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mostly done. Just had to rifle through the bedroom to find the appropriate bra…. I stuck my head out the door and almost collided with his chest and shoulders that pretty much took up the whole doorframe. Blinking, I focused on his face. His lips were moving, and he was shuffling from foot to foot, wearing a pained expression.
    “Can I please use the bathroom now?”
    Oh ! My cheeks heated as I exited, and he rushed inside and slammed the door behind him. In seconds I heard the sound of his relief. My brain immediately went there—picturing his hand on that wicked, long, curved shaft. A few seconds passed before I realized he’d soon be flushing and I’d still be standing in the hallway drooling like an idiot. I ran for the bedroom and hit the underwear drawer.
    When I later emerged wearing an entirely new outfit, I found Max leaning against the kitchen counter with beer in hand looking sorta thoughtful. I almost hung back, wanting to study him, find out who this man really was when nobody was looking. Maybe figure out if he really saw anything worthwhile in…me.
    But he must have heard me come down the hall because he glanced up and our gazes met. A shiver ran down my spine. Even fully dressed, and sans the sugar coating, he inspired desire in me. Not many men did that—and certainly not this consistently. I checked his hands to be sure. No, they held no cream puffs. The attraction was all about him. My stomach did a flip-flop and my brain told it to suck it up.
    I took a step closer, and he took two. We met in the center of my lime-green-and-navy kitchen throw rug. I sucked in a breath and nodded toward the bags. “Why aren’t you at the hotel?”
    His gaze roamed down my shirt, parked itself on my breasts temporarily, skidded over my thighs, and finally came up to meet mine. “I promised you dinner.” He licked his lips in a most inviting way.
    Language took a back seat. I squinched up my lips and tried to think of something intelligent to say, but the scent of his sweat and the warmth coming off him had me wanting warm manflesh in my hands and no smart words would come. I froze, unable, though not unwilling to reach out and fulfill my desire in case he really was only offering food. I couldn’t fathom being lucky enough to find a man who wanted a third helping of me. My empty hands closed as he vanquished the distance between us and set his beer on the counter.
    “You hungry, sweetheart?” His hot gaze left a trail on my skin and heated through more than one layer of fabric. The innuendo in his voice was unmistakable. He tucked a stray hair behind my ear with a super-warm finger whose touch promised tingling satisfaction. I held my breath and nodded. “For what?” he whispered.
    I wanted to whimper. Wanted to melt right there on my kitchen floor. I’m good at bravado—up to a certain point—but being interrogated, even by a hottie, or especially by a hottie, turns me shy real quick. And Max’s stare-right-through-me intensity made me very shy, very quick. Made it hard to say that one little word…the one I so badly wanted to say: You . I opened my mouth but he’d started talking again.
    “You see, I know all about hungers. About appetites.” He circled me slowly. Like a tiger using its steamy breath to tenderize its next meal. “And how to satisfy them.”
    Maybe so. But surely I must come off as a rather odd case? I mean, I practically raped a pastry chef at a chamber of commerce event! Was there even help for people like me? Concern and embarrassment had me chewing my lower lip. I wanted badly to look away from his gaze—look anywhere but into his chocolate-drizzled eyes. But as if he could read my thoughts, he placed a finger under my chin and held me captive with that simple touch.
    “All people have appetites,” he stated. “Your appetites, I know how to feed.” He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I will enjoy feeding them. If you will let me.”
    I tried to hide a gulp.