“Faster, darlin’,” he said, gripping her hips. “Make yourself come before I explode.”

With a sexy little smile, she did what he asked, grinding her lower body against his in a suddenly reckless pace. His breathing became labored, a tense knot of impending release coiling in his body. Savannah rode him hard and fast, but still he held back, watching the hazy desire swimming in her gray eyes, waiting for the moment her lips parted to let out a wild cry. Her inner muscles gripped his c**k as she lost herself in orgasm, and the knot of tension in his groin snapped apart and pleasure seized his balls. His climax seared into him, the incredible burn spreading through his body until every muscle, every limb was infused with pleasure.

Savannah collapsed on top of him. Her hair tickled his chin. He could feel her heartbeat hammering against his chest.

“Why does it just seem to get better?” Her breath moistened his shoulder.

He was wondering the same damn thing. As much as he didn’t like Savannah’s “first thrills” mentality, he understood it. After half a dozen times, he got bored of the woman in his bed. The sex just lost some of its passionate appeal after a while. But not with this woman. With Savannah, each time felt like the first time.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” he said gruffly.

She lifted her head to peek up at him. “A sign of what?”

“That you should be more open-minded to this dating thing.”

Her hand slid between their sweat-coated bodies to squeeze his condom-covered dick. “I’m more open-minded to this thing.”

Making a disapproving sound with his tongue, he reached down and firmly moved her hand. “No way. You don’t get the little soldier again until after the next date.”

She burst out in gales of laughter. “You have a nickname for your penis?”

“No,” he lied.

Her laughter died, replaced by a groan of frustration. “You’re seriously sticking to this ridiculous plan?”

“Yep. One round of sex for every date.”

“You’re a sadist.”

“Yeah, but you still like me.”

Savannah sat up with a thoughtful look. Pink splotches covered her br**sts, chafed from his stubble. He kind of liked the sight, knowing he’d marked her this way.

“If we order Chinese food, does that count as a date?” she inquired.

He mulled it over. “Sure.”

“And then afterwards we can do this again?”

“That’s the rule.”

“Fine.” Her arm shot out to the cordless phone sitting on the bedside table. “Let’s have some dinner so I can play with the little soldier.”

“This is perfect,” Annabelle exclaimed, marveling over the sample centerpiece Savannah had created. They’d agreed for Annabelle to come by the shop at ten in the morning in order to approve or ask for a redo of Savannah’s work. Approval seemed to be the conclusion. So far, Annabelle loved everything, including the sketches Savannah had done of the orchids twining around the delicate white birch archway that would serve as the altar.

Annabelle pulled out her Blackberry and snapped a few photos of the centerpiece, then clicked a couple of buttons. “I’m just sending these to Jeannine. She was happy with the description I gave her, but I’d like to give her a visual so she can suggest changes if she wants.”

As it turned out, the bride agreed with Annabelle’s assessment, quickly texting back PERFECT.

Savannah experienced a burst of pride. She’d worked hard on the arrangement, and she was glad her efforts had been successful. She’d dreaded having to redo the centerpiece, particularly because of the vague details the bride had described. Now she wouldn’t have to.

“Did you order the silk for the head table panels?” Annabelle asked as she tucked her Blackberry into the pocket of her loose brown Capris.

Savannah nodded. “I’m holding on to all the receipts and invoices like you asked.”

“Thanks.” With a faint smile, Annabelle leaned against the counter and added, “So how are things with Matt?”

Her guard instantly shot up. She knew Annabelle was dating Matt’s best friend, and a part of her wondered if Matt had put Annabelle up to this. Was he fishing for information? After his whole date-for-sex trade, she wouldn’t put it past him.

But although she wouldn’t admit it to him, she really was starting to enjoy their dates. Yesterday they’d gone for lunch at a fish and chips place near the harbor, and when he picked her up after work that evening, they’d seen a new horror movie playing at the Royal, an old-style cinema house near San Diego’s East Village.

The talking wasn’t bad either. She loved hearing about Matt’s family and he never ran out of stories to tell about his four older sisters. Apparently they fussed over their baby brother like mother hens. His mother and grandmother sounded sweet as hell, though she could understand why he felt smothered by them sometimes. Who wouldn’t, when your mother insisted on sewing nametags with bright red fabric hearts into every piece of clothing you owned?

But she knew she couldn’t keep letting it happen anymore. All the dates, the long talks…way too close to relationship territory here, and she knew from past experience just how bad she was at those. Back when she’d actually cared to find someone to share her life with, she’d only ended up broken-hearted. Now she knew better, and no matter how much she liked Matt O’Connor, she needed to put some distance between them before anything got too serious.