“She’s still a looker,” Rocco added as Jason pushed past him, knocking over a can of organic tomato paste. “Great legs on a classy babe have always done it for me.”

Jason shot Rocco a look that had him backing up into the stainless-steel shelving, even though he outweighed Jason by a good eighty pounds.

“Hey, I meant that as a compliment.”

“Get back to work,” Jason growled, fighting back his instinctive protectiveness where Emma was

concerned. Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to care anymore. Regardless of how good she’d felt with her legs wrapped tightly around him last night in the lake.

Regardless of how tight her pu**y was, how wet, how ready she’d been to take him in, all of him.

He paused at the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the restaurant and reminded himself that despite how attractive she was, and how much he wanted her, he wasn’t a big enough idiot anymore to let himself fall for her game again.

Jason wasn’t interested in being her gentle, concerned lover until she found her next Mr. Born on the Right Side of the Golf Course.

The truth was, he’d botched his plan Saturday night to erase her from his memory. He’d wanted one last look, enough impartial data to know that he was well and completely over her. But everything had backfired.

Because he’d gotten wrapped up in her. Her scent, her kisses, her beauty.

Rocco was right. Jason was all twisted up over Emma. And it made him angry at himself.

And at her.

The thought occurred to him that for her to have come here today, something must have pushed her to the brink. A part of him idly wondered what that final shove to the edge could have been. Her parents were no prize. Neither was her ex-husband.

A new plan formed in his mind, designed around getting payback. After all, wouldn’t it serve her right if he reeled her in and then spit her out, just like she’d done to him in college?

And if she played right into his hands, what was the point of turning down more of the hottest sex he’d ever had?

Lord knew he’d greatly enjoy loving her before he left her.

Round 1 had been all Emma’s back in college.

Round 2 last night had been a split.

But Jason was determined that Round 3 would be all his.

Emma stood in the middle of Jason’s stylish yet comfortable restaurant. Another time she might have appreciated the colorful blown-glass lighting fixtures, the brilliant oversized oil paintings hanging above the beautifully set tables, but anxiety was blinding her to everything but her own madness.

Was she crazy, driving to Napa Valley, invading Jason’s world? Just because he had made love to her so passionately at the reunion didn’t mean he loved her.

It didn’t even mean he liked her.

Emma knew she should leave, get back in her car, go back to her safe, boring life. But she couldn’t. Not when she had to see him just one more time.

She didn’t know what she was going to say. Didn’t have a big speech planned, but even though

something deep within her told her that running was her best option, she couldn’t move.

Not until she saw him.

His face tight, but other wise devoid of expression, Jason swung open the door. Emma spun to face him, knowing her blue eyes were wild. Desperate. And yet, even though this pathetic need shamed her, she couldn’t tamp down on the feelings he evoked within her.

She stared at him silently, taking in the rough stubble that covered his jaw, his stunning—if cold—eyes.

Even covered with a bloodstained, jalapeno-print apron he was all man. And after last night, she would never be able to look at him again—whether it was on TV, or on the cover of a book or magazine—

without feeling him sliding in and out of her all over again, making her scream with pleasure.

“Jason,” she said, hesitantly, praying that he’d give her an opening, some sign that he didn’t hate her.

That he was at least a little bit glad she’d come to see him. Or would pretend to be for her sake.

“Emma.” Her name was almost a curse on his lips and she would have turned and left right then, but something in his eyes made her pause. “Sit down. Have a drink.”

“Thank you,” she said, knowing that she should be saying so much more. And she would. Once she

calmed down a little.

Glad for the sturdy weight of the leather bar stool beneath her, she placed her purse down on the gleaming cherrywood bar top and watched Jason uncork a bottle of Pinot Noir. His hands were bigger, darker than she remembered. She supposed she was looking at the inevitable difference between a twenty-one-year-old boy and a thirty-two-year-old man.

Erotic images flashed before her eyes of all that those hands were capable of. On her br**sts, between her legs.

Clenching her thighs tightly together as if doing so could lessen her elemental response to every single thing Jason did, every part of who he was, she reached for the half-full balloon glass. She tilted back her throat and downed the pricey Pinot like it was a beer bong.

“Hey now. You just guzzled a hundred bucks of fine wine in ten seconds flat.”

Emma had the good grace to look chagrined. But then, she slid the glass back across the bar. The alcohol already working its magic, helping to dim the sharpness within her, she retorted, “You probably shouldn’t waste the good stuff on me right now. ‘Two-Buck Chuck’ would be just fine.”

It was the kind of banter they might have had back in college. Strangely, it still felt just right. Deep within Emma, hope bloomed. Was there a chance for the two of them after all?

Jason refilled her glass with the same vintage red. “I’m afraid you’re all out of luck. The good stuff is all we’ve got around here.”

Her mouth quirking up on one side, she said, “Figures.” Just as quickly, her mirth disappeared. Nothing could come of endless small talk. No matter how much she longed to remain a wimp. To act as if nothing had happened.

“Jason, I need to apologize to you. I’ve needed to apologize for years. For how I behaved. For how I handled the situation in the quad.”

He simply stared at her, neither encouraging nor discouraging. She knew her apology was ten years too late, that saying this today was more about her than him. But now that she’d begun, she couldn’t stop. Not until the bitter end.

She looked down into her glass, finally taking another large gulp for Dutch courage. “I should never have kissed Steven that day. The quad was our special place. I mean, you and me, not me and him.” She took another anxious mouthful. “Oh God, I can’t say anything right. I should shut up…but I can’t. Not this time. I’m just going to say it all. I have to.”