It’s only one kiss, she told herself.

One kiss. The words pulsed inside her brain along with three others: Go for it.

His dark-brown head tilted inquisitively at her approach and she noticed that his mouth was still red and moist from playing the sax. Oh, Lordy.

She wasn’t sure whether it was nerves or excitement that caused her pulse rate to spike as she leaned toward him. The clean, intoxicating scent of his skin seemed to urge her closer. Surprise flashed on his face but he didn’t budge, making it easy for her to touch her mouth to his.

She intended to draw back after the briefest contact, but she felt the heat she’d seen in his eyes searing through her like a flash fire. Felt it and tasted it against her lips, which were suddenly clinging to his as though indulging a craving.

She felt dizzy with the pleasure of it, and the hands she’d intended to place on his chest to hold him at bay snaked up and around his broad shoulders and hooked around his neck. Her fingers settled in his hair, which felt like heated silk.

And then he was returning the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers, linking his hands at her waist to pull her close. His body was hard, but she was going soft and pliant as a honeyed heat settled low in her stomach and spread out like a fan.

Her tongue flickered out, touched his and elicited pleasure so intense she nearly moaned with it. She could have gone on kissing him forever, might have if he hadn’t winced. Confused, she pulled her mouth from his.

“Ow,” he said.

It took her a moment to realize she had stepped on something and that the full weight of her body was bearing down on it. She looked down to see what it was.

It was his toe.

She sprang back from him, feeling a flush creep up her neck. Some temptress she was. It’d be a wonder if he wasn’t tempted to tell her to go away.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a breathy voice she barely recognized.

“That’s okay.” A slow smile arched the lips that had curved lovingly around the sax. Like her, he seemed short of breath. “You can step on my toe any time you like.”

His voice was deep and seemed to cascade over her skin, like flowing honey. Somehow, it renewed her courage.

“Actually, I didn’t come over here to step on your toe,” she said softly, her eyes once again locked on the sorcerer’s blue-green of his.

“I figured that,” he said, one corner of his sexy mouth kicking up.

She felt her flush deepen and had the overwhelming sensation that she should explain herself. Her eyes flicked to the saying on his shirt: Irish You Would Kiss Me.

“It’s your own fault,” she said. “Wearing a shirt like that. Why, anybody could walk up to you and try to kiss you.”

Great, she thought in disgust. She’d gone from a femme fatale who crushed toes instead of hearts to a member of the decency police warning him that a lecherous public was on the prowl.

“You mean,” he asked, his eyes focusing on her lips, “like you did?”

“Exactly.” She gulped. He didn’t seem turned off by either the scolding or the toe crushing. “I took you at face value. I didn’t even ask how you felt about strange women kissing you.”

That beautiful mouth parted — in amusement?

“I’m in favor of strange women kissing me,” he said, his eyes still locked on hers. “The question is how you feel about strange men kissing you?”