Blake took another bite of pizza. “And this has flair?”

She smiled because it was so obviously not the sort of meal he was used to. “An excellent balance of spices—perhaps just a tad heavy on the oregano—a good marriage of sauce and crust, the proper handling of cheese and the bite of pepperoni. With the proper use of the senses, almost any meal can be memorable.”

“With the proper use of the senses,” Blake countered, “other things can be memorable.”

She reached for her glass again, her eyes laughing over the rim. “We’re speaking of food. Taste, of course, is paramount, but appearance…” He linked his hand with hers and she found herself watching him. “Your eyes tell you first of the desire to taste.” His face was lean, the eyes a deep blue she found continuously compelling….

“Then a scent teases you, entices you.” His was dark, woodsy, tempting….

“You hear the way champagne bubbles into a glass and you want to experience it.” Or the way he said her name, quietly.

“After all this,” she continued in a voice that was beginning to take on a faint huskiness, a faint trace of feeling, “you have the taste, the texture to explore.” And his mouth held a flavor she couldn’t forget.

“So—” he lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to the palm “—your advice is to savor every aspect of the experience in order to absorb all the pleasure. Then…” Turning her hand over, he brushed his lips, then the tip of his tongue, over her knuckles. “The most basic of desires becomes unique.”

In an arrow-straight line, the heat shot up her arm. “No experience is acceptable otherwise.”

“And atmosphere?” Lightly, with just a fingertip, he traced the shape of her ear. “Wouldn’t you agree that the proper setting can enhance the same experience? Candlelight, for instance.”

Their faces were closer now. She could see the soft shifting light casting shadows, mysteries. “Outside devices can often add more intensity to a mood.”

“You could call it romance.” He took his fingertip down the length of her jawline.

“You could.” Champagne never went to her head, yet her head was light. Slowly, luxuriously, her body was softening. She made an effort to remember why she should allow neither to happen, but no answer came.

“And romance, for some, is another very elemental need.”

“For some,” he murmured when his lips followed the trail of his fingertip.

“But not for you.” He nipped at her lips and found them soft, and warm.

“No, not for me.” But her sigh was as soft and warm as her lips.

“A practical woman.” He was raising her to her feet so that their bodies could touch.

“Yes.” She tilted her head back, inviting the exploration of his lips.

“Candlelight doesn’t move you?”

“It’s only an attractive device.” She curved her arms up his back to bring him closer. “As chefs, we’re taught that such things can lend the right mood to our meals.”