Summer Desserts

of spices—perhaps just a tad heavy on the oregano—a good marriage of sauce and crust, the proper handling of cheese and the bite of pepperoni. With the proper use of the senses, almost any meal can be memorable.”
    “With the proper use of the senses,” Blake countered, “other things can be memorable.”
    She reached for her glass again, her eyes laughing over the rim. “We’re speaking of food. Taste, of course, is paramount, but appearance…” He linked his hand with hers and she found herself watching him. “Your eyes tell you first of the desire to taste.” His face was lean, the eyes a deep blue she found continuously compelling….
    “Then a scent teases you, entices you.” His was dark, woodsy, tempting….
    “You hear the way champagne bubbles into a glass and you want to experience it.” Or the way he said her name, quietly.
    “After all this,” she continued in a voice that was beginning to take on a faint huskiness, a faint trace of feeling, “you have the taste, the texture to explore.” And his mouth held a flavor she couldn’t forget.
    “So—” he lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to the palm “—your advice is to savor every aspect of the experience in order to absorb all the pleasure. Then…” Turning her hand over, he brushed his lips, then the tip of his tongue, over her knuckles. “The most basic of desires becomes unique.”
    In an arrow-straight line, the heat shot up her arm. “No experience is acceptable otherwise.”
    “And atmosphere?” Lightly, with just a fingertip, he traced the shape of her ear. “Wouldn’t you agree that the proper setting can enhance the same experience? Candlelight, for instance.”
    Their faces were closer now. She could see the soft shifting light casting shadows, mysteries. “Outside devices can often add more intensity to a mood.”
    “You could call it romance.” He took his fingertip down the length of her jawline.
    “You could.” Champagne never went to her head, yet her head was light. Slowly, luxuriously, her body was softening. She made an effort to remember why she should allow neither to happen, but no answer came.
    “And romance, for some, is another very elemental need.”
    “For some,” he murmured when his lips followed the trail of his fingertip.
    “But not for you.” He nipped at her lips and found them soft, and warm.
    “No, not for me.” But her sigh was as soft and warm as her lips.
    “A practical woman.” He was raising her to her feet so that their bodies could touch.
    “Yes.” She tilted her head back, inviting the exploration of his lips.
    “Candlelight doesn’t move you?”
    “It’s only an attractive device.” She curved her arms up his back to bring him closer. “As chefs, we’re taught that such things can lend the right mood to our meals.”
    “And it wouldn’t matter if I told you that you were beautiful? In the full sun where your skin’s flawless—in candlelight, which turns it to porcelain. It wouldn’t matter,” he continued as he ran a line of moist heat down her throat, “if I told you you excite me as no other woman ever has? Just looking at you makes me want, touching you drives me mad.”
    “Words,” she managed, though her head was spinning. “I don’t need—”
    Then his mouth covered hers. The one long, deep kiss made lies of all her practical claims. Tonight, though she’d never wanted such things before, she wanted the romance of soft words, soft lights. She wanted the slow, savoring loving that emptied the mind and made a furnace of the body. Tonight she wanted, and there was only one man. If tomorrow there were consequences, tomorrow was hours away. He was here.
    She didn’t resist as he lifted her. Tonight, if only for a short while, she’d be fragile, soft. She heard him blow out the candles and the light scent of melted wax followed them toward the bedroom.
    Moonlight. The silvery sorcery of moonlight slipped through the windows. Roses. The fragile fragrance of roses floated on the air. Music. The muted magic of Beethoven drifted in from the apartment below.
    There was a breeze. Summer felt it whisper over her face as he placed her on the bed. Atmosphere, she thought hazily. If she had planned on a night of lovemaking, she could have set the stage no better. Perhaps… She drew him down to join her…. Perhaps it was fate.
    She could see his eyes. Deep blue, direct, involving. He watched her while doing no more than tracing the shape of her