How hard could it be to not have sex with a man she’d spent fourteen years not having sex with?

The sexy son of a bitch returned with a bottle of wine and a smirk. He flashed the label at her, and she recognized it as one of her favorites. Of course the man who stocked Kraft Mac and Cheese for her would also have her favorite wine.

The urge to climb him like a tree flared to life between her thighs.

But it was the look in those blue eyes that stopped her. Hope. He was hopeful.

Remi turned away and swallowed hard. He made her feel so raw it made her hands shake.

Brick watched her silently as he found a corkscrew and went to work opening the bottle. While she fussed over the salad, he poured two glasses and slid one to her.

Their fingers tangled on the stem, and her pulse spiked. Everything about the man drew her in. But she wasn’t going to jump this time. She was going to take it slow. Magnus sprinted into the room, the mouse in his mouth giving her the needed distraction to extricate her fingers and glass.

“What are we watching?” he asked, looking down at her. A flicker of a smile curving those brutal lips. He could tell she was nervous, and she knew he liked it.

“The Quiet Man,” she announced.

He frowned. “I’m not familiar.”

She gasped theatrically, side-stepping Magnus as he wriggled into one of her shopping bags. “The Quiet Man,” she repeated.

“It doesn’t matter how many times you say it.”

“John Wayne is a quiet ex-boxer who moves to Ireland and falls in love with Maureen O’Hara, a wildcat with a wicked tongue and red hair.”

He gave her a sexy half smile that had her cheeks going pink and nipples tightening to points. She took a gulp of wine.

“Sounds familiar. At least the part about the red-haired wild cat with a wicked tongue.”

They both needed to stop talking about tongues. It wasn’t helping her heightened arousal situation. “It’s a classic. Besides you have no choice. Sacrifices must be made when you’re dating,” she said airily.

“I can help you with dinner,” he said. They both watched as his index finger hooked itself in the neckline of her pajama top.

Her heart rate spiked when his finger grazed her sternum.

Yes. Wait. No.

This was a dangerous game. She grabbed his hand. “No sex. Remember? What’s so funny?” she demanded when he gave her the full wattage of the rare Brick Callan grin.

She felt a little light-headed. And also like she’d won the lottery.

“Me touching you with a fingertip makes you think we’re about to have sex.”

“After the past few weeks, can you blame me?”

“Hmm.” His hum was like a caress over her skin.

This was going to be harder than she thought. Dammit! Harder.

She shook her head until her brain sloshed around inside. “Focus. No sex. Not until you feel appreciated.”