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enough.”
    “It’s never too late. Besides, maybe now you’ll meet a man worthy of you.”
    “I think I’m done with men. At least right now.”
    “That there would be a pity.”
    Glassy eyes widened, she braced for his kiss. Her soft lips yielded to him and her lashes fluttered closed. She released a small whimper. Down her narrow back over her flared hips, he worked his way with his hands then cupped her rear and pulled her against him. Could she feel the desire between them? “Maggie.”
    She pushed at him. “Oh God. Stop.” She shoved hard. “I’m no better than him.”
    Who was she talking about? “It’s okay.”
    “No it’s not. You’re married. Rick was right.”
    “Listen.” Ethan grasped her shoulders. “Rick is an ass. I’m not a married man.”
    A line creased between her brows and she bit her bottom lip. “But the woman inside the restaurant...the other day, I thought when she came over...”
    “Kara is my lawyer. We were celebrating my ex-wife finally signing divorce papers. I signed the final version.” Exhaling a long breath, he bowed his head. “The other day, yes, I made a mistake by kissing you. A wonderful mistake, but I was a married man. Today, however, I’m not. The kiss feels right. Don’t deny it.”
    “Divorce?”
    He leaned back on the wall. Exposing this much of himself frightened him, but the urge to soothe her ruled. “Yes. Turns out we have something dreadful in common. She cheated on me with a co-worker in her advertising firm.”
    “I’m sorry. I caught Rick sleeping with a fellow professor. I should have suspected something. His criticism of her was always exaggerated.” She sighed. “It’s been hard. I don’t wish this experience on anybody.”
    Ethan shrugged. The night Miriam admitted cheating he’d gone crazy, drank near a whole bottle of Jameson to kick off a week-long drunken stupor. Two years later, things were different. “At first, it was hard for me too. During our separation, I wondered if she ever loved me. My grandparents and parents enjoyed wonderful marriages. I’d always imagined the same for myself.”
    “It still might happen. You’re only what, early thirties?”
    “Thirty-three. Perhaps.” Or one could only hope. He held out a hand. “You ready to leave?”
    She nodded, slipped her hand in his. A shock of electricity shot up his arm. Her gaze registered surprise, even as her fingers knotted in the front of his sweater. “I want you,” she said.
    He could feel himself leaning forward. Closer. Her mouth was hot when she kissed him, and on her tongue, the fruity flavored wine she’d drunk tickled his senses. As he pulled her closer, she slipped her hands beneath the thick sweater’s material, ran them along the surface of his chest.
    His body trembled at her touch. “Christ, Maggie. I want you.” He gripped her sides and lifted, pressed her against the alcove wall. She whimpered and hugged his hips with her thighs. Beneath her sweater, her skin felt like silk. He pushed the material up, exposing a black lace bra, which encased small, rounded breasts. “Damn, you’re beautiful. Why you buried yourself in this sweater is a mystery to me.” With a downward tug of lace, a rosy nipple popped over the edge of the demi-cup. Bending, he took the nipple into his mouth and rolled it with his tongue. The skin constricted further, hardened into a rounded peak.
    She undulated her hips between him and the wall. Her moans heightened in pitch.
    He slipped a hand past the elastic band of her skirt, underneath her satiny underwear. “You’re wet.” With a finger, he found her nub, flicked it back and forth, and switched to pleasure her other breast with his mouth. What he’d give to be inside her, stroke every inch of her. She bucked against him, thrust her breasts forward. He groaned, squeezed a nipple between his lips. Spreading the slick warmth of her sheath with two fingers, he pumped in and out of her and rolled her nub with his thumb,