At least six foot three and powerfully built, the man seemed to walk and breathe sex. Like he'd protect a woman from any threat and take really good care of her body while he did it.

Of course, that was probably just her fevered, undersexed imagination working overtime. That doubtless happened when one unexpectedly rediscovered one's libido.

As a result, she was having sexual fantasies about a stranger during the busiest part of her shift. Instead of worrying if the salt and pepper shakers were filled, she wondered what his hands would feel like on her body, imagined his hard chest rubbing against her bare breasts.

As Mira took care of a table, refilling drinks and making sure the patrons had everything they needed, she glanced at the man again from under her lashes. She felt the need to commit him to memory so he could star in her fantasies later. During the last few months, her vibrator had gathered dust in the bottom drawer of her night table. Now she had a reason to pull it out again.

He was broad-shouldered and leanly muscled. His golden, sun-kissed skin seemed to defy the Minnesota winter and made Mira want to run her lips and hands over it. Silky black hair framed a chiseled, interesting face with black slashes for eyebrows and a sexy dusting of a beard on a sculpted jaw. He was attractive, yet he wasn't a pretty boy. This man had a face that could either freeze someone solid or turn a woman's bones to warm honey, depending on his expression.

The man was sex on legs, but it was his mouth and eyes that really did it for Mira. Long, dark lashes fringed his light blue eyes. They seemed cold at first glance, but when he'd smiled at her, the look in those eyes had made her knees go weak. And he had a positively indecent mouth. The slight curve of his full, sensual lips brought to mind all sorts of tempting images—skin moving on skin, limbs entangled, ragged breathing, mourns and tongues working as two bodies fused amid twisted sheets....

"Hey, watch it!" a customer complained when she nearly plowed him over after clearing off a table.

"Sorry." She pasted on a smile and apologized. She was really off her stride this afternoon. Blowing an errant strand of dark hair out of her face, she carted the tub to the back for the dishwasher. As she passed nearby, she stole her thousandth glance at him.

He wore a pair of close-fitting jeans, a gray turtleneck sweater, a long black coat, and black boots. His dress was casual, but he reeked of money. The whiff she'd gotten of his expensive cologne and the silver Mercedes he'd parked outside were enough to tell her he had lots of that.

Nope. Definitely not her type.