When she opened the door, however, it wasn't a neighbor but Christopher Bishop, a.k.a. the most beautiful man on earth, who stood on her porch.

His hair was just-out-of-the-shower damp. He wore a pale yellow Polo shirt, Docker shorts, bright white socks, and Reebok tennis shoes. A dusting of dark hair was sprinkled on the most gorgeous legs she'd ever seen on any man. And he smelled good enough to eat.

"Good morning," he said with a lopsided grin.

Melanie knew he was talking to her because she saw his lips moving, but she had no idea what he was saying. Her hormones, however, were apparently very aware that Christopher Bishop was in the area. After hibernating for more than a year, those little suckers were suddenly wide awake and anxious to be entertained.

Yesterday, the sight of Christopher Bishop had jump-started them like they'd been shot in the ass. They had started a veritable hormone-cheerleader kickline. Rah rah rah, sis-boom-bah, they yelled at the top of their tiny hormone lungs. Some action. At last.

Melanie rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. So he was gorgeous. So he smelled great. So he was nice. So what? He was a man, and therefore not to be trusted. A man who'd had a date last night, probably with some woman who'd jetted into town between modeling assignments.

She had no time, no space, and no inclination to start something with anyone. Besides, he was holding a bakery bag. Wasn't there some dire warning about men bearing gifts?

He waved his hand in front of her face. "Hello? You okay?"

Melanie mentally shook herself. "I'm fine. Just surprised to see you. Here. So early."

"I figured you were up because there was no newspaper out front." He peered around her. "Is this a bad time?"

"A bad time for what?"

He held up the bakery bag. "Breakfast."

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah. You know, that meal in the morning that starts off your day." He paused. "Can I come in?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Oh boy. I'm in trouble. Big, gigantic, whopper-sized trouble. Six feet, two inches of the most delectable-looking male she'd ever clapped eyes on stood on her porch, wanting to come in. Her hormones let out a cheer and did the wave.

"Who's at the door?" came Nana's gravelly voice. She peered around Melanie. "Why, if it isn't the hunk!" Nana conducted a thorough inspection of their guest. "Wow, Mel, he's got great legs." She sniffed the air. "Do I smell doughnuts?"

Chris nodded. " Boston crème. Fresh from the oven."

Nana elbowed Melanie out of the way. "Well, come on in, honey, and bring your doughnuts. I'll put on some coffee."

He walked into the pale green tiled foyer. "I hope you don't mind me dropping by like this, but I thought you might need some help with your car."

Melanie's common sense suddenly kicked in. He'd brought breakfast and he wanted to fix her car? She narrowed her eyes and told her hormones to pipe down. Something was definitely fishy here. "Why would you want to fix my car?"

A slow, devastating smile touched his lips. "I admit I have an ulterior motive."

"Don't all men?"

He laughed. "More like a proposition."

Uh-oh. This guy probably dated supermodels-hell, be probably broke up with supermodels-and he had a proposition for her? Holy smokes. What if it was one of those propositions like Robert Redford made in Indecent Proposal-a million dollars for one night of naked splendor and unbridled lust?

Near panic set in. A million dollars? She'd never raise that kind of cash. But wait-no, she'd get the money. And get to sleep with him, too. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hormones switched to the Macarena.

"So what do you think?"

I think I've lost my marbles. You showed up and all my brain cells morphed into liquid and drained out of my body. She licked her dust-dry lips. "What do I think about what?"

His dark blue gaze skimmed over her, lingering on her mouth. "My proposition," he said in a deep, velvety voice that reminded Melanie of candlelight, champagne, and bubble baths. "I think it would work out well for both of us."

Her hormones abandoned the Macarena and started dancing the Peppermint Twist.

He stepped closer to her, until only a few inches separated them, his gaze fixed on her mouth. Heat radiated from his muscled body, warming her skin, and she squelched the urge to fan herself with her hand. Jeez, it's hot in here. His woodsy scent wrapped around her like a velvet cloak and it suddenly felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

"You're staring at me," he murmured, "in a very distracting way."

Ohmigod. He was going to kiss her. Right here in the foyer. He lowered his head. She was going to run. She was going to faint. She was going to-

"Coffee's ready!" Nana yelled.

Melanie jumped back with a gasp. Her hormones groaned in protest.

"Coffee's ready," she repeated in a shaky voice.

"Coffee. Right. That's exactly what I wanted. Coffee."

Melanie led him into the kitchen, mentally berating herself the whole way. This guy was dan-ger-ous. Yipes. Another second and he would have kissed her. If not for Nana's announcement, Melanie knew she would, at this very moment, be on the receiving end of what she had no doubt would have been a mind-blowing kiss. She could almost feel the warm caress of his sensuous mouth. Drat! I mean, good thing Nana spoke when she did. Her lips still tingled at the thought.

"Nice place," he said, settling his tall frame into one of the chintz-patterned chairs. "Very homey and cozy."

Melanie arranged the doughnuts on a serving plate while Nana poured the coffee into thick blue and yellow mugs.

"Mel was kind enough to let me move in with her a couple years back," Nana said. "I used to live in one of those retirement places in Florida, but I hated it. Nothin' but a bunch of hypochondriac old fogeys down there." She bit into a chocolate-iced doughnut and hummed her appreciation.

Sipping her coffee, Melanie stole glimpses of Chris over the edge of her mug. He carried on an easy banter with Nana, telling her about his three married sisters and his younger brother. He genuinely seemed to enjoy her company.

Melanie hadn't dated much since breaking off her engagement to her philandering ex-fiancé over a year ago. In fact she'd gone on exactly three dates, all of them disasters, all forced on her by well-meaning friends. Aside from the fact that she hadn't wanted to date those men in the first place, her biggest problem with them was that they all objected to Nana.

None of them, including Todd, her ex-fiancé, would spare Nana more than a quick hello. Todd considered her a troublesome old lady, and the three dates had grumbled that Nana cramped their style. Well, Nana was not only Melanie's roommate, she was Melanie's best friend. And if you didn't like Nana, then the heck with ya.

But that didn't seem to be the case with Chris. He and Nana were yakking like they'd known each other for years. His warm, easygoing manner and teasing smile were a true surprise to Melanie. He couldn't really be a nice guy, could he? All that male pulchritude and nice? Nah. Impossible.

He threw back his head and laughed at something Nana said, and Melanie shook her head in wonder. If he wasn't nice, he was doing a damn good imitation of it. Darn it! He had to be a creep. She wanted him to be a creep. She needed a reason to tell him to get lost so her hormones would sit down and shut up.

He and Nana burst out laughing again, and Melanie's heart squeezed. Her common sense told her this was bad. Exceedingly bad. Her hormones broke out into a rousing chorus of "Our Day Will Come."

"Did you say something, dear?" Nana asked.

Melanie started out of her reverie. "Huh?"

"You were mumbling. Something about hormones." Nana peered at her over her bifocals. "Are you okay? You look flushed."

Melanie grabbed a doughnut. "I'm fine. The coffee's making me hot." Yup. The coffee's making me hot. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

They polished off the doughnuts in record time. Chris helped load the dishwasher, a gesture that sent Nana into a near swoon. When they finished cleaning up, Nana enfolded Chris in one of her famous bone-crushing hugs. "Any man who brings doughnuts and loads the dishwasher is okay in my book." She clapped him on the back with such enthusiasm that he almost fell down. "You're welcome at Casa Gibson anytime, young man." In a loud aside to Melanie, she added, "Don't let this one get away. He's a real honey. Great legs, too." She patted her frizzy hair. "Well, I'd better go fix myself up and set my hair. See you young folks later."

Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. Ten more minutes and Nana would be hinting about something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Chris leaned his hips against the gleaming white countertop and smiled. "Your nana is quite a character."

Melanie's hackles rose. No one insulted Nana and got away with it. "Character? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey! Relax. I meant she's great. Very funny. I like her a lot."

Drat. He liked Nana. Didn't think she was a pest. And Nana obviously liked him. Why couldn't he have said what her last date said? Something to the effect that Nana was a crazy old bag. Then she could have sizzled him with a withering glance and told her hormones to take a hike. She glanced over at him. His profile was awesome. She needed a cold shower.

"So, do you want to observe while I look at your car," Chris asked, "or are you going to whip up some dessert?"

"Dessert? We just ate breakfast!"

"I meant for the cookout."