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Dylan. Her heart pounded a million miles a minute and her heat was up.
    Heavens. He liked her.
    She was his type.
    It was astonishing. Exciting. Scary.
    Because she liked him too. Really liked him.
    He followed her to the table and sat across from her, gazing at the sandwich she’d made with a hungry gleam in his eye. She wasn’t altogether sure that gleam was for the bacon. “Yum,” he said, picking it up and taking a bite. The toast crunched as he chewed. “Perfect,” he murmured through a mouthful. “Perfect.”
    “I’m glad you like it.” She took a bite as well and moaned. Lordy, she’d missed bacon this weekend. Not that she ate it every day—it was knowing she couldn’t have it that killed her.
    “I like crispy bacon.”
    “I know. I don’t understand people who cook it all limp.”
    “Right? Those people should be shunned.”
    Cassie laughed. “I’m pretty sure they are.”
    They finished eating, chatting about bacon and bacon recipes and bacon in general, utterly avoiding the thread of conversation from before. It was as though he sensed her nervousness and was determinedly trying to set her at ease.
    Dylan was wickedly funny. Cassie didn’t remember ever laughing so much over a sandwich with a man. Or ever.
    She liked guys who made her laugh. It was one of the most important qualities in a person, she thought. A sense of humor.
    Life could be hard, and when things got really dark, it was nice to have someone around to help you lighten up.
    But when they finished eating, and bantering, a crackling silence fell. Cassie licked her finger and blotted up her crumbs. “Well…” she said. “I should probably be going.” She moved to stand.
    “Don’t.” One word, sharp, with a tinge of panic, froze her in place. “Please stay. I’ve…enjoyed talking to you.”
    She forced a smile. “Lucy will be worried.”
    “About me?”
    “About me . Poaching. We have rules about poaching, you see.”
    “Poaching only counts on things you own. Lucy doesn’t own me.”
    Cassie cleared her throat. “She wants to. And she has dibs.”
    He snorted. “Sounds like third grade. And, by the way, I thought Bella had dibs.”
    “They’re dueling over you.”
    His expression sobered, became intent. “Do I get a say in this?”
    She tipped her head to the side. “Have you met them? They can be rather…adamant.”
    “So can I. When I want something.”
    Her heart flipped. “You, ah, want something?”
    “You know I do.”
    Holy heaven. His gaze was steamy. It left no doubt about exactly what he wanted. But she had to ask. “W-what?”
    He stood, balancing on one foot. “Come here.”
    The thread of command, of yearning, in his tone snared her. She couldn’t ignore it. She rounded the table and looked up at him. This close, he was even more mesmerizing. And he smelled…he smelled delicious. His cologne teased her nostrils. Musky and woodsy and manly.
    She stilled as he threaded his fingers through her hair and cupped her cheeks. And then his head descended.
    His lips brushed hers. Nothing more than a soft, sweet buss, but it held a skein of promise, a hint of hunger and a tinge of desperation.
    At her moan, he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth, pressing against her, consuming her. His taste, his essence, flooded her. Desire, wild and reckless, lashed her. Unbidden, a moan rose in her throat. He took it, swallowed it, gave it back.
    He pulled her closer, flush against him. His body was hard and hot. Demanding. A trill of excitement rippled through her as she nudged the thick wedge of his erection.
    Oh, she shouldn’t be doing this, kissing, consuming a man she barely knew like a lust-crazed wanton, but she couldn’t stop. And she kind of was. A lust-crazed wanton.
    Something about this man, his scent, his taste, his essence, curled around her sanity, her core, and sank in with needy claws. She’d kissed a lot of men in her life. But never a kiss like this.
    He slanted his lips and took her from a