The Devil Served Desire by Shirley Jump

making her damned glad she'd kept on the skirt. She could feel his eyes on her legs, watching the swish of her skirt against the bare skin. Her slides clicked against the tile, followed by the answering clack of his shoes. She paused at the counter and reached into the cabinet, withdrawing two delicate gold-rimmed wineglasses.
    When she pivoted, he was there. So very much there. Her gaze went straight to the warm, golden skin exposed by the open buttons on his shirt. A simple triangle, nothing more, but it hinted at the ridges and planes that lay below.
    And stirred a whole other appetite within her.
    Who needed Twinkies with something like that in her kitchen?
    "Corkscrew?"
    "Please," she murmured.
    "Excuse me?"
    "Oh, you meant the wine."
    "That's usually what that tool is used for, yes."
    Maria pivoted on her heel and flung open a kitchen drawer, rummaging in it for the wine opener. For a second, she couldn't even remember what it looked like.
    This was never going to work. Never had she been so discombobulated by a man.
    "Isn't this what you want?" Dante reached past her and pulled the wine opener out of the drawer.
    "Oh, yeah. I just, ah, have something in my eye"— blink, blink—"and missed it."
    "Uh-huh." He smirked as he inserted the corkscrew into the top of the bottle, screwed it down and popped off the top. The wine let out a soft pop when the cork was released and the scent of Chianti filled the air between them.
    With an easy, practiced hand, Dante reached for a glass and poured, twisting the bottle at the end before tipping it upright, never spilling a drop. "For you," he said, handing her a glass.
    When she took the goblet, their fingers brushed and the simmering tension between them perked into a steady boil. "Thank you."
    "My pleasure."
    The way he said it made her think of pleasures far beyond the wine. Oh, this was wrong. In too many ways to name.
    He poured his own glass, then raised it to hers. "To a taste of something delicious."
    Their glasses clinked. He smiled and sipped. "And I'm talking about the alcohol. Of course."
    She took a sip. The wine was divine.
    But damned if his smile wasn't better.
    Not to mention the scent of him. Every Italian delicacy under the sun seemed to emanate from his skin, his clothes, his hair. He was like a buffet waiting to be sampled. A nibble here, a nibble there, and before she knew it...
    She should get rid of him. Just as she had the Hostess snack foods. Any dieter knew the first cardinal rule: eliminate the temptation. Otherwise, her willpower didn't stand a chance.
    Hell, she'd already lost that battle. The minute Dante's lips had met hers, Maria's willpower had deserted her for a vacation in the Bahamas. For a moment there, he'd had her thinking commitment—maybe even marriage—wouldn't be such a bad idea if it meant being with a man like him every day.
    That he was a man who could be trusted. Who'd stay true to the words that came out of his mouth and not undermine them behind her back.
    Crazy thoughts. She'd been down that road once before with a man who had pled a damned good case, then perjured himself at the same place setting where she'd served him gnocchi.
    She reached forward, setting her wineglass on the counter. "Listen, about what happened earlier..." she began.
    "Don't tell me you're already regretting that kiss?" His voice was deep and teasing.
    "Well... yes."
    "Why?"
    She sighed. "Because you're the kind of man my mother likes. Not the kind I like."
    He seemed surprised. "Just because I ate her soup?"
    "No. Because you're responsible. And nice. And mature. And Italian."
    He shook his head. "And that makes me a bad man... why?"
    "Because you're the kind of guy a woman falls in love with. She gets all wrapped up in him. Her every thought centers around what he's doing. Where he is. Who he's with."
    "Yeah? So?"
    "And then it turns out to be a big, fat, one-sided lie."
    "Whoa!" He put a hand up. "Am I sensing some leftover baggage you're dumping off at