Inside the carriage house, only a single lamp near the front window was lit. Rather than turn on any others, Kir led her straight to the stairs and up to the master bedroom.

She stopped at the foot of the bed and faced him. “You’re quiet tonight.”

Kir flipped on the bedside lamp, then emptied his pockets of his cell phone and wallet and set them on the nightstand. “One could say the same of you.” He padded to the oversized chair in the corner, shrugged off his suit jacket and toed off his shoes.

“The heat zapped me.”

“Is that so?” His belt went next. Then his button-down. “I’ll have to talk to the men about paying more attention to you in the heat.”

Well, shit. “There’s no need to talk to them. It’s on me to pay attention to my health, not them. And besides, it didn’t really hit me until I got home. Probably doesn’t help that Frieda keeps it like a refrigerator in here.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Clad only in black boxer briefs, he strolled toward her, his demeanor as relaxed and unthreatening as it had been on the walk over. Only this time she had the added benefit of the dim lights and shadows playing across each defined muscle on his body. A body she could no more pretend not to notice than she could hide her own body’s shivering response. He knew how his touch impacted her. Seemed to mirror the same soul-rattling sensation anytime they were skin to skin. And while a part of her acknowledged he was likely leveraging their connection to bind her closer to him, she couldn’t quite find the will to fight it. Didn’t want to deny herself the pleasure any more than she wanted to stop breathing.

He halted right in front of her. “Shoes off, Cassie.”

“We don’t normally go straight to bed. You like to Netflix a little after dinner.”

“I like to Netflix when your aunt is here and I’m trying not to make it blatantly obvious I want you in our bed.”

Our bed.

Not her bed.

Or his bed.

“Your aunt isn’t here tonight,” he said, “so I don’t have to wait. Except for you to take off your shoes so that I can undress you at my leisure.”

Oh, boy.

It was bad enough that he had a way with words, but paired with his accent and the sexy rumble of his voice, physical foreplay was a bonus more than a necessity.

Who are you kidding, Cassie? All the man has to do is look at you and crook one of those grins, and you’re hot, bothered and ready to go.

She shook off the mental byplay that was suspiciously carried on her aunt’s voice and stepped out of her sandals. “You’re telling me I’m not going to see the end of Mad Men season three tonight?”

He slid one of the straps from the pretty gold sundress she’d put on before dinner over her shoulder, then repeated the move with the other. “I’m telling you the likelihood of you having the energy or desire to do anything but fall asleep naked next to me once I’m done is negligible at best.” One tug of the cotton fabric and the dress slid to her waist, barely clinging to her hips.