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gentle mind games he'd been playing earlier, she knew something was awry.
       Hell! Something was awry, all right! Since when was he entranced by softness, and femininity, and grace? If he didn't know better, he'd have said she was the one messing with his head.
       Nate dumped the pasta into the drainer, cursing softly to himself. This wasn't supposed to be how it happened. He was here for simple, straightforward, recreational sex. Not that that wasn't still what he wanted—he wanted it with a vengeance. It was just that his emotions weren't supposed to be involved, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be getting the warm fuzzies over a woman who appeared to be some modern version of Doris Day. Nice, and wholesome.
       He shook his head abruptly, totally annoyed with himself. He was making her sound like some kind of food group, not a luscious woman he just couldn't keep his eyes off.

Chapter Four

    Gina fidgeted with her cutlery, twirling her fork aimlessly between her fingers. When she noticed herself doing it, she used sheer mule-headed will power to force her hands to rest quietly in her lap. A few minutes later, she'd find herself playing with her wine glass, or her napkin, or the saltshaker, and the cycle would start all over again. She'd force her hands to her lap, only to find herself restlessly moving something else within moments.
       This was so unlike her and, if anything, she was curious at the reaction he was causing. She certainly couldn't recall ever being so nervous around a man before, and definitely not in the exact same way that Nate made her nervous.
       Really nervous.
       She was no virgin, but nor could she say she'd ever
    been quite so aroused by something as simple as the single sideways glance he'd just cast her way. His eyes had been somehow…veiled—more an impression than a reality, she thought—but the heat in them had seared her, reducing her to a pile of ashes.
       Very needy ashes, but ashes nonetheless. She couldn't imagine finding the energy to stand up and move away from the table ever again. Which was a pity, really. A single smoldering glance from those amazing eyes and all she could imagine was herself and Nate reduced to a tangled jumble of naked limbs on crisp linen sheets.
       She wanted him, she longed for him. Her whole body was a blaze of electricity—surely he could see the tiny sparks glittering every time her skin brushed lightly over anything? The scrape of the tablecloth on her thighs was an unbearable mix of pleasure and pain, and the solid coolness of her fork in her hand was a pure torture to her overstressed senses.
       She'd be certain it couldn't get any worse, positive it was nothing but her imagination's sex-starved response to having a genuinely handsome man sitting across from her at the table, then he'd look at her. A slow sweep from under those disgustingly long lashes, the darkness of his eyes seemingly beckoning her to him, drawing her closer, swallowing her, consuming her. Then he'd smile—a slow, ruthless smile—and somehow the intensity of the moment would glide away as easily as mercury, leaving no trace of its presence.
       All she was left with was a gnawing sense of need, and a body demanding relief. Immediate relief. She wasn't sure she could sit through dessert without incinerating.
       An interesting concept, that… Was it actually possible for her body to get any hotter than it was, or for the fine hairs on her arms to be any more affected by the prickle of electrical current than they already were? She doubted it, but shifted uneasily in her seat at the idea.
       Her nipples had hardened, were scraping against her bra, and she could feel an embarrassing trickle of fluid between her legs. She just didn't get like this. All horny and aroused and…desperate. She wanted him inside her like she'd never wanted another man. Her pulse was throbbing out her need, and she could feel a faint flush spreading across