She became increasingly aware of the feel of his hand over hers, of each neuron aflame in that small area of skin. As they walked in the uneven sand, their hips or shoulders would bump, sending shivers of awareness down her spine.

Then he stopped and turned to face her. His thumb lightly rubbed the top of her hand. “Carson, yesterday, when you said you might be leaving . . . Did it occur to you that I might care if you leave?”

She put her hands on his chest. “I hoped you might care.”

He stood just a few inches away in the darkness, so close she could see his lips curve into a slow, pleased grin. “Carson,” he said with a hint of exasperation, “I’ve been caring for weeks now.”

Carson was thirty-four years old. She’d had multiple lovers over the years and considered herself well experienced in the ways of men. Even jaded. So what was it about this man that had her blushing like she was a ridiculous teenager?

He reached out and let his fingers trail gently up her bare arms. Her breaths traced each millimeter of the slow and deliberate journey, marking the path with goose bumps. His hands slid behind her back and tugged her closer.

Carson reached up to slip her own arms around his neck, pressing herself against him in invitation. But he was not to be rushed. He lowered his lips to her neck and tasted her there, then made a deliciously slow journey along her jaw-line toward her mouth. It was as though he’d waited so long for the feast, he was in no hurry.

When at last he brought his mouth over hers, she opened her mouth in welcome and pressed against him. He was gentle at first, testing. Then his arms tightened around her, crushing her against him. She felt devoured by his mouth. As the kiss deepened she felt his hands roam from her back to slip under her T-shirt to her breasts. Her nipples hardened and she groaned slightly.

He pulled back, letting his hands slide to her forearms but keeping his hold on her. “We should go,” he said. He took her hand again and they retraced their steps along the beach at a more determined pace, through the darkened access path, and up the streets of the neighborhood to his car. He opened her car door, then made his way around the front and climbed in behind the wheel. He turned to Carson.

“Will you come by my place?”

His hands were on the wheel and he wasn’t touching her, but her body felt aflame. The attraction between them was so thick, it felt almost like she was still kissing him.

“Yes. Yes,” she repeated.

Blake smiled and lifted his hand to smooth a lock of hair from her face. He leaned toward her and his lips grazed hers. She thought he’d meant to just kiss her softly, but his touch was explosive and ignited their passion like a spark on dried tinder. They lunged for one another, each hungry for more. His hands trembled as they rounded her shoulders, pushing her back, then slid along the curve of her back, then up again as he pressed tighter. Then, in sudden decision, he drew back.

Carson gasped, her lips still tingling. As Blake fired the engine, Carson leaned back and closed her eyes, and though she’d not had a drop to drink, she felt like she was high. As they drove off, her blood was racing and her heart palpitating, making her feel carefree and giddy, like she was riding in the Zodiac again.

Carson awoke with a start. Her head shot up and she sucked in her breath. Her eyes searched the small room, the tilted blinds at the window through which gray morning light seeped, revealing clothes littered on the floor. Some of them were her clothes.

She heard a low, rumbling snore beside her, and turning her head, she saw Blake asleep on his belly, his mouth slightly agape and his hair disheveled. The sheet barely covered half of his butt. It was a nice butt, she thought with a smile as moments from the previous evening began to work back into her consciousness. Blake was as good as his kisses promised. Slow and deliberate, he liked to take his time.

She rose slowly, careful not to wake him. Carson tiptoed around the room, picking up her clothes and slipping them on, each creak of the wood floor sounding like an alarm in her head. It was a typical bachelor pad. Clothes strewn about the furniture; keys, pens, soda cans, and bits of paper scattered on the dresser; a poster of NASCAR on the wall.

The rest of the apartment was a continuation of the bedroom, an eclectic array of confusion. She thought this was very unlike the perception she had of the man, who in her mind was fastidious and precise. The furniture was functional without thought to color, design, or size. Bookshelves along the wall overflowed with books, and the small wood table was covered with books and papers and a laptop, turned off but open. The bicycle by the front door was a nice touch, she thought with a chuckle.

In contrast to the rest of the place, his kitchen, though cluttered, was clean. She gave him high marks for not having dirty dishes in the sink. With trepidation, she peeked in the fridge, expecting a withered apple and sour milk. At the sound, Hobbs trotted across the room to her side. She was relieved and impressed to find fresh organic milk, a plastic jug of filtered water, a bag of crisp carrots, celery, cheese, and some fresh fruit.

While rummaging through the man’s refrigerator, Carson heard a footfall from behind. She turned, slightly embarrassed. “Pillaging your fridge.” She smiled.

Standing in his boxers, Blake scratched his belly and yawned. When he drew near, he reached out to pull her close and lightly kissed her.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said.

He really did look cute in the morning, she thought, letting her hands slide up his hard chest. “Morning,” she replied.

Hobbs pushed his head against Blake’s thigh to be patted.

“Hungry?” he asked her. “Hobbs is.”

She didn’t know whether he was teasing her about finding her searching his fridge, or whether he was beginning that silly game of innuendo and she was supposed to reply with something banal about how she was hungry for his kisses. Though she was, she couldn’t utter the corny words.

“I’d surf with a shark for some coffee,” she replied.

He smirked. “Coffee. Right.” He kissed her nose and released her to fill the coffeemaker with water.

“Can I help?”

“There’s a bag of ground coffee in the fridge,” he told her. “And pull out that bag of grits, too, will you?”

She liked where his thoughts were heading.

They worked in tandem, putting together the grits, butter, milk, and water. When Blake pulled out a chunk of cheddar cheese, Carson balked.

“No cheese,” she said, grabbing the cheddar and holding it close. “It ruins the taste of the grits.”