“Trust me,” he murmured, his voice low, “by the time we get around to going all the way, we’ll both be insane with frustration.”

Della felt that silken promise right between her legs. It couldn’t come quickly enough.

Half an hour later, they were standing at her door, and Della’s heart was beating so damn fast she thought it was going to explode out of her chest. Or just stop altogether. Watching Tucker eat, listening to his very satisfied noises as he devoured his food, had been so damn erotic she’d constantly lost her place in their conversation.

So. Much. Conversation.

Idle chatter about the customers at Jack’s tonight and the new Marvel movie out next month and the kinds of herbs she could plant in her garden. But the way he was looking at her now was far from idle.

“Thank you for the food,” he murmured, one hand on the doorknob.

Della shrugged. “Thank Ronnie Carter.”

“I’ll be sure to, next time I see her. But it was also heated up perfectly, and that crusty bread you served with it was—”

“Tucker Daniels.” Della cut him off with a frustrated snap. “I have been more than patient tonight, and I’ve agreed to stick by your rules, but I swear if you don’t kiss me in the next few seconds I’m going to—”

His head swooped down, cutting her off, and Della’s skin, which had been gradually charring under the slow burn of erotic tension, holding all that gooey marshmallow inside for the last hour, finally disintegrated, and it oozed out. She melted against him, moaning helplessly into his mouth as it covered hers, her eyes shutting, her arms creeping around his neck to press herself closer.

And he let her, maneuvering her until her back bumped against the door, his big frame holding her pinned to the spot. “Yes,” she muttered, her voice almost demonic as he slid his hands into her hair, cradling her head, letting his lips stray from her mouth, pressing them along her jaw, tracing a path to her ear, buzzing her lobe twice before returning to claim her mouth again.

He used his hands to tilt her head and Della whimpered as his tongue teased her lips, brushed along the seam, licking at the bow, swiping at the corners, dipping in and out in an erotic dance that had her seeing stars. Her breathing was out of control, her pulse loud and erratic. Her nostrils were full of the aromas of him—beer on his clothes and coffee on his breath and a faint trace of citrus. It was a dizzying mix, all rising in a bloom of heat inside her skull until she was burning up. An urgent tingling between her legs felt frighteningly primal.