“It’s no bother. I’ve got a one-cup brewer. But won’t full-strength java keep you awake all night?” She pulled out the bag of coffee and measured a generous portion into the filter.

“Unless I guzzle a pot of caffeine, it doesn’t affect my shut-eye. One cup won’t make a dent.”

“I wish the same was true for me. Have a seat.” She indicated the stools at the island and filled two mugs with water. “I’ll have this ready fast.”

But he didn’t sit.

Instead, he strolled around the island—closer to her. “Can I help?”

“Um . . .” The subtle, distinctive scent of his aftershave tickled her nose—and turned her brain to mush. “All I have to do is c-cut the cake.”

He grinned, either unaware of her discomfiture . . . or enjoying it. “Can I lick the icing off the knife? That will take me back to my childhood.”

As the image of him engaged in that activity flashed through her mind, her heart lurched.

“Uh . . . s-sure.” She cleared her throat and backed away, toward the fridge.

Thank heaven he didn’t follow.

Once there, she set their mugs on the counter, opened the door, and stuck her face in as far as she could. If she was lucky, the chilly air would chase the warmth from her cheeks.

The cake was front and center among the meager items on her shelves—but he couldn’t see that from where he was standing—so she lingered on the pretense of moving the contents around to reach their dessert.

Too bad she couldn’t further stretch out the retrieval, but if she dawdled too long he’d get suspicious.

Pasting on a smile that was a tad too cheery, she withdrew the cake and held it out for him to inspect. “Ta-da.”

The confection in her hands distracted him long enough for her to get her act back together.

Sort of.

“Wow.” He ogled the swirls of cream cheese icing. “That looks fabulous.”

“It’s my specialty—after moussaka.” She deposited it on the counter and cut a generous slice for him and a smaller one for her. “Why don’t you take these over to the table while I get the beverages going?”

“Don’t I get a crack at the knife?”

Her heart missed a beat. “Uh . . . sure.” She held it out.

“This will be a treat.” He took it from her, his lean fingers brushing her hand.

The treat was all hers as she watched him lick the blade clean.

“Thank you.” He handed her the knife back, his gaze locking with hers. Warming. Igniting.

Oh man.

This was bad.

Very bad.

She never got hot and bothered over a man she barely knew.

Change the subject, Eve.

Right.

“There are, uh, forks in the drawer beside the sink, and napkins in the cabinet above.”