I laugh, surprised by the question, but I come up with an answer immediately. I lower my glass and lean toward him, and he leans in to meet me. “Easy. The perfect day would involve me waking up with someone’s head between my legs, and I’d already be close to coming on his tongue. Then he’d serve me breakfast in bed, we’d do some yoga and take a trip to the spa. We’d go for lunch and spend the entire time people watching, then do some sort of outdoor activity, and in the evening, we’d have dinner together someplace with an amazing view. All topped off by the best sex of my life.”

James’s eyes darken, and he draws in a slow breath. “That’s very specific,” he says, his voice dropping to a rumble. “And ambitious.”

“What about you?” I challenge. “What’s your perfect day?”

He considers for a moment, his finger tracing the rim of his glass. “Mine would start on the ice—hockey,” he clarifies. “Early morning when the rink is empty and quiet. Then maybe a ride on my motorcycle through mountain roads, lunch at a hole-in-the-wall place with incredible food that only locals know about. Afternoon spent by water—ocean, lake, doesn’t matter. Then dinner somewhere with good whiskey and live music. And ending the night…” He lets his eyes meet mine meaningfully.

“With the best sex of your life?” I finish for him.

“Exactly,” he confirms with a slow smile that makes my stomach flip. “That sounds like an incredible day.”

We chat a bit more, and even though we keep the topics neutral and vague, I find that I’m enjoying getting to know him a little bit. But images of him hovering over me, his muscled body settling between my legs, won’t stop flashing through my mind. So when he starts to ask another question, I raise one finger to his lips and shake my head.

“We could talk for hours,” I tell him in a low voice, a little surprised by how enjoyable that prospect sounds, considering I barely know this man. “But that’s not what this night is about, is it?”

The man smirks against my finger, his lips warm on my skin. “Then what is this night about?”

“Doing whatever we want,” I whisper back to him as I lower my hand, and his gaze darkens with heat.

We stare at each other, both of us frozen, until he breaks it by reaching for the legs of my stool and pulling me closer to him, right between his legs. The movement is confident but unhurried, giving me every opportunity to pull away if I want to—although I definitely don’t want to. His cedar scent floods my nose, and my heart races.