He tried to shake the image of Candace naked with her legs spread wide open before him, begging for him to ram his c**k inside her. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

He had draped the windows with shimmering translucent red fabric, shot through with gold thread. Then he’d brought light back into the room with candles of varying sizes and colors, which he had placed on every possible surface.

On the bare wood floor in front of the rock-framed fireplace he had laid a chenille rug. It felt so good to the touch in the store he couldn’t resist buying it. If Candace lay face down on the rug and rubbed her br**sts across it slowly, what would the soft fabric feel like brushing against her ni**les?

The rose petals were the final touch. Checking his watch and noting it was a quarter to twelve, he bent down, opened the large box and reached into the mass of flower petals.

To his great satisfaction the scent of the roses wasn’t overpowering. As he had hoped, the flowers lent an alluring air of sweetness to the room.

When the box was empty and rose petals beautifully littered the room, he started a fire in the fireplace and then painstakingly lit each of the candles. The room had a sensual vibe and fairly glowed with romance, just as he had hoped it would.

The doorbell rang, jolting him out of his pleasant trance. His palms went damp again and he half-laughed, half-groaned at how ridiculous he was being. All he and Candace were going to do was look at the bedroom, study its romantic elements, and then do a writing exercise using it as the setting for a story.

No big deal.

Charlie walked down the hall towards the front door and told himself to pretend he was working with Steve Holt. Why should he be nervous? They were just a couple of writers doing research for their craft.

He opened the door and all of his good intentions came crashing down upon him.

He instantly took in her smell, the pulse moving under the soft skin on her neck, the way the breeze was moving the tips of her red, curly hair around on the tops of her luscious br**sts. An image of her pubic hair, red and curly and moist with her come and his saliva, popped into his head.

He was in deep, deep trouble.

By the time he remembered to say, “Hi, come on in,” he had no idea how much time had gone by since he’d opened the door. Thirty seconds? Five minutes? Time was a blur.

How could he treat her like one of the guys when she was a walking, breathing orgasm waiting to happen?

* * *

Candace walked into Charlie’s foyer and tried not to betray her nervousness by giggling, babbling, or checking to see if her hair was out of place. Instead, she plastered a big smile on her face and squeezed past Charlie and through his front door. He hadn’t moved aside very much to let her into his house, but she had to admit she didn’t mind rubbing up against him, not one bit.

He was just as gorgeous as he had been at the conference, with the highlights in his blond hair picking up the sunlight, that streamed in through the windows. She took in the snug fit of his well-worn jeans. She couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the light brown chest hair that peeked out through his long-sleeve shirt. Salivating at the thought of seeing his chest—which she knew she’d never get a glimpse of in this lifetime, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she?—Candace wished he had left a couple more buttons undone.

Charlie’s bare feet were the icing on the cake. Candace had never seen such sexy feet before. She had never even known feet could be sexy. Until now. His feet were tan, with well-manicured toenails and a light dusting of hair. Suddenly, she saw herself naked and ready for him, straddling his big toe and…

No! Candace stopped herself from taking her daydream any further. What was happening to her, she wondered, as she swallowed past her dry tongue. Everything she saw made her think about Charlie’s c**k and fingers and tongue.

Her mind was turning into an X-rated pay-per-view channel.

Trying to force her thoughts away from the incredibly dirty things she wanted to do to each and every part of Charlie’s body, she tuned into the details of his house.

It was crazy, but Candace felt that Charlie was even more potent, even more intoxicating when he was within the walls of his private environment. His home, like the man himself, was masculine and yet warm all at the same time.

“So,” she said in a bright voice to break the awkward silence, “this is your house, huh?”

As the words left her mouth, Candace turned pink and had to fight the urge to run out of his front door, down his steps and back into her car. Could she have sounded any more like an idiot?

Charlie’s eyes seemed to refocus in on her and he said, “Yup. Sure is. Glad you could come.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He smiled at her and she melted under his gaze. She knew she had a serious case of hero worship, but this was worse than she had bargained for. Don’t make a pass at him under any circumstances, she told herself in a firm inner voice. He’s your teacher, and you should be grateful that he is taking any time out of his busy and illustrious schedule for you, she added with a flourish.

She noted he looked a little uncomfortable as he said, “I’ve set up a classroom of sorts for us. It’s down the hall.” But when he comfortably added, as if she were a buddy from his baseball league, “Let me pour you a glass of chardonnay,” she decided his discomfort was just a figment of her imagination.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. More likely than not she was projecting her own uneasiness onto him.

She followed him into his kitchen. “You have a beautiful home.”

He turned to smile at her as he uncorked a bottle of white wine. “Thanks. It’s a big change from my last one.”

“How so?”

Candace hoped her question didn’t seem like she was prying, although she acknowledged that she definitely was. By the time their lessons were through, she wanted to know everything she possibly could about Charlie Gibson. She was already tucking all the little details of his clothes and his furnishings away into her memory for safekeeping and leisurely review on lonely nights. Who knew, she might even buy herself her own personal dildo if she was feeling really brave.

“I got to design this house from the ground up. And I, uh, didn’t have anyone telling me she hated my ideas this time around.”

He handed her the wine glass and said, “That’s probably a whole heck of a lot more than you wanted to know, isn’t it?”

She laughed and patted his hand. “Trust me, I know exactly how you feel.”

But as she felt a tremor pass through her from simply touching his hand, she immediately pulled back and said, in a shakier voice than she intended, “Should we get started with things, Mr. Mentor?”