Free All Night Long by Candace Schuler

cannoli-laden fork to her mouth   "—have the last bite."
    Susannah had to open her mouth or end up with whipped cream and sweetened ricotta all over her chin. She opened her mouth, accepting the rich dessert with ill-disguised eagerness.
    Matt watched her lips part to accept his offering, watched them close over the creamy sweet on his fork, watched her eyelids flutter down as she savored the taste. He withdrew the fork slowly, so that she could get every last bit of the whipped cream, deliberately letting the tines slide against her bottom lip in a sensual caress. "Good?" he murmured huskily.
    "Mmm," she sighed ecstatically as the flavors melted on her tongue.
    Matt shifted on his chair as his body responded to her unthinking provocation. She was such a contradiction, sitting there across from him: the prim black dress, so striking against her pale, creamy skin, the ladylike pearls, gleaming wantonly at her throat and ears, the sedate chignon, just begging to be released from its pins. Behind the relentlessly refined, implacably genteel exterior she'd presented to him tonight was a warm, passionate, vibrant woman—the same woman who'd melted into his kiss like honey on hot biscuits. "You have no idea how much I want you," he said softly.
    Susannah's eyes flew open. "What?" she whispered.
    He met her wide-eyed gaze head-on. "You heard me."
    Something about his unwavering directness inspired the same unflinching honesty in her. "Yes, I heard you," she said. "And it's crazy. I know it's crazy. But I want you, too."
    * * *
    "So," he said as he pulled onto the apron of concrete in front of her narrow garage door. "Are you going to invite me in for coffee?"
    Susannah caught her lower lip between her teeth and stared straight ahead. "I shouldn't."
    "Probably not," Matt agreed. He stretched his arm out, resting it along the back of the seat, and reached out to twine his finger in the curling tendril of hair that lay against her cheek. "But are you going to?" he asked, tugging lightly to make her look at him.
    Susannah turned her head toward him. "It would only be for coffee," she warned him. "I meant what I said about—" she took a quick little breath as he lightly stroked her cheek and down the side of her throat with the back of his finger "—about wanting you. But I haven't decided if I'm going to act on the feeling. I don't think it would be a good idea to rush in when I'm not sure where it will lead."
    "When," he said.
    "What?"
    "You said if you decide to act on the feeling. Be as honest as you were in the restaurant, Susannah. It's only a matter of when."
    "All right, when," she admitted. "I haven't decided when." Her gaze was earnest and sweet and serious in the dim light. "But it won't be tonight, Matt. I don't know you well enough, for one thing. And I'm not entirely sure about this....this feeling, for another." Her hands fluttered up and then back down into her lap. "It kind of snuck up on me when I wasn't expecting it. I have to give this whole situation some serious thought before I decide what I'm going to do."
    "Okay." Matt nodded, manfully hiding his disappointment. "I can understand that. Tonight is out." He stroked her cheek again, gently, delicately, reveling in its warmth and softness. "But I'd still like that coffee."
    * * *
    Matt found the interior of Susannah's house to be as much of a dichotomy as she was. Downstairs in the public rooms he'd already seen, the mood and decor were cozy, elegant, and reassuringly conventional. The colors were soft and soothing, a mix of pale yellows, soft green, and robin's-egg blue. The furnishings were mostly French and English antiques in light, delicate woods. The computer terminal on the desk in the reception area had been rendered unobtrusive, half-hidden behind a large, lacy Boston fern. It didn't take a genius to realize that everything downstairs had been deliberately designed to put her customers at ease, to make them feel as comfortable as if they were part of a