She stared at him. "What cookout?"

He stared back at her. "The cookout at my mother's house. Today. At two o'clock."

She shook her head. "I'm drawing a blank. Am I supposed to know about this?"

He laid his hand on her forehead. "Hmmm. No fever, but your short-term memory is shot."

Melanie stepped back from his disturbing touch. No fever? Coulda fooled her. She felt like she was melting from the inside out. "Refresh my memory."

"My proposition. I fix your car, and you come with me to the family cookout. I need a date so my mother doesn't try to fix me up with every single woman within a fifty-mile radius." He paused. "And we need to bring dessert."

Melanie cocked a brow at him. "Wow. What a romantic invitation. Be still my heart."

A devilish gleam sparkled in his eyes. He took her hand, entwined their fingers, and placed a warm kiss on the palm of her hand. "You want romance?"

"Yes. I mean No! I mean stop kissing my hand." She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held on tight, his eyes glittering with unmistakable mischief.

"Nana seemed to like the idea," he said. "She can't wait to go."

"Nana?" Melanie croaked. "My Nana? When did she agree to this?"

Chris shook his head. "It's terrible how the heat affects some people," he said, his expression filled with pity. "I told you in the foyer. Before breakfast. Nana and I discussed the plans while we were eating. Where were you?"

"I was, er, preoccupied, I guess."

"Well, you seem lucid now. So what do you say?" He dipped his head and looked up at her, a look no breathing woman could possibly be immune to. "C'mon. Nana already said yes. And you'd really be doing me a favor."

"Favor? Well, I guess so. I'd say I owe you one. Probably two, if you're the scorekeeping sort."

He ran his index finger down the bridge of her nose, causing a legion of chills to skitter down her spine. "I'm the scorekeeping sort, and you owe me three," he said softly.

"Three! How do you figure that?"

"One for blocking in my car, one for my ruined suit, and one for jump-starting your car. That's three."

"I gave you chicken, so you're down to two."

"I gave you a ride home. Three."

"I invited you in for breakfast. Two."

"I brought Boston crème doughnuts. Three."

Melanie shook her head. "Oh, all right. Three. Sheesh. You sound more like a lawyer than an accountant."

He shot her a woebegone look that reminded Melanie of a sad puppy.

"Hey!" she protested, suppressing a grin. "Quit looking at me like that. I bet you practice that look in front of the mirror. No fair."

"I'm desperate. My mother wants to fix me up with some woman who has got two heads, breathes fire, and could eat me in one gulp." He chucked her under her chin. "Come on," he coaxed. "It'll be fun. And you'll get your car fixed for your trouble."

Melanie narrowed her eyes. "If, and I do mean if I save your sorry butt from the 'dragon lady,' then you have to call us even on the favor thing."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mel Gibson."

"Damn straight. And I have to be home early. I need to gather some papers for an appointment tomorrow morning."

He held out his hand. "Deal."

Melanie shook his hand, trying to ignore the zing of pleasure that zoomed up her arm at his touch. "Deal. Now haul it outside and fix my car."

He clicked his heels together and saluted her. "Aye, aye, Captain." He brushed past her, then paused in the doorway. "About dessert-Nana said she'd bake a cheesecake, so anything chocolate would be great." Flashing her a deadly grin and a big wink, he left. The front door closed several seconds later.

Melanie collapsed in a chair and waved her hand in front of her face in a hopeless effort to cool off.

Yup. She was in trouble for sure.


* * *

An hour later, Melanie stepped outside into the oppressive heat carrying a frosted mug of lemonade. Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the sight that greeted her eyes. The only part of Chris that was visible were his legs. The rest of him was under her car. As much as she didn't want to, Melanie couldn't help but admire those muscular, tanned male legs.

Walking up to him, she tapped his Reebok with her Nike. "I brought you something to drink."

She watched him scoot out, moving sideways like a sand crab. When his head was clear, he stood up and wiped his dirty hands with an equally dirty rag. He was sweaty, rumpled, and sported a smudge of something black on his jaw. How could he possibly look so incredibly sexy?

He took the proffered lemonade and drained it in a series of nonstop gulps that drew Melanie's attention to the strong column of his tanned throat. When he finished, he touched the cold mug to his forehead. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Want some more?"

He shook his head. "Not now, thanks."

The proximity of his glistening skin was having a strange effect on her stomach. Stepping away from him, she asked, "How's it going?"

"Good. I just finished changing the oil. I gave you a complete tune-up and your battery is hooked up to my recharger. All that's left is changing the spark plugs." He indicated the opened hood with a jerk of his head. "Wanna watch?"

"Sure, but I have to warn you: I know diddly squat about cars."

"That's okay. I know diddly squat about making dessert."

Melanie followed him to the front of the car, watching him open a package of what she assumed were spark plugs. She wasn't sure what fascinated her more-the ease with which he selected foreign-looking items from his toolbox, or the way his muscles bunched and flexed while he worked. Whatever it was, she was soon thoroughly engrossed, and surprisingly curious.

She leaned over the engine with him, watching his every move, and asked a hundred questions.

"What's that little do-flickit?"

"That's the air filter," he said, screwing a spark plug into place.

"How about that thingamabob there?"

"The carburetor."

"I've heard of that. What's it do?"

"It vaporizes liquid fuel and controls its mixing with air for combustion in the engine."

"Uh-huh. And the English translation of that is…?"

"It makes the car go vroooomm."

"Ah."

She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Whew. It sure is hot out here."

Chris snuck a glance at her and nodded in mental agreement. Hot as hell. And every time he looked at her, in her neon shorts and bright green top, it got a little hotter.

Her skin was the color of warm honey, and his fingers itched to sample its soft smoothness. Her reddish-brown hair was a riotous cap of untamed curls that begged to be touched. Her eyes reminded him of sweet, gooey, yummy chocolate, and her mouth… whoa! Her mouth made him think of carnal things that made sweat pool in his socks.

Her finger bounced back and forth and he answered all her questions, falling more and more in lust with each passing minute. His mind tried to convince his hormones that this was not the woman they were looking for-this woman was more than a one-nighter and represented a serious threat to his bachelor freedom-but his hormones were having none of it.

This is the one we want, his hormones said. This one right here, who doesn't know an oil filter from a brake pad. The one who smells like fresh-baked brownies and stares at you with those big chocolatey-brown eyes. Now do something about it before we get nasty.

She pointed to something else, asking what it was. When he turned his head to explain the intricacies of the wiper-fluid dispenser, they bumped noses. Chris froze and stared into her startled eyes.

She was so close-so heart-stoppingly close.

Before she could back away, and before he could change his mind, he did what he'd wanted to do since almost the first moment he saw her. He angled his head and brushed his mouth lightly over hers.

He should have expected the electric sizzle that crackled through him, but it was so strong, he nearly groaned. All thoughts of spark plugs, do-flickits, and thingamabobs drained from his head. He reached for her, pulling them both to their feet. Their heads smacked into the raised hood at the same time.

"Ouch!" Melanie yelped, rubbing the top of her head. "Wow. I feel dizzy. I bet I have a concussion."

Chris wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her close, and ran gentle fingers over the small lump forming on her head. "Me, too."

She gazed up at him. "You think you have a concussion?"

"No. I feel dizzy. And it has nothing to do with hitting my head."

"The heat getting to you?"

His gaze settled on her mouth. "You could say that."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, my. You're going to kiss me again."

"That okay?"

"I'm not sure. The first one almost knocked me unconscious."

He took her face between his hands and lowered his head. "Yeah," he breathed against her mouth. "I know exactly what you mean."


* * *

Melanie decided that if their first kiss almost knocked her unconscious, their second kiss-which just sort of melted into their third, fourth, and fifth kisses-blew her socks right off the soles of her steaming feet.

He kissed her gently at first, almost an experimental tasting of lips. When he glided his mouth over hers more insistently, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. Good thing, too, because a few seconds later he slid his tongue into her mouth and her knees fell off.

She groaned and leaned into him, opening her mouth, eager for the warm invasion of his silky tongue brushing against hers. She hadn't been kissed in so long. And never this well. Never by someone who made her want to crawl into the same clothes with him and never come out. His bare legs brushed against hers and all the blood drained from her head and settled in a hot, bubbling pool in her belly.