Lethal Exposure. Lori Wilde

She tapped her forehead. “Anything you need.”

      “Anything?” He grinned rakishly and his gaze took another trip over the length of her body.

       Don’t blush, don’t blush.

      Too late. Her cheeks heated.

      Terrific. She was blushing. Giving herself away. Why did she have to be so fair? Why couldn’t she have taken after her father’s side of the family, with his Italian heritage, instead of her Swedish mother?

      “Our table is this way.” With a proprietary touch that both excited and bothered her, he took her elbow and guided her to the back of the restaurant.

      Her heart rate soared as she caught a whiff of his scent. He smelled of cool sage and a startling twist of hot nutmeg. She had an urge to nibble the flesh of his earlobe and see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

      A physical reaction ignited inside her. It was as if all her glands—pineal, adrenal, pituitary, parotid—were functioning overtime, all secreting at maximum capacity. Saliva filled her mouth. Epinephrine sped through her bloodstream. Heat suffused her pelvis. She was a walking chemistry lab.

      The sudden desire unsettled her. This wicked lick of unexpected sensory pleasure.

      There were no other diners in their immediate area. A nosegay of purple and peach orchids rested in the center of the table and she was surprised to see a card beside the flowers with her name on them.

      “The flowers are for me?”

      “To thank you,” he said. “For agreeing to let me interview you. Go ahead. Open the card.”

      Her fingers were damp against the matte finish of the envelope. She slipped the note out.

      To ensure you never confuse me with anyone else again, Sebastian.

      She didn’t have the courage to look at him directly. “The flowers weren’t necessary.”

      “You don’t like them.”

      “I’m overwhelmed. How did you know they’re my favorite flowers and my favorite colors?”

      “I asked around.”

      The fact he’d taken the time to ask around about her was flattering. “Th-thank you,” she stammered.

      “You’re welcome.” He pulled her chair out for her. His warm breath feathered the hairs along the nape of her neck. She tried not to be impressed with his courtly manners. He knew all the tricks to set a woman’s heart pattering.

       Careful.

      Her self-esteem couldn’t survive another mistake courtesy of the male species.