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that.
    “I couldn’t help it.” His wink was playful. “Cooking for you kept you on my mind all day. What you might like. What textures might delight you. How you’ll respond when my food hits your tongue.”
    If she didn’t have a good grip on him, she probably would have slid to the floor. Oh. My.
    “I see,” she managed to say with a dry throat, trying to banish Peggy’s cautionary words—and her own—from her mind so she could enjoy the moment.
    “It’s also a I’m glad you’re not in jail for the stunt on the fire truck today kiss.”
    She cleared her throat, praying he wouldn’t say anything more—like he knew she was a stalker and needed serious medication. “Me too.”
    He helped her out of her coat, brushing errant curls down her back. Then he took her hand and led her into his loft-style apartment. It had high industrial ceilings, and the main floor boasted a family room and kitchen area separated by an island surrounded by bar stools.
    She reached down to say hello to his bulldog, Mutt, who lay drooling on the rug, as they passed the leather sofa. Like everything in his trendy loft, the walls were black, white, and gray. Brian clearly didn’t mess with color. Even his artwork had a monochromatic feel. She felt the urge to add a bop of red paint to the wall-size landscape of a foggy Paris bridge.
    The kitchen was serious business with stainless steel appliances, black granite countertops, and a mega-industrial stove. He had canisters meticulously printed with the names of herbs and baking ingredients. Man, he had four kinds of flour—pastry, white, wheat, and rye.
    He tugged her over to the stove. “I made chicken fricassee, potatoes with a beurre blanc sauce mixed with fresh parsley, and a watercress salad with orange segments and honey bourbon pecans.”
    She’d thought she was putty in his arms? Try a puddle at his feet. “Wow! You’re going to spoil me.”
    “Come taste.”
    The smell of onions, wine, and herbs blended with roasted chicken wafted up at her, making her mouth water. He held the wooden spoon to her lips and placed a gentle hand on her waist. She opened her mouth, acutely aware of his touch, feeling a little off balance. He was feeding her like they were characters in a silent film about the Roman Empire, sans the succulent grapes.
    The creamy sauce just about exploded her taste buds. “Yumalicious.”
    “Is that a Jill-ism?”
    “Maybe.”
    The sauce’s seductive flavor only inflamed her desire for him—a lifetime of repressed feelings. She linked her arms around his neck again and brushed her lips across his, wanting more, needing it. She ran her fingers across the base of his skull, and he tilted his head to make the kiss deeper. A wooden spoon clattered to the counter. The stove’s heat only added to the rising burn in her body. She yanked her mouth free.
    “God! I love kissing you.” The connection, the texture, the heat was even better than she’d remembered.
    “Yeah,” he murmured against her neck, sending chilly bumps down her legs.
    “And I’m going to absolutely love being able to do it any time I want.” Dating and kissing. Learning about each other. Peggy was right. Let things take some time. Evolve. She almost snorted. God, she sucked at that.
    Those warm lips nipped her chin. “That’s not all I want to do.”
    Her nerves came back, full force. She wasn’t ready to make love with him. There were things she needed to know first. His past. How he felt about her. Where he wanted this to go. Her mind wandered away from the kiss.
    Brian must have sensed the change in her mood because he ran his hands up and down her spine and stepped back. “I know you don’t care much for wine, so let me grab you a beer. Then I’ll finish everything up.” He’d set the bar for two. Even stuck flowers in a clear blue vase. The cloth napkins surprised her.
    “Can I help?” she asked when he placed a frothy beer mug in front of her after pouring an ale into