Her common sense firmly told both her heart and hormones that this evening with Adam was nothing more than a bandage for her scraped-up ego and that to think of it as anything more would be foolish and fall into the category of “rebounditis.” Certainly it wasn’t smart to get involved with another man literally within minutes after breaking up with the last guy. Especially a guy like Adam, whose life and future were so up in the air and who was heading to Europe for three months in less than forty-eight hours. Him coming over was simply about healing her battered self-esteem and rein-flating her squashed ego.

It wasn’t as if she were embarking on another relationship. Heck, no. Nothing beyond this dinner would happen between her and Adam. Nothing deeper than a night of no-strings sex. A one-night stand with a stranger had never been her style, but Adam was certainly no stranger. And the way he’d reacted to her, looked at her with that same naked raw heat that had always lit her on fire, was exactly what she needed to pick herself up, dust herself off and restore her feminine confidence.

That kiss they’d shared at Picture This had imbued her with the same wild abandon he’d inspired in her years ago. A feeling she hadn’t ever quite recaptured since. Yet the thought of being with him again, however briefly, brought all those delicious feelings screaming back. She’d be a fool not to revel in them while she had the chance.

Hearing the car door slam, she took a quick mental and visual inventory to make sure everything was as she wanted it. Norah Jones’s latest ballad floated from the living-room speakers where the stereo was tuned to her favorite evening radio program, Sensuous Songs and Decadent Dedications. Lamps strategically lit to cast the rooms with soft light. Salad, peeled shrimp and a tray of antipasto in the fridge, loaf of French bread ready to pop in the oven, skillet and pasta pot set on the stove. Her best crystal wine goblets on the snack bar next to a grouping of cream-colored pillar candles waiting to be lit. Air conditioner unit humming in the den-and her bedroom. Where she’d stashed a trio of condoms in her bedside table.

Romantic music, food, candles, condoms-yup, she was ready for anything.

The doorbell rang and her heart jangled in response. She drew a calming breath, then smoothed her nervous hands over her silvery gray satin tank top and full turquoise skirt that skimmed a few inches above her knees. Walking to the door, she discovered her legs weren’t quite steady and she suddenly wished she’d worn flats instead of her high-heeled strappy silver sandals. Too late now. After sucking in a final calming breath, she opened the door. And all sense of calm instantly evaporated.

In spite of the fact that she’d known Adam would be standing there, the sight of him, at her home, looking good enough to eat, sizzled a bolt of heat and lust right down her unsteady legs to her toes. Like it wasn’t already hot enough, here he was, causing his own Adam-induced heat wave. And by just standing there.

In one hand he held a brown shopping bag bearing the local liquor store’s logo. In the other hand he held a single lavender rose, an offering that tightened her throat. Their last night together that long-ago summer, the night before she’d left for college, he’d brought her a single rose. A yellow one. Told her it stood for friendship. Then told her he thought they were too young to be so involved. That they should cool things off, see other people. She couldn’t help but wonder what lavender stood for.

As if nature needed to get in on the act of announcing his arrival, a flash of lightning lit the distant sky, followed by a low rumble of thunder.

“Hi,” he said with a smile.

Good thing he’d said something, otherwise she most likely would have just stood there and gawked. “Hi.” She opened the door wider and stepped back. “C’mon in.”

After he entered, she closed and locked the door then turned to face him. Since her knees weren’t as solid as she’d have liked, she leaned her shoulders against the door for support.

He set the shopping bag on the hardwood floor and slowly twirled the rose between his fingers-a mesmerizing motion-but not nearly as hypnotic as the unmistakable heat and admiration in his eyes.

“For you,” he said, holding out the flower.

Mallory took the bud, noting her hands suffered from the same less-than-steady affliction as her knees. Closing her eyes, she buried her nose in the velvety petals and breathed in the heady scent. Then she looked at him and smiled.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a rose this color before.”

“The florist said it’s called ‘silver lilac.’ It reminded me of you.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

He stepped forward, until less than two feet separated them. Reaching out, he snagged her hand that held the rose, then guided the flower slowly along her jaw.

“It’s soft,” he said, raising his other hand to skim a single fingertip over her collarbone. “Just like you. And beautiful. Just like you.”

Leaning down, he touched his lips to the spot where her neck and shoulder met, then breathed in. Tingles of pleasure vibrated along her skin and she was grateful for the solid door behind her.

“It smells incredible,” he whispered, his warm breath against her skin initiating another round of tingles. “Just like you.” He straightened and looked at her through serious dark blue eyes. “The florist said the color stands for rarity. Which describes you perfectly. It’s unique. Rare. Different. Extraordinary. Just like you.”

Whew. She needed to turn up the AC because it felt like her pores were emitting steam. And she needed a dictionary. Stat. ’Cause it appeared she’d forgotten how to speak English. The fact that his gaze was roaming over her in a way that suggested he’d like to melt off her clothing with his eyes-and hey, wouldn’t that be a handy talent-did nothing to help her regain her ability to speak.

“You look gorgeous,” he said softly. Moving her hand lower, he brushed the rose over her breasts. Her nipples tightened at the mere whisper of a touch and her breath caught in her throat. “I like this shirt. This material. A lot. I see you in it and all I can think is, ‘Wow-she comes with her own satin sheets.’”

Releasing her hand, he reached out and planted his palms on the door next to her shoulders, bracketing her in. The warm, clean scent of him filled her head, and even though he wasn’t touching her, she felt his heat, his strength, surrounding her. Enveloping her in a sensual haze. No doubt about it-she’d gone to the right guy to make her feel desirable and attractive. But then, everything about him-the way he’d touched her, looked at her-had always made her feel so much a woman.

Before she could even exhale a sigh of pleasure at being imprisoned in such a delightful way, he leaned in and kissed her.

Her heart rate tripled the instant his lips touched hers. He kept the contact light, teasing her with feathery kisses and light nibbles. On her lips. Across her jaw. Down her neck. Not touching her with anything other than his mouth. God help her, she couldn’t recall ever being so utterly aroused-and he hadn’t even touched her.

He dipped his tongue into the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat, the spot where she knew he would feel her rapid, erratic pulse. Her eyes drifted closed and the back of her head thunked lightly against the door. Quivers raced through her as he kissed his way up the side of her neck until his teeth lightly grazed her ear-lobe.

Want rocketed through her, igniting a demand for more that shook her with its intensity. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d wanted a man’s hands on her this badly. This desperately. It flashed through her mind that the last time had been with this man, but stark need was melting her ability to think clearly. With a moan, she blindly tossed her rose toward the small rectangular oak table in the entryway where she deposited her keys and mail and hoped the flower landed safely. Then she ran her hands up Adam’s chest, over his shoulders, and buried her fingers in his thick hair. Raising up on her toes, she dragged his mouth to hers and pressed herself against him.

He groaned-although in all fairness, that ragged sound might have come from her-and in the blink of an eye he was touching her with a hell of a lot more than just his mouth. His arms went around her, one large hand sliding up into her hair and cupping her head while his other hand skimmed down her spine to settle, fingers splayed, on the small of her back. Her body, her senses, recognized him. His taste. His scent. The strong, solid feel of him pressed against her from chest to knee. The hard ridge of his erection pressing low and insistent against her belly. The delicious friction of his tongue mating intimately with hers. Saturated in sensation, their kiss sparked an almost excruciating desperation to claw off his clothes so he could put out this damn fire he’d started.

Skin…she wanted to feel his skin. She jerked his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, then plunged her hands beneath the soft material to run her palms up his smooth back. Warm. He was so warm. And solid. And he felt so good. And she wanted more.

Grabbing the ends of his shirt, she tugged upward. “Off,” she demanded in a ragged whisper against his lips. “Off now.”

He helped and seconds later his shirt landed on the floor, leaving nothing to impede her impatient hands from roaming over his lovely flesh. He was broader, more muscular, more well defined than he’d been nine years ago. Her avid gaze and eager fingers ran over him, tracing the whorls of dark hair that spread across his chest then funneled down into a silky strand that bisected his ridged abdomen before disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.