He ambled out. “Do you want a sandwich with that?”

She couldn’t figure out what he was talking about until she followed his gaze to her hand and saw a jar of French’s mustard there instead of a can of Coke. She’d stared at it. “Mustard happens to be a natural sleep aid.”

“Never heard that.”

“You don’t know everything do you?”

“Apparently not.” A few beats of silence ticked by. “Do you eat it or apply it?”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Because if you apply it …I could probably help with that.”

Her redhead’s temper ignited, and she slammed the jar down on the farmhouse table. “Why don’t I just hand you my panties and be done with it?”

“That’ll work.” His teeth glinted like a shark’s. “So if I kiss you right now, will you turn into a big sissy again?”

Her anger faded, leaving trepidation in its wake. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve got a good-size ego—you know that. But the way you rejected me last night still bordered on the traumatic.” He slipped a thumb into the top of his shorts, causing the elastic waistband to dip in a deep, mouthwatering V. “Now I’m wondering, what if I’ve lost my touch? What do I do then?” He moved his thumb closer to the blade of his hip bone, revealing even more skin. “You can see why I’m a little concerned.”

As she gazed at the wedge of taut abdomen, she had to fight the urge to roll the cold mustard jar over her forehead. “Uh…I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it.” Summoning her last ounce of willpower, she began to slide past him, and she might have made it if he hadn’t reached out and touched her arm. It was the merest brush of his finger—a simple parting gesture—but he’d found bare skin, and that was enough to make her stop in her tracks.

He went as still as she. As he gazed down at her, his green eyes were an invitation to disaster overlaid with faint apology. “Damn it,” he whispered. “Sometimes I’m too much of a smart-ass for my own good.”

He pulled her against him, feasted on her mouth, ran his hands down the contours of her back. And she let him, just as she had last night, ignoring the fact that this was the Super Bowl of bad ideas, ignoring all the reasons why she shouldn’t live every moment of this one night and deal with the consequences tomorrow.

“No patience.” His dusky murmur fell like a caress over her cheek as he lowered the zipper on her dress in one effortless motion.

“This is going to ruin everything,” she whispered against his mouth, needing to say the words even though she didn’t do one thing to stop him.

“Let’s do it anyway,” he said in a husky rasp. “We’ll sort it out afterward.”

Exactly what she wanted to hear. She lost herself in their kiss—limp, spellbound, stupid …a little bit in love.