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said. She slipped her coat off her shoulders and placed it on the bar stool next to her, not noticing—or not caring—when it slid onto the floor.
    “Good idea.” He could use something to take the edge off as the rational side of his brain—the one he listened to without fail—argued with his cock over whether or not he should throw caution to the wind or throw Alyssa out on her delectable ass.
    Right now, the jury was still out. “I’ve got Scotch,” he said, retrieving a bottle of Lagavulin from the liquor cabinet. “And a bottle of this cabernet. I think it’s decent. I got it as a gift.”
    Alyssa took the bottle and eyed the label. Her appreciative “Ooh” made him wonder what noises she’d make if he buried his tongue in her pussy.
    Logic was losing out to lust, big-time.
    He poured himself three fingers of the Lag and dug a wineglass from the back of a cabinet. He filled it half full and handed it to Alyssa, making sure not to touch her as he did so.
    “Let’s go outside,” he said, motioning to the French doors that opened off the kitchen to a small deck overlooking his patch of grass that served as a backyard. Sipping her wine, Alyssa went over to the deck’s railing and rested her knee on the built-in bench at the edge.
    His eyes were glued to the skin of her back, left bare by her dress, glowing silver in the moonlight. His mouth watered with the urge to brush her long, thick hair aside and run his tongue along the shallow groove of her spine, up over her shoulders, and back down.
    He moved closer, catching her scent. Like an animal. He’d never felt this, the craving to take a woman, to have her, over and over.
    And he hadn’t so much as kissed her yet.
    She had to go.
    The Lag was starting to do its job, mellowing him out, dulling the edges of everything, including his defenses against the unwarranted desire for this woman.
    “Listen,” he began, “I don’t do this kind of thing very often—”
    “What? Have a drink on your deck or take random women home with you?”
    “The second,” he said, an involuntary smile pulling at his mouth.
    She turned to face him, the light spilling from his kitchen bouncing off the delicate lines of her face. “Me neither. Go home with random men, I mean.”
    He didn’t bother to hide his disbelief.
    “Believe what you want.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “It’s true.”
    Fine, he’d humor her. Then he’d let her finish her drink and offer her a ride home.
    No matter how much his dick throbbed in protest.
    “Oh, yeah? So why me?” He tossed back the last of his Scotch.
    She gave him a wry smile. “There’s something about you that’s different from most men I meet. Something that makes me want to be with you.”
    He thought he heard something in her tone, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it through the soft haze of the Scotch and the sudden rush of heat that blew through him as she eased closer, close enough for him to feel heat radiating off her in waves.
    Hands were tugging at his lapels. “Come down here,” she whispered. “I can’t kiss you all the way up there.”
    Oh, this was such a bad idea. But he sat down on the bench and pulled her between his parted thighs, spreading his palms on the hot skin of her back.
    “That’s better.” Her hands cradled his face, and her wine-scented breath caressed his mouth as she leaned in for a kiss.
    Heat exploded through him at the first touch, and his fingers tightened around her back as he pulled her close. She tasted like peaches, he thought as his tongue slid into her mouth—peaches and something dark and rich and spicy.
    The curve of her hip pressed against his thigh, and the softness of her belly cradled the hard ridge of his erection. His mouth opened wider over hers, his tongue thrusting inside. Not the light, introductory, how-you-doing kiss she’d started.
    He half expected her to pull away—little slip like her probably wasn’t expecting an assault from a