed a pellet of detergent. “We’re both excellent judges of character.” After tossing it in the dishwasher, he shut the machine’s door and turned it on. “And taking things slow is for wimps.”
    “You asked me out yesterday.” Her words served as a reminder to them both.
    He sprung to his feet and circled around her. Closing in from behind, he placed his palms on the island, bracketing her waist. “I know what I want.” His gruff statement didn’t leave much room for argument. “And I always go after what I want.”
    Staring at the empty sink, she struggled to reboot her muddled brain. His chest warmed her back. His breath grazed her hair. The scent of her own soap, laced with something distinctly male, wreaked havoc on her ability to focus. “You might not get what you want.”
    He bit her earlobe. “The odds are in my favor.”
    Her mind went blank. He kissed her neck, his tongue lingering over her pulse. Her abs clenched, her fingers curling into fists as flames seared her from the inside out. His biceps brushed her shoulders, his arms forming a cage of pure muscle. His teeth scraped, and he sucked hard enough to leave a hickey.
    “You were saying?” A teasing question, one broadcasting masculine superiority.
    “I…” The throaty rasp seemed alien, as if it had come from somewhere far away, from someone other than her.
    His low chuckle vibrated her back. “Want to stop talking?”
    An optimal plan, seeing as how her brain now functioned at reduced capacity. Before she could signal agreement, his lips grazed the sensitive spot behind her ear. With a ragged breath, she jerked forward, her hands slipping over the granite ledge toward the sink.
    Grabbing her wrists, he moved them both one step to the left. With unexpected gentleness, he flattened her palms against the glass topping the dishwasher. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
    “That,” she managed to murmur, “is sort of the problem.”
    He shifted his grip to her hips. His zipper pressed into her butt, the hard bulge sending a shiver down her spine. Catching one of her tank-top straps between his teeth, he tugged it off her shoulder.
    The dishwasher whirred. Steam drifted over the tops of her legs. She shifted away from the building heat, her bottom pressing against his crotch. Murmuring a curse, he nudged her legs apart with his knee.
    She remembered owning a bed—two to be precise, along with a comfortable sofa and plush carpet. Before she could bring the array of more comfortable surfaces to his attention, he picked her up by the waist. Ignoring her yelp, he yanked her against him, positioning her to ride his thigh. Gravity brought her down on hard muscle, the exquisite pressure at the juncture of her legs eliciting a moan.
    He slid his hands along her torso, his fingers drifting to the tips of her breasts. Closing her eyes, she abandoned her tenuous hold on coherent thought. His presumed intimacy drilled home her vulnerability. Any attempt to escape fueled the languid heat between her legs, leaving