Her mouth. There was a softness about it that was just emerging. Testing, he measured it between his index finger and thumb. And remembered how it had tasted, moving eagerly under his. Hot candy, coated with cool, white wine. Addictive.

Those cheekbones, so aristocratic, so elegant. They could add a regal, haughty look one moment, or that of an ice-blooded warrior the next. That firm, proud jawline—he traced a fingertip along it and thought of how sensitive and smooth her skin was there.

Her eyes, he’d wondered if he’d have problems with her eyes. Oh, not the shape of them—that was basic to craft, but the feeling in them, the mysteries behind them.

There was still so much he needed to know.

He leaned closer until he was eye to eye with the half-formed bust. “You will let me in,” he whispered. At the knock on the door, he stayed where he was, peering into Sydney’s emerging face. “Is open.”

“Hey, Mik.” Keely breezed in wearing a polka-dotted T-shirt and shorts in neon green. “Got anything cold? My fridge finally gave up the ghost.”

“Help yourself,” he said absently, “I’ll put you on top of the list for the new ones.”

“My hero.” She paused in the kitchen to sniff at the skillet. “God, this smells sinful.” She tipped the spoon in and took a sample. “It is sinful. Looks like a lot for one.”

“It’s for two.”

“Oh.” She gave the word three ascending syllables as she pulled a soft drink out of the refrigerator. The smell was making her mouth water, and she glanced wistfully at the skillet again. “Looks like a lot for two, too.”

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Put some in a bowl. Simmer it a little longer.”

“You’re a prince, Mik.” She rattled in his cupboards. “So who’s the lucky lady?”

“Sydney Hayward.”

“Sydney.” Her eyes widened. The spoon she held halted in midair above the pan of bubbling goulash. “Hayward,” she finished. “You mean the rich and beautiful Hayward who wears silk to work and carries a six-hundred-dollar purse, which I personally priced at Saks. She’s coming here, to have dinner and everything?”

He was counting on the everything. “Yes.”

“Gee.” She couldn’t think of anything more profound. But she wasn’t sure she liked it. No, she wasn’t sure at all, Keely thought as she scooped her impromptu dinner into a bowl.

The rich were different. She firmly believed it. And this lady was rich in capital letters. Keely knew Mikhail had earned some pretty big bucks with his art, but she couldn’t think of him as rich. He was just Mik, the sexy guy next door who was always willing to unclog a sink or kill a spider or share a beer.