“A decade is a long time to work on one thing,” she said softly. “You must have incredible focus.”

“When I’m passionate about something and want it bad enough, I always make sure I get it.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the pulsing sensuality behind his statement. An impulse to lean close and kiss him wound through her, and she might have given in to it had she not noticed out of the corner of her eye that some of the other diners were pointing at her.

Mary wanted her first kiss with Jack to be special. So instead of a kiss, she simply leaned slightly forward to try to get closer to him across the bright yellow Formica table and said, “Tell me about your invention.”

She could tell he was pleased by her interest in his engineering career. She wanted to know everything about him—his passions, his dreams and his fears. And if things worked out between them, maybe she’d tell him about her passions, dreams and fears, too…something she’d never done with any man before.

He pulled something out of his pocket and placed it on the table between them. “We call it the Pocket Planner. It’s an electronic calendar and personal organizer. It even has reminders built in for the items on your to-do list. After a decade of trial and error, my two partners and I have finally not only got it working, but technology has made it small enough to be able to carry it around without a forklift.” He was even more gorgeous with the look of pride on his face.

“May I?” When he nodded, she picked it up and ran her fingers over the very interesting machine. “I think it sounds fantastic. In fact, I can think of half-a-dozen ways I could have used something like this in the past few years.”

He beamed at her. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you feel that way.” She smiled back and was about to ask him more questions, when he added, “In fact, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

Mary felt her smile falter on her lips. Years of holding poses regardless of whether she was happy or under the weather were the reason she was able to keep it in place. “It is?”

Jack pushed his plate away in his excitement. “We’re hoping to get it onto shelves this Christmas, and there are thousands of units waiting in a warehouse already but, though the retailers like the product, they’re convinced we need to add some se—” he cut himself off “—mass appeal to it. As soon as I saw you in Union Square I knew you would be the perfect person to represent our product.”

Her lips flattened, and the cherries that had tasted so good just minutes ago now felt like little round bricks in the pit of her stomach. She worked to keep her voice steady. “So that’s why you asked me here for pie? To see if I would consider representing your product?”

His eyes searched her face for a long moment, and she could see his sudden confusion at her cool reaction. She could almost read his mind, the way he was asking himself how he could have misplayed things with her already.

Especially when he clearly thought he needed her to make his dreams come true…

“Mary?” Jack shook his head, the tips of his hair moving over his broad shoulders. “No.” He shook his head again. “Yes, but it wasn’t the only reason.”

Of course he had to say that. With as much elegance and pride as she could still muster, considering she’d been gazing at him like a love-struck teenager when he’d simply been calculating his potential gains all the while, she carefully slid out of the booth. “Thank you for the pie and coffee.”

Jack reached for her hand before she could take more than a step away from the table. She looked down and saw how tanned his skin was against hers, how large his hand was as he held hers.

“Please, Mary, don’t go.”

God, it was pathetic how much she wanted to stay, even now that she knew the real reason he’d wanted to meet her. It now seemed as if the idea that she could eventually convince him to want more than that was mere fantasy.

But that wasn’t how love worked. She’d learned over and over throughout the years that there was no point in wishing for a miracle…even at Christmastime.

“Today was my last shoot. I’m not modeling anymore.” She didn’t owe him any explanations, but she hated to come across as a spoiled princess who was storming out because she hadn’t gotten her way…or because he’d inadvertently hurt her too-delicate feelings. “I’m sure you’ll find someone perfect to represent your product.”

She waited for him to lift his hand from hers, but he only gripped her tighter. “I already have found somebody perfect, Mary.” She couldn’t help but lift her eyes to meet his as he said, “You’re perfect.”

It was what she’d fought so long—the false perception that she was perfect. “I’m not.”

She steeled herself for his protests. The last thing she expected him to do was smile at her and say, “You’re right. How could anyone be perfect with ice cream and cherry juice on her face?”

He brushed the corner of her mouth with the tip of his index finger and so much warmth flooded her from the tiny touch that she was amazed all of the ice in the diner didn’t melt into a puddle right then and there just from the heat being generated between the two of them. And then, in the most shockingly sexy way, he brought his finger to his own lips and ran his tongue over his fingertip to lick off the cherry juice and ice cream.

“Please, Mary, let me start over and get things out in the right order this time.”

They’d been standing by the side of the table for long enough now that people were starting to stare. A few of them pointed to her and she heard her name in loud whispers. But none of that mattered.

Only this man standing before her did.

He’d had her at the surprisingly sweet comment about cherry juice and his gentle touch to her lips, but she would never forgive herself for folding that easily. “The right order?”

He nodded and moved closer, his body lean and muscled and warm against hers. “My invention isn’t the only reason I wanted to take you for pie and coffee.”

“It isn’t?”

“You’ve got to understand, Angel, a man like me looks at a woman like you and it’s inevitable that I’m going to screw things up.”

He had no right to make up a nickname for her or to say it in such a warm and inviting voice. And she had no business enjoying both those things.

But, for all her vows to protect herself from men like him who only wanted her for the improvements she could make to their bottom line, instead of walking away from him, she found herself saying, “It is?” in a breathless voice that hardly seemed to belong to her.