Isaac snapped his man-whore back into place with a reminder that it would be an open question whether someone like her would let him so much as wash her car—much less allow him take her to bed. Besides, would he have any clue what to do to a woman like her? Sure, he was good at raw fucking—he’d been begged for repeats enough times to have confidence on that front.

But a lady like her deserved to be savored—

Damn him to hell. He had a feeling he was licking his lips.

“Kitchen’s in the back,” was all she said as she picked up her bag and walked away.

He followed her down the hall, taking note of the rooms and the windows and the doors, noting escape routes and entryways. It was what he did in any space he went through, his years of training with him sure as the skin on his back. But it was more than that. He was looking for clues about her.

And it was weird . . . the peaceful thing kept at it, which surprised him. Old-fashioned and expensive usually meant tight-assed. Here, though, he breathed deep and easy—even though that made no sense.

In contrast to the rest of the house, the kitchen was all about the white and stainless steel, and as she set to work pulling out bowls and eggs and cheese, he put his money down on her counter and couldn’t wait to get out of the room: Across the way, there was a wall of windowpanes that were probably six by eight feet apiece.

Which meant anyone with a pair of eyes could go all looky-looky on them.

“What’s in the back?” he asked casually.

“My garden.”

“Walled in?”

Her arms full, she stepped up to the cooktop in the granite island. “Security conscious?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She went over, turned on an exterior light, and canned the inside ones—which gave him a perfect view of the back without a lot of hassle. God, she was smart.

And her garden was surrounded by a ten-foot-high brick oh-no-you-don’t that he totally approved of.

“Satisfied?” she said.

In the darkness, her voice took on a husky quality that made him want to track her body through the room and ease her up against something so he could get under that black dress.

Man, her question wasn’t one she wanted to ask him tonight.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

When the lights came back on, there was a faint touch of red in her cheeks—the sort of thing he might not have noticed if he hadn’t made it his business to stare at her as much as he could. But maybe the color was just her being keyed up because of everything that had happened tonight.

No doubt that was it.