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and my senses (and okay, my libido), instead of my mind. He makes my heart beat faster just being around him, and he’s so freaking gorgeous I’ll be kicking myself for the rest of my life if I don’t at least see where this little flirtation might go. I want this, whatever it is, and him more than I have wanted anything in a long time. I’m never reckless, but for once I want to be.
    â€œNo,” I say, making my decision. “My daughter is sleeping over at a friend’s house so I don’t have to be home by any specific time.”
    â€œGood,” he says with satisfaction. “Do you like sushi?”
    â€œUh, I don’t really know.”
    â€œHow can you not know if you like sushi?”
    â€œI’ve never really had it,” I explain with a shrug.
    â€œWell, Miss Hart, we must see to your education. Are you willing to give it a try?” he asks. “You never know what you might find you have an appetite for,” he adds, that raspiness I heard on the phone creeping back into his voice.
    â€œSure,” I say, although the way he says it makes me feel like he’s talking about more than sushi.
    We end up at a sushi bar that is somehow both hip and luxurious at the same time, with dark wood tables, subtle lighting, bamboo plants, and a long copper topped bar.
    â€œGood evening, Dr. Black,” the hostess greets him warmly. He clearly comes here a lot. “Would you like a seat at the bar?”
    â€œNot today,” he says. “A quiet and private table tonight please.”
    â€œOf course, follow me,” she says, grabbing several menus before leading us to a tall, bar height table for two in what has to be the best location in the restaurant, surrounded by lush bamboo and immensely private.
    Once we’re seated, Beckett says with a faint smile, “I’m a quick learner so I won’t order for you without your permission, but since you’ve never been to a sushi bar perhaps I could make a few suggestions?”
    Since I have glanced at the menu long enough to know that I have no idea what anything is, I smile at him and say magnanimously, “Tonight, I wholeheartedly give you my permission to take charge.”
    A slow smile lights up his face. “Is that so?” he says deliberately. He reaches over and rubs his thumb across my bottom lip, and the intimacy of the gesture makes my stomach flutter. “I will remind you of that later.”
    My breath catches but I’m saved from responding by the arrival of our waiter. Beckett turns his attention to the drink menu, discussing the merits of several different types of sake with the server before ordering a bottle, along with several other things that sound completely foreign to me. A few minutes later, the waiter brings a cold, green glass bottle with Japanese characters on the label to the table along with two cocktail glasses, which he efficiently fills before discreetly disappearing. Suddenly, every nerve in my body is on high alert. Beckett reaches over and in one quick motion pulls my chair toward his until our knees are touching.
    â€œThat’s better,” he says. He lifts one of the glasses and holds it to my lips.
    â€œTaste it,” he commands, and I obediently open my lips, letting the cool, dry liquid slide down my throat.
    â€œIt’s good,” I manage to say, although my voice sounds strangled to my own ears.
    Silently he holds out his hand, palm up. I stare at it, not quite sure what he wants at first, and then tentatively place my hand in his. He smiles at me approvingly as if I’ve passed some sort of test and wraps his fingers around mine, resting our clasped hands on his thigh. I can feel the heat of him through his jeans and my stomach drops.
    â€œI want to know you,” he says simply.
    â€œWell,” I begin. “You already know that I’m a writer, where I’ve been published, and that I get bored easily when waiting