Mike had bought her a gigolo for her birthday. Crazy? Yes. Unthinkable? Darn near. Impossible? Obviously not. After all, one stood in her kitchen, leaning casually against her sink with his hands in his jeans pockets, looking for all the world like any other handsome guy on the street. No pun intended. “Just so everything’s clear, I cannot imagine actually having sex with you.” His mouth twisted into a pout. An adorable pout, actually, though she had no doubt he knew exactly how good he looked with his lip pooched out. “You don’t even know me, Gabe.” She rolled her eyes, unswayed by his easy charm. “Exactly. I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.” “Blade Savage, at your service.” A snort snuck past her attempt at civility. “Uh-huh.” He grinned, the expression devastatingly attractive, but again, she doubted that he was unaware of its effect. “Look, it’s nothing to do with you personally. You look like a nice enough guy, and you must have said something right to get past my sister, who’s no one’s fool.” Pausing, she grumbled under her breath. “Usually.” His grin twitched, those deep green eyes lighting up, the skin at the corners crinkling. She hurried on before he could say anything to make her laugh. Laughter had always been her kryptonite where men were concerned. “I don’t know what she was thinking, but I don’t have sex with strangers. Hell, I don’t even have sex with people I know.” He tilted his head to one side, his eyes dancing. “That leaves you in a cold, lonely place.” “No, it leaves me the hell alone, which is how I like it.” He opened his mouth to comment, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Okay, okay. At any rate, my sister did pay you for two hours. Since we are absolutely not going to knock boots for any of that time…” She paused, quirking a crooked and slightly smug grin. “You’re going to help me bake. Hope you brought your apron.” She couldn’t read all of the expressions that crossed his face, but the sheer range and breadth made her smile. At least she’d caught him off guard for once. It may never happen again, but it served him right for so totally putting her off her game from the start. Finally, he nodded, acknowledging the point scored. His smile was no less devastating for being the first real one she’d seen from him. “I’m not sure I have the expertise required for this little exercise.” Flicking on the burner under the butter mixture, she smirked. “I’m sure a man of your talents will find a way to make it an experience, rather than an exercise.” Her one-up lasted barely five seconds. “Baking. Hm. It might just become my new favorite foreplay.” By all rights, he should be bored out of his mind. In the past half-hour, he’d made no progress and hadn’t removed a single article of clothing. She plugged her MP3 player into a set of speakers on top of the microwave, treating him to a surprisingly good selection of music. He heard everything from Metallica to Meat Loaf and had yet to want to skip a song. She obviously had good taste. But she carefully directed the conversation away from any of the hints and insinuations he worked in. Her continual avoidance of his trade both amused and chagrined him. She was a tough nut to crack, but he became more and more determined to enjoy the treat inside that seemingly impenetrable outer shell. By now, it was a matter of pride. The unstated challenge was what kept him from committing metaphysical seppuku as he watched her form dozens of little balls of filling and then dip them in chocolate. Over and over. Stab the little ball. Dunk it in melted chocolate. Turn it this way and that until all the extra chocolate runs off. Drop it on waxed paper. Fill in the little hole with more chocolate. Smooth until no sign of the hole remains. Repeat repeatedly. Her attention to detail alone should have sent him tearing out his hair in boredom, but he couldn’t help thinking about drizzling her with some of that chocolate, then licking it back off, paying as much attention to his job as she did to hers. He liked chocolate. “Have a Coke, if you like. They’re in the bottom of the fridge.” And every now and then, she remembered that he was, for all intents and purposes, a guest in her home and offered him some comfort or other. It was…endearing. Not something he was used to. Of course, watching someone putter around the kitchen wasn’t exactly in his job description, either. “Are you hungry?” Finally finished with a veritable armory of little chocolate-covered cannonballs, she slid the works into an empty shelf in the refrigerator. “I can make you a sandwich or something before we tackle the cookies.” He smiled, bemused. “No, I’m okay. I was supposed to be otherwise employed at the moment, so I ate before I drove down. To keep up my strength, you know.” She didn’t take the bait. “All right, then. Would you get into that cabinet to your left and find the baking soda and vanilla? I think I have everything else out already.” As he watched her toss ingredients into a bowl and stir, he grudgingly admitted that Mike may have been right. He might not be able to sweet talk this surprisingly fascinating slip of a girl into bed. She seemed completely uninterested. He really didn’t think of himself as a vain man, but something about her turning him down chafed. He’d never had a problem talking a woman into sex, even before he became a hired man. He knew he was good-looking and charming. His mirror and countless women’s sighs told him so. So why was she baking while he stood here like an idiot and watched? He tried not to scowl at the silent question. Just as he really started chafing about her inattention, he heard the opening lines of a song he hadn’t heard in nearly a decade. The cheesy techno-mambo beat. It was perfect. Who knew “Mambo No. 5” could ever come in handy? Grinning widely as he watched her sway to the jaunty track, he made a snap decision and stepped up behind her, took her by the upper arm, and spun her around into a classic dancing pose. She blinked up at him, surprised, so he took advantage and led her into a quick-stepping little mockery of a tango around the kitchen. She stumbled over her feet for the first few steps, then picked up on his rhythm and joined in with a smile. Her eyes glowed with fun as she let him swing her out to arm’s length and then pull her back in. They spun and laughed, quick-stepped and jitterbugged. No choreographer in the universe could have recreated the hodge-podge half-swing/half-mambo they concocted. Even the listing of names in the verse was oh, so appropriate. Her eyes twinkled with laughter at the irony, and he couldn’t stop grinning. Didn’t want to. Leering cheerfully at her, he blessed Lou Bega and all his ancestors. She laughed back at him, crashing into his chest when he pulled her in before he again flung her out to arm’s length. They’d gone from not touching at all to cavorting in each other’s arms, dancing badly in a kitchen, of all places. She didn’t seem to notice the discrepancy as he pulled her close and dipped her back over his arm as the last chords trumpeted out of the speakers. She even kicked up one knee so he could grab under her thigh and complete the pose. He held her almost like he was paid to, and she laughed up at him with no restraint…and no sexual attraction at all. Apparently, she was just having fun. And now he actually wanted her. `