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      This is dedicated to Lauri, for everything wonderful

      that comes out of her oven!

      CHAPTER ONE

      A NIGHTMARE. That was what this had to be. She must be dreaming. But what had she expected from a blind date?

      Jill Darling was no shy innocent, but her face was blazing. She could feel it. The man was trying to … Ugh, it was just too creepy to even try to name what he was doing. She couldn’t really be sure unless she took a look under the table. And that would cause a scene. She couldn’t do that. She knew people in this restaurant.

      But … was that really his foot sliding up and down her leg?

      He was leaning close, talking on and on, his breath hot on her neck. Okay, maybe that was all in the game. But what the heck was that foot doing?

      She tried to move away, but she was trapped, huddled right up against the edge of the planter that sat right beside their table, tickling her nose with its palm fronds. They were eating in the restaurant of the nicest hotel in this part of town. It had Irish linen tablecloths, real sterling silverware and a small combo playing for dancers on a tiny dance floor to the side.

      She took a long drink from her water glass, then looked over at him. She tried to smile, but she knew it was wobbly and pretty darn unconvincing if he should happen to actually notice it.

      Karl Attkins was his name. Her friend’s brother. He was good looking enough, but somehow cold, as though she could have been anyone with an “available female” label stamped on her forehead. Should she ask him about the foot? And maybe warn him not to lose sight of his shoe. It wouldn’t be easy to replace that here in this crowded restaurant.

      Oh, Lord, he was using his toes now. She was going to have to say something. If she didn’t, her nice steak dinner just might come back up. And all that wine she drank, trying to keep busy. This just wasn’t cool. She took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to say it without being insulting.

      But then he gave her the out she needed.

      “Would you like to dance?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as though he knew she must consider him quite debonair.

      Dance. No, not at all. But she steeled herself to the effort. Dancing ought to give him a reason to put his shoe back on, and if so, it would all be worth it.

      “Sure,” she said breathlessly. “Why not?”

      Well, the fact that they were playing a tango at that very moment might have been a reason to sit this one out. But it hardly mattered. At least the man was shod once more. She tried to keep the electric smile painted on her face as he led her to the proper position. And then she glanced at her watch and wondered how much longer she was going to have to endure this torture. She had to put in a good chunk of time or the friends who’d

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