Midnight Bayou

away. “I need to know if you do.”
    She looked down at his hand, back to his face. “Why is that?”
    “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t get you out of my head, from under my skin. Because every time I see you, my heart kicks in my chest.”
    “You’re good at that, too. At saying things that stir a woman up.” If it had just been that, just a matter of being stirred by him, she might have eased in between those long legs and satisfied them both. But this wasn’t a simple man, she thought.
    Being with him wouldn’t be simple.
    “Eat your eggs,” she told him, and slid her hand free of his. “Why are you starting with the kitchen if you eat peanut butter and don’t have a single dish to your name?”
    “I’ve got dishes, just not the kind you wash. The kitchen’s the heart of a house. The house where I grew up—this big, old wonderful house with big, wonderful rooms. We had that cook, but it was the kitchen where we ended up if there was a crisis or a celebration, or just something to talk over. I guess I want that here.”
    “That’s nice.” She leaned back on a cabinet to study him. “You want to have sex with me, cher ?”
    His pulse lurched, but he managed to hop nimbly off the sawhorse. “Sure. Just let me kick the plumber out.” He loved the way she laughed. “Oh, you didn’t meanright this minute. That was, what, like a true or false type of question. Let me check.” He laid his fingers on his wrist. “Yeah, I’m still alive, so the answer is true.”
    She shook her head, took the empty bowl from him and dumped it in the box he was using for trash. “You’re an interesting man, Declan. And I like you.”
    “Uh-oh. Hold on a minute.” He glanced around, picked up the screwdriver lying on a plank. “Here you go,” he said as he handed it to her.
    “What’s this for?”
    “So you can plunge it into my heart when you tell me you just want to be friends.”
    “I bet Jessica’s still kicking herself for letting you slip away. I do want to be friends.” She turned the screwdriver in her hand, then set it down again. “I don’t know yet if I just want to be friends. I have to think about it.”
    “Okay.” He took her arms, ran his hands up to her shoulders. “Think about it.”
    She didn’t try to pull away, but lifted her face so his lips could meet hers. She liked the easy glide from warmth to heat, the fluid ride offered by a man who took his time.
    She understood desire. A man’s. Her own. And she knew some of those desires could be sated only in quick, hot couplings in the dark.
    From time to time, she’d sated hers in just that fashion.
    There was more here, and it came like a yearning. Yearnings, even met, could cause a pain desire never could.
    Still, she couldn’t resist laying her hands on his face, letting the kiss spin out.
    Inside her, deep inside her, something sighed.
    “Angelina.”
    He said her name, a whisper of sound, as he changed the angle of the kiss. As he deepened it. A thousand warnings jangled in her brain and were ignored. She gaveherself over for one reckless moment, to the heat, to the need. To the yearning.
    Then she drew back from all of it. “That’s something to think about, all right.”
    She pressed a hand to his chest when he would have pulled her into him again. “Settle down, cher .” She gave him a slow, sleepy smile. “You’ve got me worked up enough for one day.”
    “I was just getting started.”
    “I believe it.” She let out a breath, pushed her hair back. “I’ve got to go. I’m working the bar tonight.”
    “I’ll come in. Walk you home.”
    However calm his voice, his eyes had storms in them. The sort, she imagined, that would provide a hell of a thrill before they crashed over your head. “I don’t think so.”
    “Lena. I want to be with you. I want to spend time with you.”
    “Want to spend time with me? You take me on a date.”
    “A date?”
    “The kind where you pick me up at my door and take me out to a fancy dinner.” She tapped a finger on his chest. “Take me dancing after, then walk me back to my door and kiss me good-night. Can you handle that?”
    “What time do you want me to pick you up?”
    She smiled, shook her head. “I’m working tonight. I got Monday night off. Place isn’t so busy Monday nights. You pick me up at eight.”
    “Monday. Eight o’clock.”
    He grabbed her arms again, jerked her against him. There was no glide into heat this time, but a