Nico's smile was slow and deliberate and full of sensual intention. "Yeah. Sure."

I ignored the rapid pace of my heart while I led the way, held the door open to my room. I waited for him to enter-which he did while whistling.

I closed the door and spun to face him, one hand on my hip the other pointing at him with what I hoped would be perceived as serious business. "What is this? What are you wearing?"

He glanced down at his black suit, white shirt, askew skinny tie. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

I stalked toward him, sniffed. Just as I suspected, cologne. "Suit? Tie? Cologne?"

"Yes. This is a suit," he said as he lifted one of his lapels. "And this is a tie." He pointed to the tie. "And that magical scent filling the air, that is cologne. Men wear these things. It's not a mystery, Nancy Drew, it's clothes and fragrance."

"But why are you wearing them? To knit night? And why are you at knit night?"

"I was invited by your adorable friend Janie." He smiled, his gaze strayed to my bed. It was unmade and a few underthings were scattered about including some of the pink-and-black lingerie from my last panty party. I fought the urge to clean up the disaster.

"Janie is engaged. You've met her fiance, right? He's the big, scary guy who used to be a criminal, probably still is."

"Hey." He held his hands up. "I'm not interested in Janie. Well . . . that's not true. I think every heterosexual guy with eyes and a working penis is interested in Janie, but I like Quinn and have no intention of stepping on his gorilla-sized toes."

"Then why are you dressed like that? And why were you out there flirting with Janie?" I sounded jealous. Grr.

Nico smoothed his tie and tugged at the wrists of his jacket. "I'm dressed like this because I'm taking your knitting group out to dinner tonight. You're invited too, if you want to come."

"You are?"

"Yes. If you'd looked around the room instead of jumping to, frankly, fascinating conclusions, you would notice that everyone is dressed for dinner. And I wasn't flirting with Janie. She and I are learning how to crochet."

"Is that what the kids are calling it?"

"Yes. I understand that there can be some animosity between knitters and crocheters, but I think if we all recognize our shared love for fiber and yarn then we'll be able to get along just fine."

"Fiona says that all the time. You just quoted Fiona."

"Yes I did. She is very wise."

"Stop changing the subject. I'm upset with you."

"Really?" He did a very good impression of pretending to look surprised. "Why? What did I do?"

"I saw your little interview!"

"Oh? Did you? Did you see that?" He appeared to be unconcerned. In fact, he appeared to be elated.

"Yeah, I saw that . . ." I waited for him to apologize or explain. When he continued to just look at me-twinkle, twinkle little star-my temper hit the roof. "What did you think you were doing?"

"What are you talking about? I was giving an interview-"

"You insinuated that you and I had a relationship when we were teenagers."

"We did have a relationship."

"No we didn't."

"Yeah, we kinda did."

I glared at him. He glared at me. He had a point. We kinda did. "Well, I-okay, okay. Fine, we kinda did. But then you told the reporter that you and I are 'just friends.'" I used air quotes with as much sarcastic flourish as possible.

He continued to glare at me. "We are 'just friends.'"

"But you didn't say it like we are just friends, you said it like: I'm going to tell you, Ms. Sexy Reporter Lady, that we're just friends, but really there is more going on and I'm not going to be honest with you about it. I'm just going to sit here and eye-twinkle at you and say we're just friends, but we're not."

He considered me for a moment, trying to suppress a grin. He bit his top lip, obviously to keep from laughing. "I eye-twinkled at the reporter?"

"Yeah. You eye-twinkled at the reporter-in fact, you are eye-twinkling right now and I would really appreciate it if could cease and desist-" He lost the fight against the smile and the laughter, and I couldn't help but join him as I neared the end of my tirade, "cease and desist with the-the eye-twinkling-for the time being . . ." A reluctant smile split my face. ". . . That would be fantastic."

"All right." He nodded solemnly, placed his hand over his heart. "All right. I'll see what I can do." Nico sighed, suddenly becoming serious. "But, you do know that my eyes are insured by Lloyds of London, right?"

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "The network insured them for two million dollars."

I studied him. "Really?"

He nodded again, his face a picture of sincerity. "Yes. Well, actually, not the eyes themselves, but the twinkle within them."

My eyes narrowed. Behind his impressive poker face was a Mona Lisa smile. I hit him on the shoulder. "Oh my god, I can't believe I almost fell for that. You are such a jerk!"

Nico burst out laughing again, he clutched his stomach. "You should have seen your face."

I swatted him again as I echoed his laughter.

Now his eyes were shining, radiant, resplendent, irresistible.

"Listen, okay, I'll do my best. No more twinkle." He held his hands up. His eyes were still shining as bright as the North Star. He really was making no effort.

"Please." I shook my head in exasperation. "Please do that. So, back to the real issue, which was what did you think you were doing on that interview talking about me at all?"

"Elizabeth, if I don't answer their questions it will only make things worse. They will continue to badger you. What I was trying to do was alleviate some of the pressure you've been under."

"But you didn't. In fact, it made things worse. And, what about you? Did you stop to think how this is going to impact you?"

"No. I didn't. I'm really just concerned about you right now. And they're not going to leave you alone. You stood on a chair and told a room full of people that you and I had a child together."

"Yes. I did that. I was trying to be nice. Obviously, that didn't go according to plan." I bit the inside of my cheek and glanced over his shoulder. Nothing was going according to plan these days.

"Let me do something to make it up to you."

"You don't need to do anything to make it up to me, it's not your fault. It's my fault. In fact, I should be apologizing to you. But-at the very least-could you stop giving interviews where you tell people that we're 'just friends' in a way that makes it sound like we're really playing hide the salami? Could you do that for me?"

Nico tilted his head to the side, a small smile lighting his expression. "I haven't heard that, hide the salami, since my dad was alive. You got that saying from my dad, didn't you?"

"Yes. I got it from your dad. I think it's hilarious." I gave him a sideways glance. "Your dad was really funny."

"Yeah . . . Yeah he was."

"Just like you." I tapped a finger against his shoulder, and we gave each other mirrored smiles.

A staring contest ensued; it was the kind where we began with smiles and good feelings then-over a period of several seconds-it transitioned into different kinds of good feelings and the room becoming too hot. He wasn't smiling anymore, and neither was I. In fact, I was pretty sure I was frowning.

Nico studied me, frowned at my frown, then he turned and glanced around my room. He strolled over to the bed, picked up my discarded black-and-pink lace bra and rubbed his thumb over the material.

"So, are you coming with us out to dinner?"

I shrugged, though my attention was focused on where his fingers slipped over the cup of the bra. "I don't know. I'm pretty tired and I need to be back at ten for Angelica's treatment."

He lifted the bra slightly. "This is the one you were wearing during your panty party, right?"

"I don't know. I guess so." That was a lie. I did know. Watching him finger the fabric was doing delicious things to me. He needed to stop. "You can unhand my bra now."

"It is the same one." His eyes narrowed as they studied the slip of material. "Where are the matching panties?"

My stomach tightened. Nico Manganiello should not be allowed to say panties. "I don't know. What an absurd question." That was a lie. I did know. They were in the top drawer of my dresser.

"You should wear them, and this, tonight."

"Ha . . ." My attempt at nonchalance came out more like a breathless choke. "How would you feel if I dictated your undergarments?"

He met my gaze directly, his expression and tone serious. "I wouldn't object."

Another staring match. My heart quickened. I suddenly could not stand the fact that he was holding my bra, his thumb drawing circles over the center of the cup with a reverence the material didn't deserve. I deserved that touch, and I was jealous of my underwear.

I needed him to stop.

"Stop doing that. Put it down." I charged over to where he stood and reached for my brassiere.

He held it above his head and to the side. His eyes watched me with a scorching intensity as I reached for the undergarment again, bumped against him as I clawed at his arm. I didn't realize at first, but he'd turned slightly and was backing me up. By the time I successfully reached and held the bra, he was emphatically filling every molecule of my personal space, and I was trapped, my back against the closet door. I was also breathing heavy. My chest touched his with every rise and fall.

He was looking at my mouth, and he licked his lips, slowly, drawing the full bottom one-the one I often thought of as juicy-between his teeth and sucking, biting it before releasing it. My eyelids felt heavy. In fact, I felt heavy all over.

And I felt hot. I felt hot and heavy all over.

He was so close I could count the individual eyelashes that fanned against his cheek.

Nico leaned forward, and I thought, just for a spare second, that he was going to kiss me. If he kissed me I was planning to kiss the hell out of him. Instead his mouth moved to my ear, and his knee moved between my legs, his thigh against my center. He tasted the tip of my ear, his hot breath fanning against my neck, and I shuddered.

"Elizabeth . . ."

I whimpered in response; his leg shifted, the movement causing a delicious friction between my thighs. I automatically gripped his shoulders to steady myself.

He trailed hot, tender kisses from my ear to my neck. I lifted to my tiptoes; my fingers found their way into his hair, and I pressed him closer, arching against him.

I needed to kiss him. Like, needed to kiss him. I needed his mouth, and I needed to bite his bottom lip, and I needed to feel the wet warmth of his tongue against mine. But, before I could make my need my reality he pulled away, turned away, and walked away. He left me, back against the door, gasping for breath and with the worst blue bean of my life.

Blue bean being, of course, the female equivalent of blue balls.

My lashes fluttered open, and I was thankful to have the solid weight of the door behind me. If I'd been left adrift in the middle of the room I might have fallen over or crumpled into an embarrassing puddle of arousal on the floor.

". . . Nico?" I flinched at how small and unsure my voice sounded. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything further; not until I had a plan, and not until that plan involved not hot monkey sex.

He didn't turn, didn't look at me. He stood in profile, his hands on his hips. He also seemed to be breathing with some difficulty. He swallowed then cleared his throat. "You should-" He cleared his throat again, this time louder; "You should get ready. The reservation is for seven-thirty."

I held my breath, waited for him to say something else. When he said nothing I felt my eye twitch. "What?"

"I'm sorry about- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't very . . . friendly of me."

I stared at him, at his exasperatingly beautiful face. It took a full ten seconds for his words to sink in. When they did I felt like I was being torn into several small pieces.

"I don't want to be friends anymore."

He glanced at me over his shoulder, his eyebrow lifting along with a corner of his mouth. "Being friends isn't optional." He stalked back to me, his steps full of swagger, his eyes full of blazing machismo. "We can be friends and something else." He lifted his hand to my temple and tucked a loosened strand of hair behind my ear. "But we're always going to be friends."

I smacked his hand away. "No. We're not. We're not friends anymore. I don't want to see you again."

"Why?"

I lifted my chin. "Because I'm tired of your games."

He had the audacity to look pleased with himself. "Games? What games?"

"That. Right there. What just happened a second ago. And the pornographic shirtless apple-fritters scene last Sunday and the 'friend kiss' and the straddling last night. You're playing with me and I don't like it."

"I'm not playing with you."

"Yes. You are. You know that I want you . . ." I swallowed the end of my sentence, suddenly out of breath. His eyes flashed at my words, and he shifted forward. I placed a hand on his chest to keep him from coming any closer, having already admitted too much. "You know how much I want you and you're trying to use it against me, you're teasing me with it, pushing me, trying to cloud my judgment."

"If you want me then take me." The words were impatient, sounded like an order.

"It's not that simple. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." Nico's eyes tangled with mine, ensnared me.

"I will." I wasn't so certain anymore.

"It's too late. You already have me."

I started to shiver. "I don't."

"You do."