She bit her lower lip as an illicit, liquid warmth cascaded over her and pooled between her thighs. She had no choice but to believe him. Shewanted to believe that making love could be so thrilling, so impetuous, so rapturous.

Too soon, he lifted his hand from hers, slowly dragging it out of the cake and away. She flinched in startled surprise when his sticky, gooey fingers touched her mouth.

"And this is how good sextastes," he murmured huskily as he smeared the luscious concoction along her bottom lip. "Sweet, heady,euphoric. Taste it, Jessie, and see for yourself."

His sexy words tempted her. Unable to stop herself, her tongue darted out, slowly licking away the confection.

This is how good sex tastes.

His promise rumbled through her mind, and suddenly, one taste wasn't enough. "I want more," she said in a low, breathy voice.

His finger returned, gently pressing down on her bottom lip until they parted and she took him inside the damp heat of her mouth. Removing her own hand from the cake, she grabbed his wrist so he couldn't pull back while she tormented him the same way he'd done to her. Heedless of the mess they were smearing everywhere, she nibbled the chocolate and caramel from his fingers, then leisurely stroked and swirled her tongue along each individual digit in an instinctive, up-and-down rhythm. She felt him shudder and heard him let out a hiss of breath in response.

She heard him swear, felt him try and tug his hand back, but she held firm. Her hunger had become a rapacious thing, and it wasn't for cake and sweets, but for the need to experienceslippery, sensual, erotic sex. With Ryan.

She felt his body shift in front of her, wedging himself more intimately between her thighs, and then his mouth was on hers, urgent and insistent, and she relinquished his fingers for the pleasure of his kiss.

And from there, everything went wild and out of control. He swept an arm around her back and hauled her up against his body, forcing her legs wider to accommodate his hips and the unyielding press of his fierce erection against her aching cleft. They were fused from lips to thighs, and she still wasn't close enough.

Spearing her cake-encrusted fingers into the warm, thick hair at the nape of his neck, she arched into him, opening her mouth wider beneath his to accept the hot, sexual thrusts of his tongue. One of his hands mimicked her move, cupping the back of her head, threading through the hair that wasn't restrained by the blindfold. The fingers of his other hand caressed her jaw, her throat, and skimmed lower until he held the full weight of her breast in his palm. He kneaded the mound of flesh, searing her with breathtaking heat. His thumb flicked across the diamond-hard nipple straining against her cotton shirt, plucked the tip delicately, and a needy moan escaped her.

Feverish desire clawed at her, submersing her deeper under Ryan's spell. Being blindfolded and ravished was like being swept up into a dark, forbidden fantasy. The thrill of it was liberating.

Unexpectedly, he lifted his lips from hers, putting her system in immediate withdrawal. Their breath mingled in rapid bursts, and he threw her off-kilter again when he pressed an achingly light and tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Go out with me," he rasped.

"No," she groaned automatically, so used to rejecting him that it had become second nature.

He swooped in for another kiss, this one slower than the last, more persuasive, more possessive. "One date," he uttered once he let her up for air.

Her resolve crumbled a fraction. "Maybe."

He took her under again, thoroughly consuming her mouth until her lips felt swollen and devoured. He brushed his knuckles over her erect nipples, teasing and tormenting her. He moved on, trailing kisses along her jaw. His fingers pulled down the collar of her turtleneck so he had access to nuzzle her throat.

She shuddered uncontrollably at the hot, wet glide of his tongue across her skin, and whimpered as he drew her flesh between his teeth for a love bite.

"Dinner and drinks." His hoarse, urgent whisper scalded her ear. "Say yes, Jessie."

Dizzy from the blindfold, faint and flushed from his sensual assault, she obeyed his command. "Yes."

She stiffened, just as the phone on the kitchen counter rang.

Oh, God, had she really surrendered and said yes to Ryan Matthews?

The phone pealed again. She didn't move, and neither did Ryan, though she could hear his heavy, labored breathing, could feel the virile heat radiating off him, and smell what she now knew was the scent of goodsex… sweet, heady, euphoric.

Silently, she cursed the blindfold that had completely stripped away her restraints and inhibitions. Unable to see Ryan, her feminine wants and needs had taken precedence over the fact that this man before her was all wrong for her.

Her answering machine clicked on, and her voice echoed in the quiet kitchen with a brief outgoing message, followed by a shrill beep.

"Hi, Jess, it's Brooke," her sister said, sounding upbeat and cheerful. "I received an invitation in the mail today for a New Year's Eve party at Ryan Matthews', and I'm assuming you got one, too. I also wanted to talk to you about Christmas. Give me a call tonight at home or tomorrow at the office. Love ya."

The line disconnected, and the answering machine clicked off.

Unexpected guilt swamped Jessica, as if her sister had personally caught her in a naughty act. And she was very naughty for consorting with the enemy, for allowing him to breach her well-constructed barriers. With pleasure infusing her veins, she'd forgotten one important issue while he'd coaxed her into agreeing to go out on a date with him-she didn't like divorce attorneys.

But she liked Ryan. Wanted him. Desired him.

His long fingers slipped beneath the band of silk concealing her vision and lifted it over her head. She squinted as the bright kitchen light pierced her eyes and her pupils contracted. Gradually, her gaze focused. On the man standing in front of her, who was watching her guardedly. On the disarray of baked goods around the table. Crumbs littered the table, thefloor, and her jeans. There was cake and filling everywhere-on his shirt, his face, arm, and hands. She hadn't survived the attack, either. Her cheek was sticky, as were her fingers. And she had a white hand-print on her shirt, outlining her breast.

She dragged a shaky hand through her hair, and winced as her fingers tangled in a clump of frosting stuck to the strands. "What a mess…"she'd made ofthings, her conscience finished for her.

Oh, Lord, staring into his intense, deep-brown eyes, she was so utterly confused. Undoubtedly, her emotions were tangled up in the passion he inspired, making her forget all the reasons why it would be so foolish to let herself get any more involved with him.

She fabricated a smile. "You win," she conceded, scooting off the table.

He stepped to the side out of her way, but continued to eye her cautiously, as if he knew just how skittish she'd become now that she'd had time to assess what they'd done. "What's the prize?"

"Proving me wrong." Desperately, she tried to affect a business demeanor, which was difficult to do when her body still throbbed and ached for something that would never happen with Ryan.

Slippery, sensual, erotic sex.

She pressed a hand to still the fluttering in her belly at that thought, and smudged more frosting on her clothing. She grimaced. She needed a shower, and she needed distance from this man who threatened everything from her sanity to her beliefs.

"Vanilla is by far the most bland and boring cake I've ever tasted," she admitted, knowing it would be ridiculous for her to say otherwise, not after being such a glutton with the flavors he'd brought. "How about we order three of those cakes. Is that variety enough for you?"

"Sure." He didn't smirk or exult over the fact that he'd gained her acquiescence. Instead, he tipped his head, regarding her with warm concern. "You pick which ones."

Ignoring the silent question in his eyes that asked if she was okay, she glanced at the assortment of half-eaten desserts on the table. She was far from okay, but she'd be much better once he left and she scrambled to put her priorities back in line.

Which didn't includeslippery, sensual, erotic sex with Ryan Matthews.

Selecting only three flavors was a difficult task, especially when they'd all been so delicious. "How about we go with strawberries and cream, the champagne cake, and butter brickle?" She deliberately kept the names short and precise, without the sexy labels he'd used to describe them.

"Good choices," he said as a too-intimate smile curved his mouth. "Though I think the Better Than Sex Cake would be a great conversation piece for the guests."

Unwilling to let him think she couldn't handle ordering that particular cake because of the sensual memories it evoked, she gave an uncaring shrug. "I'll add it to the order."

An awkward silence fell between them, rife with sexual and emotional undercurrents-neither of which Jessica wanted to bring out in the open and discuss.

She grappled for an excuse to end the evening with Ryan. "I, uh, need to take a shower. I have frosting and cake everywhere." She waved a hand toward the mess on the table. "Just leave everything and I'll clean it up later. When you're done washing up, lock the door behind you."

Without giving him an opportunity to reply or a chance to postpone his departure, she made a beelinedown the hall and sought the private sanctuary of her bedroom.


* * *

Ryan released a long stream of breath that did little to ease the self-reproach twisting inside him. He wasn't going anywhere, not until he'd cleaned up the messhe'd made of things. With Jessica.

He'd rushed her. Overwhelmed her. And that had never been his intent. He'd merely meant to show her how fantastic the chemistry was between them, and open her up to the possibility of giving him a fair chance at being something more than a party-planning buddy.

She'd definitely been a willing partner in what had transpired on this very table-lush, wanton and uninhibited. Her compliance had been genuine, her enthusiastic response to his kisses and caresses unfeigned. But her body and mind weren't in harmony, and that was the crux of their problem.

While his seductive demonstration had succeeded in stripping Jessica of her physical reserve, it hadn't completely diminished her reluctance to trust him. She harbored doubts and fears that stretched beyond wallowing in sexual gratification. And for a reason that he hadn't completely sorted out yet in his own head, hewanted her trust-just as much as he wanted to make love to her and introduce her to all the pleasures she'd been denied.

He knew if he left now as she'd insisted, he'd give her the perfect opportunity to retreat and shore up those defenses of hers. And that wouldn't do. He'd merely scratched the surface of Jessica's complexities, and he wasn't through discovering the depth of those fascinating layers.

With his next strategy filtering through his mind, he set about tidying up the kitchen. Most of the small cakes were destroyed from their taste test, and weren't worth saving. He tossed the remnants and boxes in the trash, wiped down the table, and picked up the crumbs that had fallen on the floor. Then he went into the bathroom he found off the living room and scrubbed his hands and arms free of dried frosting and cake. He rinsed the confection from his face, and decided there wasn't anything he could do about his hair until he took his own shower at home.

If things had ended more positively, he might be sharing Jessica's shower with her, he thought with a rueful smile at himself in the mirror. The image of her naked and wet, with water sluicing down the sleek curves she hid, invaded his musings. The vivid fantasy caused a liquid heat to rush to his groin. He swore and splashed cold water over his face.

A half an hour later, Jessica finally exited her bedroom and found him reclining against the tiled counter with a bottle of cold water in his hand, and the kitchen spotless.

She came to an abrupt stop when she saw him. Wariness instantly colored her eyes, made more strikingly blue by her freshly scrubbed face and the damp strands of honey-blond hair falling haphazardly to her shoulders. She wore an old terry robe that swallowed her up in the folds of worn material, from neck to ankles. On her feet were a pair of pink house slippers.

And in that moment, she appeared incredibly vulnerable to him.