She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the sizzle of heat that was burning her face up, and a few other parts as well ? more precisely, somewhere right in the middle, and she couldn?t blame it on spicy food. Any hotter and she?d be more than capable of cremating the meat herself just by looking at it.
How could a man staring at her make her knickers wet? She was losing it, seriously losing it. She glanced down, to avoid the look, which meant eyeing up his body instead. OK, she didn?t want to think about the food, but this was taking avoidance to an altogether new level. She tried not to squirm on her seat, because she was pretty damned certain that would make it worse. And it might be a good move to shut her mouth before he took the ?oo? as an invitation, or worse, she started to drool.
He cleared his throat and she started guiltily; hell, she?d been staring at his crotch, hadn?t she? Positively staring, and there was a good chance she?d been licking her lips. But when she looked up and met his steady gaze she could have sworn he couldn?t decide whether to laugh or be annoyed.
Looking back up made it worse, though. Those eyes were so ? well, scrutinising, almost unnerving enough to stop you noticing the rest of his face. Almost, except you?d have to be a saint or celibate, and meaning to stay that way, to ignore the rest. He was exactly as she?d imagined Heathcliffe when she?d been a romantic teenager, without the cravat and baggy trousers. Dark curls brushed his collar; he had a long, straight nose, and a deep cleft in his chin that drew your gaze straight to his lips. Well, yeah, everyone had lips but these were just full enough, with a hint of a sardonic curve. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to ignore the fact that the temperature in the room had reached furnace level. And that she was still staring.