For his part, Nash stayed where he was, standing in the middle of the little hall that made up her foyer. She shouldn’t notice that the blue of his sweater that spanned his broad chest matched the blue in his eyes, or the fact that his jeans were doing God’s work, highlighting the absolute, stone-cold solid thickness of his thighs. The man was just big and solid, like a giant stack of doorstopper books come to life—but one holding two delicious-smelling bags and grinning at her as if she was the cherry on the extra whipped cream topping of his Oreo shake.

A hot flash of tingly lust blasted up from the center of her black leggings, and her mouth went dry as he watched her.

Good Lord. This man discombobulated her. He had her all jittery and thinking inappropriate thoughts about her husband who wasn’t her husband but kinda was and—

My God, Chelle! Simmer down on the spiral before you just rip off your clothes right here and now.

Pulling back from the edge, she turned and flipped the locks on her front door, then put the chain on. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” He unrolled the top of one of the brown bags he was holding and took a deep inhale before closing his eyes and letting out a low groan of appreciation.

Her brain went offline for a second at the sound.

Really, it should be illegal to make that noise that had her wondering if that’s the sound he’d make while between her legs.

Clearing her throat, she tore her gaze away from him and rebooted her brain, digging for the just-go-with-the-flow version of herself that she was determined to find. Somewhere. Down deep. It had to be there. Right?

Focus, Michelle!

Letting out a sigh, she pulled herself back from the brink. “You shouldn’t give so much unasked-for advice.”

“But it’s good advice, and customized shoes are a growing market segment and—”

She silenced him with a glance that actually surprised her at her own boldness, then started down the hall toward the kitchen, because she needed some ice-cold water before she ignited from being that close to him. “Not everyone wants to turn something they love into a side hustle.”

“But he had something so great,” Nash said, keeping up with her in the narrow hall. “Just a little tweak here and there, and he’d be in the sweet spot.”

“Nash,” she said, putting all of the censure she could muster in her voice when 88 percent of her thoughts were taken up with fantasies involving him between her thighs.

He shot her a rueful grin. “This is makeover business, huh?”