“Holy crap,” Noah Maxwell whispered, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the street when Ava Cameron wandered into his line of sight through her window.

Faint light trickled through the glass, illuminating her as she paced back and forth across her living room. She had her dark hair pinned up in a way that made his fingers ache to search out each little pin and toss them aside, just so he could see those dark waves cascade freely down her back. The waves ended at her waist, accentuating her soft body in all the right ways. Her curves drove him crazy.

In the four months since Ava had moved in across the street from him, he’d dreamed more than once about running his lips all over those curves. He’d had the same dreams about her legs. The woman was a siren. Not rail thin, but 50’s pin-up model perfect. Something he damn sure wouldn’t find in the dregs of humanity his job forced him to deal with daily.

The prostitutes and crack addicts he rubbed elbows with would never dream of licking frosting from a spoon with such relish, the way she did each night. Cocaine residue, maybe. Hell, probably even a few other things. Neither lot cared much for the simple things in life though. They lived for the next fix or a quick buck. Never anything as innocent as frosting from a Duncan Hines container, or maintaining control of the remote like Ava did during that ridiculous dancing show she loved.

As far as Noah was concerned, there wasn’t anyone else in the world like Ava. She found so much joy in the smallest things: like watching fireflies in her garden at night, arguing with him over books and current events, or her standing coffee date with their elderly neighbor. He loved that about her, loved the way she threw herself wholeheartedly into everything she did. He loved her compassion, her spirit, and how she always had a kind word for everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it.

“Don’t blow it,” he muttered to himself, running his hands through his wild hair for the sixth time in as many minutes before hurrying across the street. He’d never been this nervous about a date before. Hell, he’d never been this nervous about spending time with Ava before. But tonight…well, Noah hoped tonight would be a whole hell of a lot different than eating takeout in front of her television, or fighting over the last eggroll in his pathetic excuse for a functional kitchen.

Tonight, he didn’t want to walk the eighty seven steps to his front door while Ava waved goodnight from her porch. He wanted to strip her bare and make love to her on the old chaise tucked into the corner of her living room. The one that looked like it’d been through a paintball war, but she adamantly refused to throw out.

It had character, she liked to tell him, her green eyes flashing with fire, her little chin turned up, and her hands planted on her hips like she was about to light into him.

He always lost that particular argument.

Not that he really ever made a real effort to win, anyway. He only goaded her about that damned chaise to rile her up. The woman was fierce, and didn’t take any shit from him. She gave as good as she got, and Jesus Christ, he wanted to give it to her until her curvy little body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and she couldn’t take anymore.

“Do not blow it,” he muttered to himself again, jogging up the steps to her porch, and trying like hell to calm his racing heart and get his dick under control. Just the thought of watching her writhe above him on that ugly chaise had him rock hard. His self-control lay in tatters, scattered across her living room floor like shredded paper. Annihilated by the little pair of boxers she’d been wearing when he knocked on her door last night. They’d barely covered her round ass.

Noah raised his hand and rapped sharply on the door, refusing to think about those damn boxers.

Ava flung the door open in a matter of seconds. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, yourself,” he said, finishing the same exchange of greetings they gave every time he knocked on her door or she appeared at his. He looked her over, damn near groaning aloud. Apparently those boxers weren’t the only criminal item of clothing she owned.

He hadn’t been able to see it from the window, but her dress, a deep purple that did sinful things to her creamy complexion, ended at mid-thigh, the back flaring out like some new twist on the old flapper elegance. The dark fabric hugged her curves in all the right places, making her look downright decadent. The V between her breasts gave a hint of cleavage, just enough to make his mouth water.

How had he managed to keep himself from ravaging her for four months?

He was beyond tired of the release his own hand afforded, or the endless cold showers he forced himself to endure after waking up from dreams of taking Ava over the back of his sofa, or on top of his kitchen table, or tied to his bed.... He had a never-ending list of ways he fantasized about making love to her. Even in the kinkiest, dirtiest of those fantasies, he made love to her. Never just fucked her.

Yeah, he had it bad for the girl.

He just hoped to hell she felt the same way about him.

“What do you think?” she asked, giving a little spin with her arms outspread. She grinned over her shoulder at him, her green eyes bright and that dimple of hers flashing.

He cleared his throat roughly before giving her an answering grin. “Not bad, Cameron. Not bad at all.”

She stuck her tongue out at his teasing response before giving him the once over. Her mouth dropped open. “Holy shit. Noah Maxwell owns a suit?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He smirked, sliding his hand into his pocket to grab a slip of paper, holding it out to her with a flourish. “I brought you a present.”

She flashed him another happy grin, reaching for the paper. She glanced down at it, and then laughed loudly. “A coupon? Really, Noah?”

“Not just any coupon.” He tapped the slip of paper with a finger. “This little puppy right here entitles you to one free fifteen-ounce container of coconut pecan frosting from the masters at Duncan Hines.”

“Well, then,” she said, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly on the cheek before dropping back down to her heels again, “that certainly changes things.” Reaching behind her to grab her handbag, she slid the coupon inside. “It’s a good thing my date tonight is armed. I may need the extra protection for that golden ticket.”

“Damn straight you will,” he laughed. “You ready to go?”

She stepped out, pulling her front door closed behind her. “Are we taking your car or mine?”

Noah cocked a brow at her. The woman drove a Fiat. He could barely fit in the damn thing without folding himself into unnatural shapes. If he pushed hard enough of the gas pedal, he was pretty fucking certain his foot would go through the floorboard and he’d be Flintstone pedaling her car.

“Right. Bumblebee.”

Her nickname for his Camaro, not his.

“Bumblebee,” he agreed, offering her his arm like a gentleman.

She flashed him another killer smile, sending his heart into overdrive again.

Do not blow it, Maxwell, he warned himself again, praying like hell that at some point tonight he’d figured out how to tell her he’d fallen for her.