I show up at Drew’s building with butterflies in my stomach and the cake box clutched in my hands. It’s not like I’m a nervous virgin, I’ve had my share of hot and heavy hookups, but this feels different. I’m actually going to get down to business with Drew Delaney.

If I’d told the girls in high school this was going to be my future, they’d all have laughed their heads off at the idea. But Maggie Hayes is getting the last laugh here—and I’m counting on a whole lot of gasping and moaning too.

I take the elevator up to the penthouse floor and adjust my sundress. Red, tight, low-cut. I figure we’re about three bases past subtle here, so why not go all out to knock his socks off?

And pants.

And underwear.

“Hey,” Drew says, opening the door. He’s dressed in simple dark-wash jeans and a fitted green tee, but damn does that muscular body of his fill them out well. The glint in his eyes and the pleased tilt of his grin send my stomach butterflies into overdrive.

“Hi,” I answer. Am I already breathless? Hell yes. My pulse is already racing as he ushers me inside, sets my cake box on a table by the door, and pulls me right into a hello kiss. His lips coax mine apart so his tongue can tease over them. My hands rise automatically to tangle in his silky hair. My body has melded against his, every inch of those tight muscles against me.

Dinner? What is dinner? I’d be fine with skipping that and getting on with the rest of the main event.

He pulls back just enough to look down at me. “I think I like this dress even more than yesterday’s.”

“Glad you approve,” I say. “You’re looking very fine yourself.”

His smile makes him even more fine, which I wouldn’t have thought was humanly possible. “I aim to please.” He ambles over to the kitchen area, motioning for me to follow. “So what were you thinking? Sweet, spicy, savory . . . ?”

“Are you talking about dinner or what comes after?” I tease, and his smile turns wicked.

“How about both?”

“Hmmm. I think I’d like to save most of the spice for later tonight. Otherwise, I’m open to suggestion. What’s good around here?”

“Oh, no.” He holds up his hands. “I’m not ready to have my taste in food judged by a master chef.”

I laugh. “I promise I’m pretty easygoing when it comes to everything except cake.”

We settle on a Greek place Drew decides won’t offend me. As he calls in the order, I wander through the apartment. I didn’t have much chance to explore the other morning, I ended up taking off too quickly. Not that back then I was really in the right mindset for exploring. Funny how last week I panicked finding myself in Drew’s bed and now I can’t wait to get back there.

The place is neat—but not too neat. Cool modern art on the walls . . . a vintage-looking leather sofa . . . a massive baby grand piano in the corner, covered with sheet music and open notebooks. I drift over to take a closer look.

“Working on something new?”

“Just playing around. I spent most of the day trying to lease the ground floor space,” Drew says, looking tired. “I met with another potential leaser this afternoon, but she didn’t work out any better than the first.”

The guy I saw him with at lunch. “Right. What happened to the hip new night club?”

Drew leans against the arm of the sofa. “I realized that having bass thumping through the building all night would get old pretty fast. If anyone’s making music in this place, it’s going to be me.”

He gives me a wink that says it’s not just literal music he’s talking about. A tingle spreads over my skin.

“So what was wrong with the person today?” I ask, resisting the urge to sidle closer to him. The food is on the way now. I should probably practice a little patience.

“It started off well enough,” he says, shaking his head. “Sixty-something woman looking to set up an art studio—sounds lovely, right? Then in the middle of discussing the details she starts talking about how her figure drawing classes will need, er, nude models for some of their exercises, and she’d love to have me join in if I was up for it.”

I laugh. “And that idea didn’t appeal to you?”

“I’ve got to say I was a little weirded out. Especially when she got this expression like she was about to start drooling over the idea.” He chuckles. “So, I think I’d better keep looking.”

“Hard to blame her, though.” I reach out to trail my hand down the front of his shirt, loving the feel of him. Loving the spark that leaps into his eyes at my touch. “I mean, given the chance to be inspired by a body like this . . .”

Drew leans in. “And what are you inspired to do with it?”

I arch my eyebrows at him. “I guess you’ll just have to wait until after dinner to find out. I didn’t bake those lava cakes for nothing.”

“Lava cakes? Is that what’s in there?” His head twists around to contemplate the box. “I’m thinking dessert before dinner sounds like a good idea.”

“They’re not ready yet. I’ll have to throw them in the oven for a bit to get them just right.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to distract myself then.” He rests his hand on my waist. My heartbeat speeds up. “With your scintillating conversation, of course,” he adds with a smirk. “Any leads on your end, as far as getting back into the baking action—on a professional basis, I mean?”

“Nothing major yet, but I’m picking up some private clients,” I say. “Other than you. As much as I appreciated your patronage.”

“Hmmm. As long as you don’t appreciate anyone else’s quite the same way.” His thumb strokes over my side, the warmth of his hand blazing through the thin fabric of my dress. “You’re going to knock people’s socks off, Maggie. It’s just a matter of time.”

The flush has gone to my head. We haven’t had anything to drink, but I feel suddenly tipsy. My voice comes out breathless. “You know, there’s only one person who’s clothing I have any interest in knocking off.”

He takes a step closer, leaving only an inch between us. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” And then, best intentions be damned, I raise my head and plant my lips on his.

Drew doesn’t hold back. He angles his head to deepen the kiss at the same time as he slides his arm right around me, bringing me flush against him. A pleased hum sounds in his throat. His mouth plunders mine, wanting and decisive. He warned me he might ravish me, and that’s exactly how I feel. Ravished, devoured, about to be consumed by the fire he’s lit inside me.

God, this man has skills.

He lowers his face to kiss my jawline, my neck. Each press of his lips is scorching. My hand finds its way under his shirt, tracing up over all that taut skin. He cups my breast, teasing his palm against the nipple, and I whimper.

“Wait,” I say, before my brain takes leave completely for areas further south. “Just so we’re clear . . . This . . . what we’re doing . . . ? It’s . . . ?” I trail off, looking for some direction. I mean, it’s not every day I get to indulge my fantasies with a former crush, and I’m ninety percent sure Drew Delaney isn’t the “take things slow and serious” kind of guy—the fact he’s got me half undressed in like ten seconds flat is testament to his skills—but still, the cruel fact is, my life is way too much of a mess to even think about opening up and putting my heart on the line to anything other than a triple coffee-chocolate éclair right now.

“It’s . . . hot,” he answers with a smoldering grin.

“Uh huh,” I’m distracted by his fingers teasing over my stomach. “And fun.”

“Definitely.”

He keeps teasing me, caressing one breast and then the other, as his tongue has its way with mine, and fuck it, “hot and fun” is good enough for me. I arch against him. The hard length of him presses against me through his jeans. God, I don’t have the words for how much I want it inside me.

But Drew obviously doesn’t believe in rushing. His deft fingers find the zipper at the back of my dress and he pulls it down, slowly as he walks me backward. My shoulders hit a wall, and then he’s charting a path of kisses down my body. His mouth takes an agonizingly slow, steady trip down over my collarbone, to the swell of my breast. Then he shoves my bra down and licks my nipple into his mouth.

God, that feels incredible.

I moan, gripping his hair. His hand slips up under my dress, and he eases a finger along the edge of my panties. Another moan breaks from my lips as he slides over me. I strain my hips into the pressure of his hand.

More, please. More of everything.

“Now, where was I . . . ” Drew muses. “Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

“Right about . . . there,” I gasp as he tugs my panties down and pushes my dress to my waist.

He sinks to his knees, kissing the inside of my thighs. Then his mouth closes over my clit, and all I can do is hold on tight and beg for more.

Drew laps over me, keeps me braced against the wall with one hand on my hips. The other teases my slick opening, nudging and probing until I want to scream. And all the while his tongue darts and flicks over my clit, driving me insane. I clutch at his head and shoulder as the heady pressure within me builds. Every movement of his mouth sends a fresh wave of pleasure through me.

One finger, and then another, curls right inside me, finding the sweet spot there. I cry out as he sucks hard, pulsing his hand at the same time. Devouring me like I’m the best meal he’s ever had. My hips buck, and then I’m coming, hard, with a blaze of pleasure that takes my breath away.

I sag against the wall, unsteady. Drew kisses me between my legs once more, and then rises, holding me. He kisses my neck and murmurs by my ear, “Bedroom. Now.”

He could suggest we jump out of a plane right and I’d probably agree to it. The bedroom? Fantastic. “Yes, please,” I gasp, still coming down from the high of my orgasm. Drew grins and gives me a look so full of filthy promise, I swear I almost come all over again. He grabs my hand and yanks me after him down the hall toward—

The doorbell buzzes.

I groan in disappointment. “Food. Right.” Did the delivery guy have to get here quite that fast?

“You stay there,” Drew says. “The second I close that door, we’re picking right back up where we left off. I am so far from finished with you yet, Maggie Hayes.”

If I was blazing before, I’m now on the verge of incinerating. I tug up—and down—my dress and reposition my panties as he lopes to the door, in case the delivery guy takes a peek in. Which turns out to be a very wise move, because the next thing I know, a tall, almost gangly guy with shaggy black hair, an intense five o’clock shadow, and an incredibly familiar set of striking blue eyes comes sauntering past Drew into the apartment.

“Charlie,” Drew growls, his shoulders tensed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Charlie. That’s why he looks so familiar. Category 5’s youthful joker looks a little worse for wear after the last ten years, but that rogue-ish twinkle hasn’t gone anywhere. And neither has the oblivious air of entitlement that always rubbed me the wrong way. He strolls through the apartment as if he owns the place and tosses the duffel bag he’s carrying on the sofa. Then his gaze catches on me. I cross my arms over my chest, willing my cheeks not to burn.

“Well, hello. Charlie Stone. Glad to meet any friend of Drew’s.”

“Maggie,” I say, and glance past him to Drew.

“Charlie,” Drew says, striding after him. “This really isn’t a good time.”

A knock sounds on the door, which is still halfway ajar. A guy holding a couple plastic bags bulging with food pokes his head nervously inside. “Delivery for Drew Delaney?”

“Sounds like I arrived right on time to me!” Charlie says. He grabs the bags while Drew is paying and already has the pitas and dip open on the island before Drew turns around.

I guess date night is over.

Drew’s coming to the same conclusion. His voice comes out harder than I’ve ever heard it. “Charlie, again—what are you doing here? You ever think of calling first?”

“We talked on the phone last week,” Charlie says carelessly, waving a piece of pita at him. “I’m here for the charity event—it sounded like you’re all up to speed on that. I just need to crash here a couple of nights.”

“I’m not up to speed at all. What is even going on? You signed us up for something?”

“Yeah. It’s going to be great. We’ll perform one of the hits, and then the charity place will auction off a date with each of us. They’ll be raking in the dough, we get to remind everyone what superstars we are—win, win!”

“You signed me up to be auctioned off?” Drew splutters. I can’t help cracking a smile. If we were going to be interrupted, this is at least a lot more entertaining than last night’s cop.

“Look,” Charlie says, shooting a smile back at me. “Your gal is on board. It’s an amazing cause, man. All the money goes to help kids in the hospital. How can you say no to that?”

“He’s got a point,” I say, teasing. “You can’t find a more worthy cause than sick kids. If you’ve got to sell yourself for something, I mean.”

Drew aims a mock glare my way, as if to say, You’re not helping. “I’m really not up for this, Charlie. Maybe if you’d brought the idea to me ahead of time—”

“Well, you can’t back out now,” Charlie says, looking genuinely concerned. “They’re all set for it to be the both of us.”

Drew opens his mouth, closes it again, and sighs. He looks at me again, but I just grin. “I haven’t seen you in action in at least a decade. I’ll be there. Wednesday, right? Good to meet you, Charlie.”

“You too,” he says, through a mouthful of hummus.

I start to head for the door, but Drew blocks my path.

“You—don’t move,” he says, glaring at Charlie. “And don’t eat our goddamn food.” Drew draws me out to the living room.

“I am so sorry about this. Give me ten minutes, I can get rid of him.”

I set my hand on his chest, still enjoying the flex of his muscles against my palm, but not with quite the same heat as a moment ago. I give a regretful sigh. “It’s okay. The moment’s passed.”

“You mean, that idiot killed it.” Drew rakes his hand through his hair, looking about as frustrated as I feel.

“Tomorrow night, then?” he says hopefully. “I’ll definitely have him out of here by then. And I don’t know if I can stand to wait much longer than that.”

“I’m catering a bachelorette tomorrow evening,” I say, with some regret. “But . . . if you’re still up, I could give you a call after?”

“Ah, so that’s what I’ve been reduced to—your late-night booty call.”

It’s nice to hear that teasing note back in his voice. I grin. “Count on it.”