But much as he wanted to sweep everything off the kitchen counter and make love to Rose, they needed to get the bread in the oven before the next millennium. Reluctantly, he pulled back from her beautiful, flushed face.

"Five more minutes of work to do, and then we let it rise for an hour."

Turning back to the island in perfect understanding, Rose reached for the dough. He covered her hands with his own, his body cupping hers just as they had in the pantry, on the couch the previous night. He tried to ignore his raging hard-on. "Kneading dough is an art." His hands pressed into her fingers, her knuckles. The dough responded beneath their combined touch, becoming smooth and satiny.

"I think I'm a natural." Rose's voice filled with surprise and what he hoped was a large dose of happiness. "You are'

She was a natural at everything. He'd been amazed by how quickly she'd caught on during both cooking lessons. She had a great sense for proportion, an instinct for what flavors would meld well. And a great appreciation for the finished product.

He couldn't get away from the emotions coming on stronger and stronger with every passing moment. Even more amazing was the fact that he didn't want to.

Over the years he'd gone to bed with many women. Women he'd picked up in a bar. Women who had happily followed him home after a late night at Gerard's. But Rose was different. Quick to laugh, incredibly bright and capable, yet so soft and welcoming.

Why would any man in his right mind try to resist a woman who was this quick to laugh? Who was so much softer, warmer. than any other woman he'd ever been with. Rose was utterly irresistible. She placed the dough in a greased bowl, carefully oiled the top, and covered it with plastic wrap. She carried the bowl to the window to rise and placed it on the sill. Jack stopped breathing as a ray of light illuminated her.

He couldn't deny what he knew with a bone-deep certainty:

He'd found the woman he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It was strange. He'd always been an impulsive guy, but never when it had come to love. The truth was, he'd never been in love before. He hadn't been looking for a wife, and he knew he should have been reeling at the thought of giving up life as a bachelor. Sure, he knew he should be thinking about details like jobs in two different cities, how being married would affect his work hours.

But he wasn't worried or anxious. And the reason was simple:

Everything seemed right with Rose. Now the only thing left was to make sure she felt the same way. Which meant it was time for seduction. Baking bread be damned.

SEVEN

ROSE STOOD AT THE WINDOW entranced by the vineyard outside. ''Are these grapes yours?" He didn't answer and she turned to repeat her question, but the look on his face-a powerful mix of hope and desirestopped the words in her throat.

Finally he spoke. "Yes, I own the land and the vines. Twenty acres are mine."

Rose wrapped her arms around herself. Jack's life-his restaurant, his vineyard, his perfect, cozy house-was like a dream that he was allowing her to share for the weekend. But since she knew she would wake up soon enough, she wanted to make the most of every second.

"Do we have time for a quick walk around your property?" He grinned. "We sure do, gorgeous" he said, then disappeared down the hall.

Gorgeous. He'd called her gorgeous. She hugged herself tightly, hardly able to take it all in. No one had ever said such nice things about her before. When she added the emotion in his eyes into the equation, her stomach did a funny dance.

Saying good-bye to Jack on Sunday was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever have to do. But no matter how wonderful this weekend was, facts were facts. Come Monday morning, Jack would forget all about her. After all, he had a glamorous, celebrity life to go back to. She'd be nothing more to him than the memory of a round accountant who'd come like a desperate, sex-starved woman beneath him a dozen times. Moments later he reappeared wearing a pair of worn blue jeans that hugged him in all the right places. Rose tried desperately to pull her eyes away from his six-pack. Sure, they'd had a boatload of sex, but until now she hadn't really gotten the chance to see Jack in all his glory.

One thing was for sure. If he hadn't been a supremely talented chef, he could have made his living modeling for Playgirl.

His words shook her ever so slightly out of her lust-filled haze.

"I hope you don't mind wearing this:'

He handed her a blue tank dress with a Hawaiian print on it.

"My sister's bigger than you, but a couple of dresses that she left are all I've got."

Rose held the dress up by its straps. "I'm sure it will fit great' she said, praying it was true. If the dress is too small I'm going to die, she thought.

"I'll go change in the bathroom." She scurried off to a pretty yellow powder room behind the kitchen. Jack hadn't really seen her naked yet-just snippets of skin and body parts here and there-and Rose decided she'd rather keep it that way.

Fortunately, the blue tank dress fit. When she returned to the kitchen, Jack was gone, so she picked up the mud boots he'd left for her and carried them out to the porch. Slipping them on, she covered her eyes against the bright morning sun and scanned the property.

He stood silhouetted against the vine-covered hills, utterly a part of the land around him. Her heart stopped beating in her chest, growing too big, too full for her to handle. She was already In too deep, and she had to fight the urge to turn tail and run. Away from Jack, away from his perfect house and his perfect grapevines. Away from the sensuality that she couldn't resist.

Away from his chocolate brown eyes that seemed to see all the way into her heart.

But she was too slow, too indecisive. He turned, smiling broadly when he saw her. "I've got a surprise for you he said, and she couldn't help but go to him. His pull over her was too strong to fight. "You look good on my land' he said as he grabbed her hand. Rose swallowed the thrill that shot straight to the pit of her stomach.

She didn't know how to respond. "Okay then, can I move in?" would come off sounding desperate, rather than flirty. "I know' held a confidence she definitely didn't feel. "Thank you' wasn't the least bit witty. So she said nothing, silently lacing her fingers through his.

"These are Viognier grapes:' he said, picking a small, green grape from the vines and popping it into her mouth. "What is your mouth telling you?"

"Sour:' she said at first, but then she swallowed and was left with the opposite sensation. ''And sweet' she said, surprised by the contradiction of the grape.

"Exactly' he said, looking pleased by her response. "I should have planted Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay like everyone else, but I couldn't resist the challenge of the Viognier. It was my grandmother's favorite varietal. She used to say that drinking a young Viognier made her feel young again:' "That's wonderful that you're so close to your family' she said, wishing she had the same kind of memories, the same wonderful associations between the love she'd been given and the world around her. But her father had always worked late at his accounting firm, and her mother had watched TV to fill the void. "How does your grandmother like your Viognier?" she asked, wanting to hear more about the wonderful woman who'd made such an impact on her grandson.