Owen made it exactly four minutes through the drive back to Millhaven before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Admit it,” he said, glancing sidelong at Cate from the driver’s seat of his truck. “You kicked ass today.”

She pressed her lips together, although it did damn little to kill her smile, and hah! He had her.

“It killed you to wait this long to say that, didn’t it?” she asked. “Like, I’m betting it caused you actual physical pain.”

“Brutal physical pain,” Owen corrected, even though he knew damned well he wasn’t so much pushing his luck as shoving it off a cliff. “Which is why I’m going to need to hear you say it out loud.”

Okay, so it wasn’t usually in his nature to gloat unless his brothers and some serious bragging rights were involved. But between the adrenaline-laced buzz of the start of the season, the upward trending success Cross Creek had seen over the past six months, and how thoroughly Cate’s sales had to have surpassed the profit threshold they’d calculated last night, he just couldn’t manage to rein himself in.

Which she must have sensed, because she laughed and said, “Fine. I sold a lot more than I expected to.”

Christ almighty, she was tough on herself. “We’re going to have to work on your confidence between now and when the storefront opens.”

“What about Cross Creek?” she asked after a beat, looking out the window. “You seemed to move a lot of produce today.”

A bit of an abrupt subject change, but not one Owen hated. “We did, actually. We’ll have to run the numbers and the inventory on Monday for exact counts, but at first blush, it looks like our best opening day in the last few years.”

“Sounds like I’m not the only one who should be singing her own praises,” Cate said, and despite only being able to spare her a quick glance because he was driving, he still caught her wry smile right in the solar plexus.

“Okay, okay, okay!” He lifted one hand off the steering wheel in concession, laughing along with her. “We both kicked ass today.”

“So.” She gestured to the mid-afternoon scenery flying past the windows, all bathed in muted sunlight. “Are we officially off the clock, then?”

Owen nodded. She was probably dying for a break, with how hard she’d worked over the past three days. “Yes, ma’am. It seems we are.”

“Excellent. How do you feel about sex?”

His heart boomeranged through his chest. “I’m…sorry?” he sputtered. Certainly, he was hearing things. Because no way in hell had Cate just asked—

“How do you feel about sex? Specifically, having sex with me.”

Holy shit, she had. “I, ah. Should probably buy you dinner first.”

Cate met his weak attempt at humor with a shake of her head. “You could, but it’s really not necessary. Look, you said the ball was in my court, right?”

“I did,” Owen said slowly, still trying to get his brain around the conversation.

Cate, however? Seemed to have no problem whatsoever in that department as she continued, “And we’re two consenting adults who are attracted to each other.”

Fuck, yeah we are! Stop overthinking this and take off your pants! his libido screamed, but he managed to go with a slightly more subdued, “Yes.”

“Okay, then. I’m free tonight, if that works for you.”

Owen laughed, because the alternative was to pull over and take her up on her proposition right there on the side of the goddamn road. “You really do get right to it, don’t you?”

“I don’t see any reason not to,” Cate said, her voice hitching by the slightest degree when she added, “Unless you’re not interested.”

“Oh, believe me. I’m interested.” The words came out low and covered in gravel, and Owen swallowed to regain his steadiness. “But, see, I’ve got these pesky manners, so I’m going to have to insist on that dinner.”

She made a sound that was some cross between an exhale and a chuff of laughter. “That’s sweet of you, but I really don’t need that.”

“Maybe not, but I do.”

Owen caught the look of shock that crossed her face a heartbeat later, and it prompted a smile over his lips. “What? You thought this was going to be all about what you need? I mean, I’m happy to oblige.” Okay, so happy didn’t even begin to cover it, but now wasn’t the time to fuss over semantics. “But if you want to have sex with me, you’re going to have to meet me halfway.”

“Alright,” Cate said, her seat belt shushing softly over her T-shirt as she turned toward him more fully from the passenger seat. “Name your stipulations.”

Well, at least the first one would be easy. “One, we’re not talking about sex like it’s a business transaction. I get that you like everything on the table, but I’m making requests, not rules.”

“Okay. I guess I got carried away with ‘stipulations’.” She bit her lip, and Owen forced himself to focus on the road.

“Request number two, you let me feed you dinner. And, no,” he said in a pre-emptive strike, “driving through at a fast food place or throwing back three bites of something doesn’t count.”

Cate’s laugh came out edged in guilt. “That’s fair. We haven’t really had a proper meal today. Anything else?”

Owen paused. This would be the kicker, he knew, but it didn’t stop him from saying, “Just one more thing. If we do this, I want you to stay the night.”

“Owen—”

“Hear me out,” he said gently, even though his pulse was rattling through him like a freight train. He might be gruff with her over a lot of things, and he might tease her about some others, but this had to be straight-up. “I know what you’re asking me for, here, and, more importantly, what you’re not asking me for. We’re on the same page. But this one’s a deal-breaker for me, Cate. We don’t have to put any strings on the sex, but if we spend tonight in bed together, that’s where I want us to wake up. After that, what you do is up to you.”

A minute passed with nothing but the white noise of the road whooshing by around them. Just when Owen started to think he’d pushed too hard, Cate gave up an almost imperceptible nod.

“That’s not unreasonable.”

“Okay,” he said, his heart beating faster for a whole new reason. “So, dinner tonight at my place. How does six thirty sound?”

He looked over just in time to catch her cat-in-cream grin, and damn, the next couple of hours couldn’t go fast enough.

“Six thirty sounds great. I’ll be sure to bring dessert.”

* * *

True to Owen’s suspicions, the time that had passed from their ride back to Millhaven and the minute the clock on his microwave struck six thirty had moved at a glacial pace. Not that he hadn’t had plenty of things to keep him busy—taking a shower had been a definite must, as had putting clean sheets on his bed, making triple-sure he had plenty of condoms, and assembling everything he needed to make his signature spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. Even with his trip into town to grab a bottle of pinot noir from The Corner Market, he’d still ended up counting nearly every one of the last thirty minutes.

Christ. With all this anticipation, he wanted Cate so badly she just might get the fast path to sex that she’d asked for.

No, Owen thought at the same time a knock sounded off from the front of his house. They might have agreed not to attach any commitments to tonight, but he could still do this properly. Go slow. Take all the steps to ensure she’d enjoy herself.

But then Owen opened the door, and screw proper.

He wanted to do things to this woman that would make her forget her name, then remind her who she was just so he could do them all over again.

“Hi,” Cate said, her red-lipsticked mouth curving into a smile that made his cock stir against the fly of his jeans. She’d ditched her braids—a fact Owen would mourn if she hadn’t replaced them with a loose, sultry twist that rested just behind her right ear. Her plain white button-down blouse was anything but plain on her body, with its short, fitted sleeves and fabric-covered buttons undone just low enough to give up a glimpse of her cleavage, surrounded by—good Christ—just a hint of a lacy, powder-blue bra. She wasn’t wearing her slim black pants so much as surrendering her curves to the material that hugged her hips and legs before stopping mid-calf, and from her head to the poppy-red toes peeking out from her high-heeled sandals, Cate McAllister took his damned breath away.

“Hi,” Owen made himself say, because the lift of her brows told him he’d already waited a beat too long to reply. “Ah, come on in.”

“Thanks. Here’s dessert, as promised.” She tipped her chin at the foil-wrapped plate that he just now noticed she had balanced between her palms, her heels tapping a delicate riot on the hardwoods as she crossed the threshold.

He should have known better than to think she’d meant it metaphorically when she said she’d bring dessert. “You really didn’t have to bake anything,” he said, taking the plate from her and leading the way to the kitchen.

Her laughter spilled past her lips, so open and honest that it eased Owen’s adrenaline-fueled nerves.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” she asked, coming to a stop at the island. “I had almost three hours to kill and all I could think about was sex. Of course, I needed to bake something. Anyway, since you’re so intent on feeding me, I’m really just returning the favor.”

Owen laughed, too, his curiosity getting the better of his mouth. “What did you make?”

“Chocolate lava cake. You?”

Nice. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

Cate closed her eyes and inhaled, her breasts swelling perilously close to the deep V of her neckline, and, fuck, she was stunning.

“Tell me you made the sauce from scratch,” she said, her lashes fluttering as she opened her eyes.

He let one side of his mouth kick up into a half-smile. “There’s no other way to make sauce.”

“You know, I’m starting to not regret this dinner-first thing.”

Her words snared his attention, re-setting his determination to take the evening slow. “I did nearly all of the prep ahead of time. The sauce and the meatballs are done, but they can simmer for hours, so just say the word when you’re hungry, and I’ll put the water on for the pasta. In the meantime, do you want a glass of wine?”

“I’d like a gallon of it.” Cate capped her reply with a tart laugh, and even though he didn’t stop smiling, he also shook his head.

“You’re determined to rush this, aren’t you?” he asked, taking the bottle of pinot noir from the fridge.

Her brows furrowed. “I agreed to dinner,” she pointed out.

“You did.” Owen paused to grab two wine glasses from the cabinet where he kept them, then the corkscrew from a drawer in the island. Cate might balk at his next question, but still, something made him ask, “Are you going to enjoy it, though?”

“It smells fantastic,” she said slowly, her guard inching up. “I’m sure I will.”

Yep. It was time to start speaking her language. “You don’t eat.”

She barked out a laugh, but there—there it was, the wall he’d bet she didn’t even know she’d put up. “Of course, I eat.”

“No, you don’t.” Calmly, methodically, Owen removed the foil from the top of the wine bottle, sliding the corkscrew into place. “Not the way you should.”

“Okay, fine,” she said, taking the glass he offered her a minute later. “So, I maybe have a thing for junky cereal on occasion, and I can’t say I’ve never turned wine and Doritos into a meal. But it’s only a couple times a year. Nothing to get judgey over.”

Owen lifted his glass of wine, clinking it against hers. “I’m not talking about what you eat, although I might judge you a little for the wine and Doritos, because, ugh.”

“Okay, then what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the way you eat. Or, more specifically, the way you don’t.”

Cate took a large sip from her glass, arching a brow at him. “You’re not making any sense, you know.”

“And you’re not slowing down to enjoy what’s on your plate.”

Ah, that got her. “I am, too.”

“Okay,” Owen said, putting just enough mustard on the words to turn them into a dare. “Prove it.”

Without waiting for her to reply, he moved back to the refrigerator, tugging the door open for a quick search. Come on, come on, there had to be—yes. Perfect. He pulled the cardboard container full of the strawberries he’d washed and hulled earlier off the shelf and placed it on the island in front of Cate.

“You want me to eat some strawberries?” she asked with a laugh. “That’s not exactly a hardship.”

She plucked one from the top of the pile and went to pop it into her mouth. But Owen reached across the island to capture her wrist, stilling her movements and speeding up his heartbeat.

“Uh-uh,” he said, rubbing one finger over the soft skin on her inner wrist, right where her pulse jumped. “Eyes first.”

“I’m sorry?”

The question rode out on a velvety exhale, and Owen had to tamp down the hard, hot urge to say screw everything else and kiss her.

Focus. “The other night, when you were baking, you said people eat with their eyes first, right?”

She nodded, a tendril of hair falling loose to frame her face. “Yes.”

“So, do it.”

Keeping his fingers circled around her wrist, he reached for the strawberry with his other hand. She gave it over freely, watching as he held the sun-ripened fruit between his thumb and forefinger. He kept it steady just long enough to create anticipation, letting her gaze move from the strawberry back to his eyes before continuing.

“You can taste it, right? In your mind.” Owen lowered her wrist, keeping his eyes steady on hers as he rounded the island to stand directly in front of her. "The way the flavors will burst over your tongue, sweet and citrusy, with just enough bite to make it perfect."

"Mmm hmm." Cate's murmur came out as thick and decadent as honey. His breath tightened in his lungs, daring him again to forget the food, to forget everything that didn’t involve stripping Cate naked right here in his kitchen and fucking her until she came undone, but he refused to give in. She needed this more than sex.

And he needed to give it to her.