She forced a laugh. “I couldn’t give him something he wanted.” The words were painful to utter.

“Tell me.”

Irritation simmered. Why did he suddenly want to go deep? This was just dinner. He’d offered sex. Nothing more, nothing less. His delving into her personal life shouldn’t leave her feeling so vulnerable. “Something important to him. I really don’t want to get into it.”

His gaze settled on her mouth with raw intensity. Her skin tingled as the reminder of his lips sliding over hers hit her memory and her body. “Fair enough.” He paused. “Do relationships scare you?”

Startled, she struggled to answer. Her defenses slammed up. “Doesn’t it scare you?” she shot back.

To her surprise, he gave a half smile, refusing to retreat. “Maybe. Maybe not if I found the right woman. I’m not scared of love, Morgan. I’m scared of screwing up again with someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”

Her heart skittered in her chest, barely able to keep up her breathing. His words held a truth and an intimacy she hadn’t expected from tonight, especially so early. As if he sensed her hovering on the brink, he reached out and pushed her over.

“I’ll tell you this: he was an asshole if he wanted anything more than he wanted you.”

The words struck deep and healed her heart. The air charged with lit sexual tension. They stared at one another, gripped in a swirling cycle of need and want for connection, and Morgan ached to bury her head against his strong chest and let him hold her. Instead, she fought to get back on neutral footing.

“I had no idea we’d engage in dual therapy before dinner,” she said. “What are we having?”

After a tense moment, her breath released. He drew back, following her lead. “Porterhouse steak with a balsamic glaze. Roasted potatoes. Asparagus.”

She choked on her champagne. “Did you order out or really know how to cook this?”

Cal grinned. The boyish charm on such a masculine body was a killer combination. “I’m a good cook when I want to be. I’ve prepped most of it. Think you can help me cut up the asparagus while I check on the meat?”

“I think I can manage.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cooked or helped someone in the kitchen. The domestic scene wrapped around her with warmth. Instead of fighting it, Morgan swore to enjoy the evening.

He dropped a bag of asparagus, a cutting board, and a knife on the marble island. “Good. Oh, and on another note, I completely disagree.”

She slid the tools over to her side and began washing her hands in the prep sink. “On what?”

“Tristan interrupting us. You said it was good he stopped us from going too far.” A wolfish gleam entered his eyes. “I disagree. We haven’t gone far enough.” His voice dropped to a husky growl. “But I intend to correct that problem. Later.”

She stared at him, unable to form a word. He practically bristled with confidence and a sexual predatory scent that intoxicated her. Morgan should warn him off now. Remind him this was just about dinner and had nothing to do with dessert. Instead, she kept mute and heard his chuckle echo through the air. “Don’t worry about it now, princess. That asparagus needs your full attention.”

And with that, he stalked out of the kitchen.

Damn the man.

Yeah, he wanted her.

Bad.

Cal studied Morgan from across the table. He enjoyed watching her eat. Each movement was graceful and economical, from the way she cut her meat into perfect squares to the smooth arc of her fork lifting and disappearing into that delectable mouth.

His shorts were already way too tight. Cal shifted in his seat, trying not to focus on the way her tongue slid over her plump bottom lip in an effort to soak up the last of the juice. Crap, when had a woman eating made him want to come in his pants like a teen?

His words definitely put her on edge. Her conversation was deliberately light and stayed far away from any deep topics, including physical intimacy. He should’ve been frustrated. Instead, he was filled with an anticipation that rivaled Christmas mornings when he’d discovered numerous gaily wrapped presents under the tree, begging to be torn open. She was so damn . . . pretty. With her silvery blond hair curled just right to flip at the curve of her jaw and those wide blue eyes he wanted to see fogged with hunger. For him. Silver hoops caught the light as she neatly tucked a few stray strands behind her ear. Her scent danced in his nostrils. No musk or smoky perfume for her. Just the freshness of soap and cucumber and female skin, sexier than a bottle of opium. Her lemon-colored blouse kept sliding over her shoulder, exposing white, unblemished skin and the delicate strap of a cream-colored bra. He couldn’t seem to take his gaze off that glimpse of exposed flesh. With unconscious motions, she kept shrugging it back, only to let it slowly fall again until the top curve of her full breast peeked at him.

The game of hide-and-seek was driving him crazy. Cal knew she wanted him. It was in the wariness gleaming in her eyes, the slight trembling of her fingers, the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her neck. He had no need to scare her with any outrageous remarks or bold moves. He enjoyed the subtle game of male to female—the chase, the capture, and the reward.

No need to hurry his pleasure.

Thing was, it was more than physical for him. He wanted this particular woman in his bed. He craved her particular smell and touch and kiss. He wanted to hear his name dragged from her lips. He wanted to make Morgan Raines come hard wrapped up in his arms. It had happened so gradually, working side by side, his initial irritation turning into amusement, and then fascination. The woman had gotten under his skin. The past few years, he’d only experienced brief, shallow relationships. Agreement on both sides, of course, because building houses came first, and most women were honest enough to admit they wanted something more from him. It wasn’t that he was spooked by the prospect of a more permanent relationship. It was simply that no woman had tempted him to want more.