She wanted to drown in a Jacuzzi of the feelings he produced in her. Why had she stipulated that they would not kiss tonight? That may have been rash.

“Tell me what I need to do to convince you to see me again tomorrow,” he said.

Tilting her head, she considered how to reply. She’d agreed to go out with him to stop the flood of gifts, but this evening hadn’t felt like a means to an end. It had felt like a luxurious little vacation dropped in the center of her day-to-day life.

She’d do well to recall that her day-to-day life was her real life. Luxurious little vacations were, by nature, short-lived. “As you know, I’ve never been interested in acquiring a boyfriend. So, in order for you to convince me to see you tomorrow, I simply need you to assure me that you won’t be foisting any nonsensical romantic notions upon me.”

“I will not foist.”

“We are not”—she used air quotes—“dating.”

“Agreed. You’re not commiting to anything except spending more time with me.”

“Spending more time with you doesn’t sound completely repulsive,” she said primly, interlacing her hands in front of her waist.

“Let’s negotiate terms for tomorrow. Where should I take you?”

“Nowhere. Tonight was plenty extravagant enough, thank you.”

“Dinner at my house, then?”

“That’s acceptable.”

“I’ll have food delivered.”

“No, we’ll cook dinner together. It’ll be less expensive, and it’ll give us something to do.”

He gave her a scorching look. “I can think of plenty of things for us to do.”

“We’ll cook together,” she said firmly.

He stepped closer. Her abdomen contracted with longing.

“What kind of dinner should we make?” he asked.

“The easy kind.”

“Baked lobster tails?”

“Goodness no. Stir-fry?”

“Shrimp curry?” he suggested.

“Hamburgers?”

“Enchiladas.”

Her shoulders relaxed a few degrees. “I love enchiladas.”

“With ground beef and red sauce?”

“With chicken and salsa verde, plus sour cream and white cheese.”

“Additional terms?”

“I request 1980s background music.”

“I’ll agree to a playlist containing three-fourths eighties music and one-fourth Sinatra.”

“Fine.” She was warming to her subject. “I also request a mowed lawn, clusters of red grapes for snacking, flattering lighting—”

“A disco ball, perhaps?” he suggested dryly.

“Why not? And an indoor temperature of seventy degrees—”

“I’ll compromise at sixty-nine degrees.”

“Very well. Additionally, I’ll require a cheesecake from Tart Bakery.”

“Done.”

“Oh, and no flowers or gifts.”

“Spoilsport. Anything else?”

“No. The items aforementioned will be sufficient.” She retreated backward toward her door. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Professor.”

Sebastian watched Leah walk inside, then returned to his Misty River house. He prowled the rooms, too preoccupied to sit or to concentrate on anything except her.