Apparently, vases were more important than he’d realized. “I have no idea.”

“You probably don’t, but I’ll find something.” She licked her top lip, the tip of her pink tongue impossible to look away from.

The tingle that had gone down his spine zipped to a new location. His mind wasn’t on the flowers anymore. Or dinner. Full moon or not, being around Ivy had a marked effect on him. He wanted her in a way that erased all rational thought.

She made shooing motions at him. “Go change, dinner’s almost ready.”

He stayed where he was. “Don’t I get something for the flowers?”

She tipped her head. “Like what?”

“Like a kiss.” He wanted more than that, but all in good time.

She bit her lip. “I think that’s fair.”

She put the flowers on the counter, her hands on his chest and went up on her tiptoes as she tilted toward him and pressed her lush mouth to his.

His hands settled on her hips of their own volition.

She kissed him tentatively, the pressure of her mouth soft, the movements sweetly hesitant. Then her hands rose to twine around his neck, and she leaned into him, a soft growl of pleasure rumbling from her throat.

He matched her growl with one of his own. His hands slid down to cup her backside, his palms filling with her firm flesh. He pulled her in closer until the line of their bodies meshed. Heat burned through him everywhere she touched him. The kind of fire only one thing would quench.

He broke the kiss and sucked in a deep gulp of air, but all he could taste was her. All he wanted to taste was her. “I’ll go change.”

The second Hank was out of the kitchen, Ivy pressed her forehead to the granite countertop in an effort to cool herself off. The man was like lava. Hot, delicious lava she wanted to ride like a brand new Harley.

And he was giving her dirty thoughts. No, the full moon fever was giving her dirty thoughts. At least it was partly full moon fever. It had to be, because there was no other reason for her to be so attracted to a man who not only came from the family that was her family’s sworn enemy, but a cop.

A Kincaid, hot and bothered over a cop.

No wonder her father had had such a big laugh over this whole setup. Not only was he getting rid of his disappointing daughter and her dud of a kid—her father’s words—but he was shifting their care and responsibility onto a man he couldn’t stand for a multitude of reasons. Merrow, lawman, bringer of flowers, respecter of women.

Exactly the sort of man her father loved to hate.

Exactly the sort of man she dreamed about because she’d never thought he could be real. Handsome Hank, the dream come true.

She stood up. The granite hadn’t cooled her off as much as she’d hoped, but they were going out for a run later, and that would do wonders. So long as they could keep it in their pants until the run. And after.

She grabbed the flowers, stuck them in an iced tea pitcher filled with water, then cranked up the burner beneath the grill pan. Hank might not do a lot of cooking, but his kitchen was well stocked with equipment. Maybe that was Bridget’s doing.

Hank came back downstairs as she was flipping the steaks. He was barefooted, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and his hair was damp. He must have showered. It was the first time she’d seen him out of uniform. She wasn’t sure which look she preferred. Both were unfairly nice. “Damn, those smell good.”

She returned her attention to the steaks. “I hope they taste as good.”

“I’m sure they will.” He went to the fridge. “You want a beer?”

“No, thanks.”

He gave her an odd look. “Wine? I have some of that too.”

“No, I don’t like to drink before a run.” Not her first run with him anyway. The hormones were already weakening her inhibitions. She didn’t need alcohol to help that along any further.

He nodded and put the beer back. “That’s a good idea.”

“Don’t not drink on my account.”

“I’m good.”

He came to stand next to her by the stove. The clean scent of soap and his natural earthy maleness wafted off him. She glanced up at him. Damp hair was a good look on him.

Hell, everything was a good look on him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She smiled and poked at the steaks with the tongs just to give herself something to do. “You smell clean.”

“And you still smell like chocolate.”

She put the tongs down and turned, almost running into him as he bent toward her. Had he been about to sniff her hair? “Sorry. I tried to clean all the batter off.”

Gold haloed his irises. “Nothing to be sorry for. I like chocolate, remember?”

For a second she thought he was going to kiss her again. She was okay with that, but the phone rang and brought the moment to an end.

He went to answer it. “Hello?” He asked a second time, then hung up. “No one there.”

“Wrong number probably.”

“Probably.” He stayed on the other side of the kitchen. “You need help with anything?”

Getting her pants off. She took a breath. “Sure. You can get the salad and the dressing out of the fridge. I bought Italian and blue cheese. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

She put the steaks on a platter and brought them to the table to rest while she took the baked potatoes out of the oven. She brought them over as well, then loaded the biggest steak onto Hank’s plate. Lastly, she added the pitcher of flowers to the table. She wasn’t about to let his effort go unappreciated.