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.

Then her chin lifted a stubborn notch, reminding him of the spitfire he was used to dealing with. "You're still here," she said, her voice indicating her surprise. "I told you it wasn't necessary for you to clean up."

He shrugged a shoulder. "I contributed to the mess. It was the least I could do." Finished with his water, he tossed the plastic bottle into the recycle bin under the sink, then resumed his position against the counter.

"Well, thank you for your help."And now you're free to leave, her tone silently added.

"You're welcome." He didn't budge.

She released an exasperated sound beneath her breath, and tugged on the sash to her robe, tightening it around her slender waist. The lapels billowed open slightly, affording him a tantalizing glimpse of smooth skin and the beginning slope of one breast. He wondered if she was completely naked beneath the terry material, and resisted the urge to reach out, untie her belt, and find out for himself…

She crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat, effectively drawing his attention upward. Her eyes flared with impatience… and awareness. "Ryan… it's getting late, and you really should go."

"In a minute," he said in a slow, deliberate drawl. "You owe me something, and I didn't want to leave without it."

"Money for the cakes?" She asked the question in such a hopeful way that he knew she'd purposely misconstrued his meaning. She moved past him to open a drawer beneath the counter, leaving a scented trail of jasmine in her wake. "I don't have any extra cash on me, but I'd be happy to write you a check-"

He grabbed her hand before she could retrieve her checkbook, and closed the drawer with a bump of his hip. He waited until she looked up at him. "I don't want your money, Jessie. I wantyou," he said softly, sincerely. "And you owe me a date."

She extricated her arm from his grasp. "You obtained that date under duress,counselor."

He couldn't contain the laugh that escaped him. "You call the way you kissed meduress?"

Her mouth pursed, and he was half-tempted to haul her up against him and kiss her senseless again, until she melted and admitted the truth-that she'd been a willing participant in what had taken place on the table behind her.

"I certainly wasn't in the right frame of mind to make any kind of decision, and being the lawyer you are, you took advantage of that fact."

He shook his head at her reasoning, seeing it for the excuse it was, and a poor one at that. "So, does this mean you're reneging on your promise?"

She picked at a piece of lint on her sleeve, her gaze downcast, her voice resigned. "I think you and I ought to just stick to party planning."

In his estimation, they'd gone too far to backpedal to platonic friends. Yet it was obvious that he still needed to tread slowly and cautiously with her. "Would you go out with me in the guise of doing me a favor?"

That captured her attention. She lifted her head and met his gaze, waiting to hear his proposition.

"Ido need a date," he inhaled, taking a huge leap of faith, "for my firm's Christmas party."

Her incredulous expression told him his risk hadn't paid off. "Me? In a room full of lawyers?" She flattened a hand to her chest, her eyes wide, and visibly shuddered. "No, thank you."

"One date," he said, not ready to give up just yet. "No strings attached. I swear it."

A slow, devious smile played around the corner of her mouth. "How do you know when a lawyer is lying?"

Having been the recipient of that particular joke before, he knew the punch line. "His lips are moving," he replied with a grin.

"Exactly,"she said, obviously believing he was weaving a fib of his own.