Without thinking, she moved her leg so that it brushed his again. The muscles in her thighs loosened. “Perhaps. Or you might say my desserts are celebrities.”

Blake lifted their joined hands and studied them. Hers was shades lighter than his, inches smaller and more narrow. She wore a sapphire, oval, deeply blue in an ornate antique setting that made her fingers look that much more elegant. “Is that what you want?”

She moistened her lips, because when his eyes came back to hers they were intense and as darkly blue as the stone on her hand. “I want to be successful. I want to be considered the very best at what I do.”

“Nothing more?”

“No, nothing.” Why was she breathless? she asked herself frantically. Young girls got breathless—or romantics. She was neither.

“When you have that?” Blake rose, drawing her to her feet without effort. “What else?”

Because they were standing, she had to angle her head to keep her eyes level with his. “It’s enough.” As she said it, Summer had her first doubts of the truth of that statement. “What about you?” she countered. “Aren’t you looking for success—more success? The finest hotels, the finest restaurants.”

“I’m a businessman.” Slowly, he walked around the table until nothing separated them. Their hands were still joined. “I have a standard to maintain or improve. I’m also a man.” He reached for her hair, then let it flow through his fingers. “And there’re things other than account books I think about.”

They were close now. Her body brushed his and caused her skin to hum. She forgot all the rules she’d set out for both of them and reached up to touch his cheek. “What else do you think about?”

“You.” His hand was at her waist, then sliding gently up her back as he drew her closer. “I think very much about you, and this.”

Lips touched—softly. Eyes remained open and aware. Pulses throbbed. Desire tugged.

Lips parted—slowly. A look said everything there was to say. Pulses hammered. Desire tore free.

She was in his arms, clinging, greedy, burning. Every hour of the past two weeks, all the work, the planning, the rules, melted away under a blaze of passion. If she sensed impatience in him, it only matched her own. The kiss was hard, long, desperate. Body strained against body in exquisite torment.

Tighter. Whether she said the word aloud or merely thought it, he seemed to understand. His arms curved around her, crushing her to him as she wanted to be. She felt the lines and planes of his body mold to hers even as his mouth molded to hers, and somehow she seemed softer than she’d ever imagined herself to be.

Feminine, sultry, delicate, passionate. Was it possible to be all at once? The need grew and expanded—for him—for a taste and touch she’d found nowhere else. The sound she made against his lips came as much from confusion as from pleasure.

Good God, how could a woman take him so far with only a kiss? He was already more than half-mad for her. Control was losing its meaning in a need that was much more imperative. Her skin would slide like silk under his hands—he knew it. He had to feel it.