The sight of her co-workers panicked Heather. They were checking up on her while she drank latte with Chicago's Sexiest Bachelor, Jason Knight, to see if she would win the bet.

Too late she realized that she'd tipped her cup too far and ended up with whipped cream not only on her lips but on the tip of her nose, too. "Geez, you'd think I'd know how to drink from a cup by now."

Lifting his still-immaculate linen napkin, Jason leaned forward to carefully wipe her face for her. "You clean up pretty nice," he murmured, so close she could feel his words as well as hear them.

"You're just saying that." Her heart actually quivered. Either she was having cardiac trouble or this guy really was Chicago's Sexiest Bachelor.

She cleared her throat, afraid of sounding like a croaking frog. Workman's comp didn't cover female radio personalities being struck deaf and dumb by overexposure to sex appeal.

"You don't think I'd lie, do you?" Jason asked.

"No, but your mom probably raised you to be polite. Which is a great thing. Polite is good. I like polite. Are you going to eat that biscotti? Do you eat when you get nervous? Do guys do that or is that just a girl thing? Judging from the calls I get on my radio show, I'd say it's a girl thing. I'm talking too much. You should stop me, really you should. Before I say something else stupid."

Jason responded by leaning across the small table and kissing her.

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