His question was teasing, but underneath she sensed the slightest bit of anxiety. That small hint of worry was more endearing than any smooth line could be.

Of course she wanted to spend the weekend with him. When was the last time he'd looked in the mirror? But it was more than his fantastic, dark good looks that made her want to be with him. He was charming, funny, warm, interesting ..

Wonderful.

He was also fun to tease, however, so she made a big show of putting her hand on her chin and staring up at the planks of pickled pine on the ceiling of the warehouse. "That depends:' she finally said, expecting Jack to know she was just playing around, "on what we make for dessert. I don't think I'll be able to really make up my mind until then:'

She looked up at him, lapping up his gorgeous smile, which told her he was going to play along as he cleared their plates over to the sink, which was surrounded with dirty bowls and baking sheets. "You're right:' he said, and she let the warmth of his voice fill her to the brim. "Everything hinges on dessert. And the only way I can truly do the dessert lesson justice is at my house. In my kitchen:' She had a vision of waking up in Jack's bed after a night of ravenous lovemaking and had to remind herself that he was only taking her to his house to make dessert. Not because he was planning on doing her in every room. After all, he hadn't so much as kissed her since they began dinner preparations. The quickie on the couch might have been an accident, right?

But damn it, she thought, hadn't she already spent thirty years being prudent? And for what? She wasn't married. She didn't have the children she longed for. Or the love she'd dreamed of for so long. She'd been given this night with Jack. And she was going to squeeze every last ounce of life-and pleasure-out of it. Choosing her words carefully, she said, ''I'd love to see your kitchen, Jack' all the while hoping that it was only a short walk to the bedroom.

FIVE

JACK HELD ROSE'S HAND as they walked the three blocks through Napa vineyards to his charming shingled house, complete with a porch swing out front and a view of the vines from nearly every room. The night was dark, the moon barely peeking out from behind the clouds, but even if she'd been blind she would have known she was in the wine country. Her senses had come alive in Jack's studio kitchen, and now she took in the heady scent of the growing grapes cooling after a hot summer day, the fragrant dirt beneath them.

It was as if wine was being pumped into the air all around them. And she was getting drunk without taking a sip.

Jack held open his front door. He flipped the lights on as she walked into the foyer. As she rounded the corner into his living room, Rose finally knew what home felt like.

It was full of soft, comfortable chairs and sofas, the kind you could flop down on after a hard day. The myriad piles of cooking magazines and hardcover cookbooks made her fingers itch to settle in for the night and flip through the glossy pictures.

"Your house is beautiful' she said, taking in the paintings and the colorful walls. His hand warmed the small of her back as he steered her into the kitchen. She stopped in surprise.

"I hope you're not disappointed; he said. "No, of course not. I was just expecting-"

"Stainless steel and granite and butcher block and the latest of everything? Sub-Zero refrigerators and a Cuisinart on every counter?"

She laughed. "You caught me. I thought I had you all figured out."

"I learned to cook in my grandmother's kitchen. It was barely as big as my foyer. But everything I loved was in there. My grandmother. My mother, when she wasn't busy with one of my younger brothers or sisters. And all those meals that made me who I am. I remember when the Realtor showed me this house. She didn't want me to see the kitchen. She said I could rip everything out, modernize it. But as soon as I laid eyes on it, I saw my grandmother holding me up at the sink, helping me wash my hands. It was already perfect. Red Formica, faux-wood-paneled cupboard doors, and linoleum floors may not be everyone's cup of tea. But they work for me'

Standing in Jack's kitchen, listening to him talk about his grandmother, pushed Rose over the edge of reason. She was falling for him. How could she not?

"They work for me too' she said in a husky voice, and the next thing she knew she was in his arms and he was carrying her out of the kitchen, down a dimly lit hallway. Straight to his bed.

His mouth was on hers and she was devouring him like she'd devoured the chocolate ravioli. His kiss was sweeter than any dessert, and she nearly laughed out loud. If she could patent the sex-with-Jack-Gerard diet, she'd make a killing. But she'd rather be dirt poor than share this man with any other woman. Just the thought of Jack kissing someone else like he was kissing her, running his hand down another woman's stomach until his fingertips found the band of her panties, made her so angry that she growled her jealousy into his throat.

For thirty years she'd followed a safe, timid, quiet path. But something about Jack-everything about himbrought out a side to her that she never knew existed. A savage, reckless, sensual woman that was dying to do naughty, wicked things to a beautiful man.

And if there was one thing she'd already learned tonight, it was that timid was overrated. Naughty wasn't.

A new self-confidence surged through her, and she flipped them over so Jack was lying beneath her. Before she could think, before she could stop and realize that she wasn't behaving like herself at all, she grabbed both his wrists tightly between her hands and pulled them above his head.

"You're mine tonight' she said, her voice raw and unsteady, full of the need to show him all the reasons why she was the only woman he'd ever want, ever again.

"Take my dress off' she ordered, briefly moving her hands from his wrists. Smart man that he was, he quickly complied, pulling the soft red cotton up past her hips, past her br**sts. She wiggled her shoulders as he pulled the dress up, then over her head. Shaking her hair free, she reveled in being completely naked as she straddled Jack's shirt-clad chest. Taking the dress from him, she quickly bound his wrists to the iron bed frame.

She'd never been so blatantly kinky with any man, but Rose knew that every move she was making was perfectly right.

JESUS, HE COULDN'T BELIEVE ROSE had tied his wrists to his bed with her dress. He'd always had to hold back his insatiable sexual appetite when he was with a women, but tonight, with Rose, he was being given free reign to every fantasy.

First, spanking. Now, bondage.

What made it even better was the fact that this little game was Rose's idea. Not his. Then again, now that he thought about it, maybe the spanking had been her idea too. She had goaded him into making good on his threat, hadn't she?