"Looks like dinner's ready;' he said, knowing her big, blue eyes were on him, not trusting himself to look in them just yet.

He had to give her credit for keeping the conversation light and fun. She had an arsenal of humorous stories about working with wealthy residential landscaping clients, not to mention a few tales about the volunteer work she'd recently done at an elder care center.

His ex had done a lot of charity work. That is, if you considered throwing lunches and gala dinners work. Frankly, while he was glad for the money raised, he'd never sympathized with Kimberly's whining about how hard it was to be on fund-raising committees. She'd loved the power, the prestige that had come with her position as the wife of a winery owner. And if he had let himself become the man she'd really wanted-slick, impossibly wealthy, willing to sell his grapes out to the low-budget commercial wine sellers-they'd likely still be together.

Maybe Kimberly had done him a favor by sleeping with his foreman. She'd taken a broken marriage and shattered it to pieces.

He let himself look back into Carrie's intelligent eyes.

Throughout their meal he worked to read between the lines of her stories. Was she trying to impress him with how giving she was in working with the elderly? With how successful she seemed to be at her profession? Amazingly, she managed to look put together in his ragged shirt and over-sized jeans with her hair still damp and wild from their impromptu shower.

Nonetheless, he couldn't escape the feeling that no matter how classy she was, how different her upperclass life might be from his middle-class upbringing, she wasn't out to screw him over. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Hell, it was just one weekend. That was the important thing to remember here. She was gorgeous and intelligent and great in the sack. And if he didn't know better, he'd say she was exactly the kind of woman he'd been searching for.

His divorce had forced him to think about what he wanted from a girlfriend. From a wife. The second time around he wanted forever. Most of all, he wanted a partner. He wanted the woman he loved to support him, to be excited about his passions, even if she didn't share them. And he wanted to support his partner in exactly the same way. He wanted to be there for her, to boost her when she was low, to celebrate with her when she was on top of the world. Of course, he wanted the icing on the cake too. He wanted great sex with his future wife. Phenomenal sex.

But he wasn't going to let great sex cloud his judgment again.

This was simply one weekend of the best sex he'd ever have. With the hottest babe this side of the Golden Gate Bridge.

"Ever thought of using vines in your designs?" he asked as they carried empty dishes into the kitchen. "Honestly, no. But it might work for some of my clients in the sunnier locations in the city." "I agree. Why don't you join me tomorrow and I'll give you some pointers."

She turned to him, a naughty gleam in her eyes. "Is that all you're planning on doing with me tomorrow?" "Not a chance;' he said, scooping her up in his arms as the clock struck midnight. "Looks like tomorrow just started:'

CARRIE HELD ON TIGHT as he carried her into the bedroom for the third time in as many hours. She'd never had so much sex in such a short time-she'd had five orgasms already. Or was it six? She was losing count of all the ways Tyson had made her come, and it was wonderful.

To her surprise, he carried her past the bedroom door and out through a back door. "Where are you taking me?" she asked as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.

"Someplace special;' he said. "To a place where you can scream

as loud as you want-"

She finished his sentence. "And no one will hear me:'

His eyes gleamed with lust in the moonlight. "Smart girl."

A shiver ran up her spine and her ni**les hardened in anticipation as he walked down a short flight of stairs, then pushed a large wooden door open with his foot. The first thing she noticed was the smell of fermenting grapes, so sweet, so strong, so heady. The darkness sucked them in. The old Carrie would have been scared, frightened of the untold things that a cowboy could do to her body in a place like this. The new Carrie wanted to lock them both inside the deserted wine cellar for the rest of the weekend. Tyson would be hers to endlessly tempt, taste, touch.

He set her down, and her legs were unsteady. Desire did that to a girl, she thought with a grin as she supported herself against the cool cement wall. He lit a match, and the glow from two lanterns on the wall lit up the wine cave.

"It's so beautiful down here;' she breathed, knowing that "beautiful" didn't cut it. She'd done winery tours before, she'd been in the caves where the grapes ripened into wine, but her breath had never been taken away. The love Tyson poured into his passion was more apparent than ever here. "Your cave is magical;' she said, and he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against his hardness.

"Magical;' he repeated, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She pulled his hands up to her mouth and pressed a kiss to them.

"I want to do something for you;' she whispered. "Something I've never done before:' He growled as his hands moved up to cover her br**sts. Blood rushed to her ni**les, to her dit, and she moaned, on the verge of giving in to Tyson's plan. But no matter how ready she was for him to sink into her, to make her scream with pleasure, she needed to do this. She needed to prove to herself that she was brave enough to own her own sexuality.

She forced herself to move out of his arms, then pointed to a bench in the middle of the cave. "Sit;' she ordered, and she could have sworn the corner of his mouth curved up. Slowly, he moved across the cave to the bench and lowered himself down. He bent one leg and crossed his ankle over his knee. Her legs started that awful trembling again, and she bit her lip.

What was she thinking? She didn't know how to do a striptease. She was going to make a fool of herself. Or pass out from embarrassment.

As her thoughts rammed into each other in her brain, something in her broke. She was sick and tired of being the good girl.

She was going to strip for Tyson. And then she was going to touch herself. While he watched. And when tomorrow came, she'd know that she didn't have to let the good girl win all the time. Because the bad girl had finally been given free rein.

TYSON WATCHED UNCERTAINTY and doubt flit across Carrie's face. Even if this was just an incredibly hot weekend fling, he couldn't stuff away the part of him that wanted to hold her, to comfort her. He couldn't help but like her, and he wanted her to win whatever battle she was fighting. And so he stayed where he was on the bench, his hard-on pulsing against his zipper, his heart pounding with desire, his blood racing. "Ready whenever you are;' he said, purposely taunting her to break the hold her thoughts had on her. Her head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes. Glaring, she said, "Good. You'd better be. Because I'm going to have to chain you to that bench before I'm through:'