“You cooked,” she said, and strode quickly to the sink. A little room, she thought. A little room and some busywork was all she needed to stay on an even keel. “And from the looks of this kitchen, you’re not the type who leaves dirty dishes hanging around.”

He was behind her when she turned, and his hands came to her shoulders to prevent her from dodging away. “So, I’ll be unpredictable.”

“Or you could hire some elves to scrub up,” she muttered.

“I don’t employ any elves—in California.” When her look sharpened, he began to knead her shoulders. “You’re tensing up on me, Mel. During dinner you were quite relaxed. You even smiled at me several times, which I found a very pleasant change.”

“I don’t like people touching me.” But she didn’t move away. After all, there was nowhere to go.

“Why not? It’s merely another form of communication. There are many. Voices, eyes, hands.” His slid over her shoulders, turning the muscles there to water. “Minds. A touch doesn’t have to be dangerous.”

“It can be.”

His lips curved as his fingers skimmed down her back. “But you’re no coward. A woman like you meets a dangerous situation head-on.”

Her chin came up, as he’d known it would. “I came here to talk to you.”

“And we’ve talked.” He nudged her closer so that he had only to bend his head to press his lips to the faint cleft in the center of that strong chin. “I enjoyed it.”

She would not be seduced. She was a grown woman with a mind of her own, and seduction was, always had been, out of the question. She lifted a hand to his chest, where it lay, fingers spread, neither resisting nor inviting.

“I didn’t come to play games.”

“Pity.” His lips hovered a breath from hers before he tilted his head and brushed them under her jaw. “I also enjoy games. But we can save them for another time.”

It was becoming very difficult to breathe. “Look, maybe I’m attracted to you, but that doesn’t mean … anything.”

“Of course not. Your skin’s unbelievably delicate just here, Mary Ellen. It’s as if your pulse would bruise the flesh if it continued to beat so hard.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

But when he tugged her shirt free of her waistband to let his hands roam up her back, she felt as delicate as a dandelion puff. With a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh, she arched back against him.

“I’d nearly lost my patience,” he murmured against her throat. “Waiting for you to come to me.”

“I didn’t. I haven’t.” But her arms had wound around him, and her fingers were tangled in his hair. “This isn’t why I’m here.”

But hadn’t she known? Somewhere inside, hadn’t she known?