“Hell no.” Put it on. I’m dying here. “I’m running hot right now.” No lie there. And who the hell made her so skittish? She’d flinched when he’d first extended his jacket, as if she were expecting a fist. “Go ahead. Put it on.” He picked up the menu with his other hand, flipped it open, and studied it intently, trying his damnedest to be a gentleman, but it was too late. The image of her pert, uplifted breasts was permanently imprinted on his brain. The delicate lacy bra she was wearing beneath her blouse. He would have thought she’d go for more sensible undergarments, but no . . . He exhaled, trying to erase the knowledge that her areolas were a dusky rose, that if he glanced up he’d get another glimpse of her nipples straining against the fabric, hardened from the cold and the wet, seeming to be begging for the warmth of his touch, his mouth. He shut his eyes, stifling a groan, could hear her sliding his jacket on.

“Oh. Nice.” She exhaled like a woman who had just been satisfied. “It’s warm from your body. Feels so good.” He could hear her snuggle into his jacket, and he wished it were him she was snuggling into. “Thanks.” Her voice was breathy, slightly husky.

“Do it up.”

“Pardon?”

“The zipper,” he said, his voice gruff. “Will keep the heat in.”

It was with regret and gratitude that he heard the zipper travel upward. He opened his eyes. Needed to blink to bring the menu in focus.

“You okay?”

It took him a second to order his thoughts before he was able to glance up and hold her gaze with a neutral expression on his face, as if he weren’t sporting the monster boner of all boners under the table. She was looking at him quizzically. “Couldn’t be better,” he said, congratulating himself on managing a reasonably normal tone of voice. Thankfully, the waitress appeared at their table, tugging Sarah’s attention to her.

“What can I get for you?” the waitress asked, her order pad at the ready.

“Oh.” Sarah flipped open her menu and waved at Mick. “You order first.”

“I’ll have . . .” Mick glanced at his menu. “The number four combination plate. You want to share a tamale, some guacamole?”

“For sure.” Sarah shut her menu and handed it to the waitress. “I’ll have what he’s having and some hot coffee.”

Hmm . . . I don’t think that’s physically possible—the image of Sarah sporting a gigantic boner under the table made Mick grin—but I’d be happy to share.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I’m not laughing.” Mick passed his menu to the waitress as well. “Ditto on the coffee. Please. Thanks!” The waitress nodded, tucked the menus under her arm, and completed writing down their order as she headed to the kitchen.