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her first, remembering how she’d felt when she’d first discovered his deception.
    “Ouch!” the woman yelped, removing the ring and returning it to Hannah. “What is going on?”
    Marty shot daggers at her, but she didn’t care. Hannah lowered her voice and looked the woman in the eye. “Honey, he won’t buy you a ring. He’s married with three kids.”
    Mason smiled from his perch in the bar, watching as Hannah sashayed her way into the restaurant five minutes early. He hated to be kept waiting. Especially for something he’d looked so forward to.
    Her soft brown hair fell loosely across her back. He liked it down, long and flowing and begging to be touched. He wanted to touch her so badly he balled his hands into fists at his sides.
    Dropping a few bills on the bar, he slid off his stool. In just a few long strides, he found himself beside her, helping her off with her coat. He indulged himself, allowing his fingers to brush against her hair. It was softer than he’d imagined, like spun silk.
    Her scent wafted toward him, light and floral, like flowers after the rain. How had he missed that before? Had the aroma of detergent or coffee simply washed her out, or had she put it on tonight for him?
    Pulling her coat away from her body, he stepped back and allowed himself a lingering gaze. She was exquisite from head to toe. Her wide-neck sweater kissed at her creamy shoulders, the hazy pale-gray complementing her eyes. He studied the angle of her collarbone, the curve of her neck, the little dip where her throat met her torso. The neck of her sweater sat too high to gift him with a view of cleavage, but he drank in the swells of her breasts beneath the soft fabric.
    His gaze drifted down her body, enjoying the silky look of the black skirt twirling a few inches above her knee. The black tights she wore were disappointing, but the boots made him want to beg for mercy. A toe so pointy it must be painful. Black leather laced up the side all the way to her knee. The thin heels on the boots were at least three inches high. Yowza.
    “Mason?” Her sweet voice snapped him back to reality.
    He cleared his throat, twice, before even trying to say something coherent. “Hmm?” He couldn’t manage more with all the blood in his body occupied south of the border.
    “I asked if you’d been waiting long. I know how much I hate to be kept waiting.”
    With those boots, she almost looked him in the eye. If he wanted to kiss her he could just lean forward. A genius must have designed those things.
    “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
    He cleared his throat again, but before he spoke a hostess arrived and led them to their table. Why Hannah had chosen this restaurant he’d never know. Orchid was a popular Thai place, more family than romantic. And just two blocks from the laundromat. Maybe she wanted to stick close to home.
    “Do you like living downtown?” he managed to ask after cooling his body temperature with the ice water the hostess set before him.
    Her posture straightened. “How do you know where I live?”
    Mason held open his hands. “I don’t. I just assumed. This place, the laundromat and the coffee shop are all within a three-block radius. Something is pulling you this direction.”
    Her expression softened as she relaxed her shoulders. “You shouldn’t assume. All three places are close to the train line as well.”
    He smiled and shook his head. “You’re never going to cut me a break, are you?”
    “Not until you’ve earned it.” She grinned back and took a sip from her own glass. Her ripe mouth mesmerized Mason. He watched her dart her pink tongue between her full lips to swipe a stray drop of water and he spread his legs, allowing more room in his pants. He recalled all too vividly the things she managed with that tongue.
    Mason drained the rest of his water, rattling the ice cubes in the bottom of the glass. After wiping the condensation from the