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it been for you?”
    “That’s not really any of your business.”
    “How long?”
    “Not quite two years.” One year, eleven months, two weeks and three days, not that she was counting or anything.
    “So you wanted me to be your Mr. Wrong,” he said. “To break your not-quite-two-year dry spell with some hot sex.” He arched his brow. “Were there any particulars? Special requests? Kinks?”
    She sighed. “Do you have to be crude?”
    “Oh, baby, if you think that’s crude, then we’re going to be in trouble when we get down to the doing.”
    “I’m not doing! Not with you!” She covered her face. “I’m over it.”
    He put a hand on either side of her hips. “But you wanted to. With me.”
    “Could you shut up now?” she begged. “Please?”
    “I’ve got a better idea.” His mouth nuzzled at her jaw and she attempted not to melt. “How about I keep my mouth busy with other things? God, something smells delicious.”
    “It’s not me, it’s the stuff in that mixing bowl.”
    He lifted the bowl. “What is it?”
    “Organic honey cream. Sort of.” It was a skin repair formula, and also a cell rejuvenation. Magic lotion, really.
    “Organic?” There was a light in his eyes that made her nipples tingle. “As in edible?”
    “I s-suppose.”
    “I like honey.” He smiled, and it was so wicked she quivered. He dipped a finger into the bowl.
    “ Jacob—”
    “I leave for New Orleans tomorrow, so that is your last chance at the whole Mr. Wrong experiment.”
    “Oh. Well. I don’t think—”
    Which was the last thing she got out before his mouth claimed hers. And while he distracted her with his very talented tongue, he gently urged her legs open and stepped between them, putting their bodies up flush together.
    Oh, God. “This is such a bad idea,” she managed as he took his lips on a tour over her jaw.
    “This kind of bad is good.” He took his finger, the one he’d dipped in the lotion, and touched it to her throat, then leaned in and licked it off. “Yum.”
    Dizzy, she clutched at him, holding him so tight to her that he couldn’t have gotten away if he’d wanted to. “I really think we should take a moment and discuss this.”
    “Okay,” he said agreeably, against her flesh. “You go ahead and discuss.”
    “You sh-should know, I might just be using you for the fantasy I’ve had since high school. The one where I was the girl in the empty classroom with you.”
    “Use me,” he murmured, his tongue taking a hot lick at the dip in the hollow of her throat. “You locked the door, right?”
    “No.”
    “I got it.” He slipped the lock and kissed her again.
    God, he was a great kisser. The king of great kissers. Greedy yet generous, soft yet firm, hot and wet but not too wet, and while he was going about rendering her incapable of remembering her own name, he undid the buttons on her blouse, letting out a low, appreciative throaty groan at the sight of her white lace demi bra, which was doing its job of holding up and displaying—until he unhooked it, that is. Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to the full curves plumping out of the top of the lace as he dipped his fingers into the lotion again.
    “Jacob—” The word choked off as he painted the honey lotion over her bared breasts, following up with his mouth as his very busy hands skimmed down her legs and then back up again, taking the material of her skirt up with them.
    Her pulse skittered. “I don’t know about—”
    “You taste better than the honey.”
    “Thanks, but—”
    “You never answered my question. Just hot sex? Or . . .” With a naughty bad boy grin, he flipped on the vibrating mixer at her hip and wriggled his eyebrows. “Extra stuff?”
    She took a big gulp as he nudged her blouse off one shoulder. The soft material of his shirt was stretched taut over his leanly muscled chest, loose over his belly, which she could feel beneath her fingers, fingers that somehow slipped beneath the tee to