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"I got your note," I grin at the bombshell Sophia Loren look alike who just answered the door in a pale pink robe that's just short enough to be sexy but long enough that it's clear she doesn't mean for it to be.

She squints up at me, brushes her long chestnut colored hair out her eyes and frowns. "Then why are you knocking on my door at seven thirty in the morning?"

Her lips, wide and full even as they frown up at me, are the same color as the peonies blooming in huge pale pink clusters in the bushes framing the grey bricked path that leads to her house. But prettier.

"Hello?" she waves a hand front of my face and pulls me out of my very enjoyable study of her mouth.

I take my time moving from her lips and linger on the small beauty mark on the left side of her mouth. Her skin is flushed with sleep, and her cheeks have a glow to them I have a feeling is always present. She's got a long straight nose that, like her mouth, is on the verge of being too big for her face.

"I came to apologize and introduce myself. You know, be neighborly,” I say when I finally reach her eyes. They are the color of the sea. Dark green, clear and, right now, just as turbulent.

"I'm Maximillian Edwards, but you can call me Max. It’s what my friends do," I mention as I extend my hand.

She eyes it for a second and then puts hers in it.

When our hands touch, the warmth of her palm pressed to mine, I feel a tingle all the way up my arm. Judging by her surprised gasp and the way her eyes fly between our joined hands and my face, she does, too.

I say a silent thank you to whatever good luck brought this goddess to the long vacant beach house next door to mine.

"I'm Franchesca Parisi,” she says, her lips turning up in a smile that's subtle, but still reaches all the way to her gorgeous wide eyes. "You can call me Franchesca, Maximillian." She pulls her hand out of my grasp and fusses with her hair again. Her eyes

"Ouch," I flatten hand on my chest in a wounded gesture that's only half feigned. "Are you rejecting my offer of friendship?"

"Yes," she says even though her smile grows wider. "I'm not friends with morning people. I don't trust them," she deadpans.

"I'm not a morning person. I'm an all-day person," I retort.

“Even worse,” she chuckles. It's husky, effortless, and I think it's my new favorite sound.

She tightens the belt of her robe, and the motion draws my eye to her waist. It's small, and the ample curve of her hips and the generous breasts that strain the fabric of her robe accentuate it even more.

"Ahem..." she says and I look back her face and offer her a contrite smile.

"I'm sorry. I don't usually ogle women, I swear."

She quirks that sexy mouth into a disbelieving smirk.

"Really," I protest. She just raises one of her sable colored eye brows and taps her chin with one of her dark red finger nails. Against the pink, brown and green tableau that makes up the rest of her, they hint at tendency to buck conformity.

"Let me guess… you're just so overwhelmed by me in particular that you've suddenly started behaving out of character," she says in a dry tone that says she thinks that it's more likely that aliens live among us.

I cock my head at her in surprise. "Yes. You’re traffic stopping beautiful," I tell her honestly. She flushes, but her smile disappears. I know by the look on her face I've said the wrong thing. "Flattery won't get you anywhere. At least not with me," she says tightly.

"I'm sorry," I apologize immediately. I'm not the type of guy to press unwanted advances on women. I realize how my presence, coupled with my ogling and my blatant flirting, must seem.

"I came to apologize for all the noise. Now, I'll add being a creepy neighbor to the list of my transgressions," I say sheepishly.

She relaxes and smiles through a moan that is erotic in a way she can't possibly mean, and it immediately replaces her laugh as my favorite sound. I want to pull that sound from her again.

"I'm sorry, Max,” and hearing her use my name loosens something in my chest. It sounds nice rolling off her tongue, and I love that she’s dropped my full name. “We've gotten off on the wrong foot, haven't we?" she says graciously.

"We? No, just me. I haven't had neighbors for a long time. I'm used to playing my music as loud as I want and laying flooring at midnight because it's convenient. I'll keep it down. I won't knock so early. And I won't stare at you inappropriately," I say hoping that even though I'm being lighthearted, she can tell my apology is sincere. Her eyes soften.

"I didn't find your regard inappropriate," she says softly looking up at me through her lashes.

That look, coupled with the very faint blush that blooms on her cheeks, is so utterly sexy and charming I find myself saying words I haven't even thought to say in months. "I’d love to make it up to you. Can I cook you lunch?"