Kiss the Cook (13 page)

CHAPTER NINE

F
ifteen minutes later the sun was just slipping beneath the horizon, bathing the sky with a palette of pinks and oranges. Chris cruised the Harley down the road, feeling the tension of the past several hectic weeks ease from his body and mind. There was nothing like a motorcycle ride on gorgeous summer evening to relax him.

A
nd there was nothing like a curvy female body pressed against his back, hugging his waist, to remind him that not
every
part of his body was relaxed.

"You okay back there?" he shouted.

He felt her helmet unjam itself from between his shoulder blades and knew she'd finally lifted her head.

"Prop your chin
on my shoulder," he urged. "I promise you'll love it."

It took her a minute, but she finally settled her chin on his shoulder.

"I don't have to open my eyes, do I?" she yelled.

"If you don't, you'll miss the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen," he yelled back.

They drove on in silence, along a tree-lined, winding road that ran parallel to the Chattahoochee River. Chris smiled when he felt her rigid body slowly relax, loosening the death grip she had around his waist. By the time he parked in front of his condo, he suspected she'd changed her mind about motorcycles.

After turning off the ignition he
looked behind him. "Well?"

She pulled off her helmet and shook her head, spreading a flurry of curls that settled like a halo around her face. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed pink.

"That was awesome," she said, laughing. "Incredible."

He grinned. "I
hate to say I told you so… "

"Oh, go ahead and say it
. You were right, I was wrong. You're a big macho motorcycle hunk and I was a wuss." She swung her leg around and slid off, then practically danced around the bike in her excitement. "What a feeling. Like flying. Like nothing I've ever done before."

"Glad you liked it
."

"Yes, sir," she enthused, patting the Harley, "I've
gotta get me one of these babies." She looked at him and asked in a dead-serious tone, "How do you think I'd look in one of those black leather biker-chick outfits?"

The thought of her dressed in black leather gave him palpitations and made his knees sweat. He removed his helmet and hung it by its strap on the handlebars. "Come here."

Her eyes narrowed and a knowing, provocative, totally sexy smile curved her lips. She sauntered over to him, hips swaying. It was all he could do to remember to breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

She stopped when she stood directly in front of him. Reaching out, she walked her fingers up the front of his shirt
. "You'd better not be thinking about trying any
thing funny, big boy," she whispered in a husky drawl
that tightened his groin and raised his temperature ten degrees. "I'm a real badass, bitchin', Harley babe now."

"Oh, yeah?
Prove it."

"All right
." She gracefully swung her leg over and straddled the leather seat facing him. Then she looped her arms around his neck and wrapped her long legs around his waist. "How's this?"

Chris hoped his tongue wasn't hanging out
. It took every ounce of his rapidly deteriorating concentration to keep his feet planted on the ground so the Harley didn't keel over.

She leaned forward and gently nipped the side of his neck with her teeth. "Am I doing okay?"

A shaky laugh escaped him. "Yeah. You're a real badass." His skin suddenly felt too tight. Like it had shrunk a couple of sizes in the last two minutes. Hauling her up even tighter against him, he said, "I hope you know CPR."

Her tongue flicked out and brushed his earlobe. His eyes glazed over.

"CPR?" she whispered. "Why's that?"

"Because I
'm about to have a heart attack.” Fisting his hand in her hair, he dragged her mouth to meet his in a kiss that left him shaking.

He didn't know why this woman affected him the way she did, but he was apparently helpless to stop it. He hadn't wanted this,
hadn’t been looking for it, but this was the hand he'd been dealt, and by God he was going to play it.

His palm settled on her the small of her back
, urging her closer, deepening their kiss, mating his tongue with hers. She tasted like sugar and cinnamon and smelled like flowers, a combination that made his head spin. He untangled his hand from her hair and cupped the soft fullness of her breast.

A tiny kernel of sense penetrated the
steamy haze of passion engulfing him, reminding him they were in the parking lot. With an effort that damn near killed him, he ended the kiss. Leaned his forehead against hers. Fought to catch his breath. His heart pounded so hard he wondered if he really was having a heart attack. Thank God it was nearly dark and no one was around. He was in no condition to make apologies to his neighbors or give explanations to an arresting officer. He had to get off this bike, out of this parking lot, and into the privacy of his condo before he exploded. He was so hard he didn't know if he'd ever be able to walk again.

When he lifted his head, he groaned at the sight of her. She looked dazed and aroused and sexy as hell.
Her hair was a mess thanks to a combination of the helmet and his plundering hands. Her lips were moist and swollen from his kisses. A reddish abrasion marked her neck where his stubble had rubbed her.

The tip of her tongue peeked out
to wet her lips. "Wow," she whispered. She eased herself away from him and slid off the bike on legs that were clearly unsteady. Chris made no move to stop her. Indeed, he decided it was best that she move away from him before he simply let nature take its course right in the parking lot.

Drawing a deep breath, he gripped the handlebars and forced himself to calm down. Whatever had just possessed him, he was pleading temporary insanity. At the moment he wasn't sure if he wanted to drag her off
somewhere private and make love to her until they both passed out, or run away from her and whatever potent spell she'd cast on him as fast as his shaky legs could carry him.

Havoc. That's what this woman wreaked. Havoc. With his senses, his mind, his body. He'd only met her a week ago, and his life was turned upside down. A week ago he'd wanted nothing more than his bachelor freedom. Now he wanted Melanie. And nothing else.

She touched his arm. "You're a million miles away. You okay?”

He tried to smile and failed. He wanted to say he was fine, but that would have been an outright lie.

"To be perfectly honest," he said, plunging unsteady fingers through his hair, "I'm a bit shaken."

"I know what you mean." She wrapped her arms around herself. He knew she couldn't be cold. It had to be two hundred degrees outside. "
I’m glad you had the presence of mind to stop. Time and place and all that jazz.”

“
Yeah, well, it damn near killed me. But I figured if the bike fell on us that would hurt more. And, as you said, time and place.”

She nodded. “Right.
And speaking of place… " Her words trailed off and she frowned. "Where are we?"

"My place.
" Feeling once again in control, he locked the bike, set the kickstand then swung his leg over the leather seat. "I hope you're hungry." At her blank stare he added, "I'm making dinner."

"You're cooking me dinner?"

He snagged her hand and led her toward his front door. "That a problem?"

He actually heard her gulp.
Good to know she wasn't calm while he was like Elvis-- all shook up.

"No problem," she said. "I'm just surprised. What's on the menu?"

"Steak, potatoes, salad. Real bachelor-guy stuff."

"I thought bachelor-guy stuff was moldy bologna, stale potato chips, and beer."

"That was last night. Tonight, we feast." He unlocked his door and pushed it open with a flourish. "Welcome to my humble abode. I haven't had much time or inclination to decorate, but all the essentials are covered."

"Essentials?" she asked, craning her neck
as she stepped into the foyer.

"Beer in the fridge, towels in the bathroom,
gym equipment in the dining room, electronics and recliner in the den." He led her into the den and indicated a tan leather sectional. "Make yourself at home. That's the most comfortable sofa on earth. I'll get us some drinks and fire up the grill. Be right back." Before heading into the kitchen, he flicked on the stereo. The smooth sounds of Jason Mraz played softly through the speakers.

Melanie took advantage of his
absence to look around. The room was spacious, with one wall dominated by a stone fireplace and another with a series of sliding doors that led onto a roomy deck. Soft track lighting highlighted the gleaming hardwood floors. She wandered past a whitewashed oak entertainment center chock full of sleek, complicated-looking stereo equipment and a huge flat screen TV. Built-in bookcases flanked the fireplace, and Melanie perused his selection of books. Lots of accounting texts. The latest Grisham novel alongside a pictorial history of New York City. Several volumes concerning cars and motorcycles, and, most surprising, a book of poetry.

Several
framed photos of his
family sat on the shelves. One photo in particular
caught her attention. She picked it up and studied a
teenage Chris standing next to a very handsome man
who looked exactly like him. They grinned identical
smiles into the camera.

"That's my dad," he said, entering the room. He set two drinks down on the glass coffee table. "It's my favorite picture. My mom took it just a week before he died."

Melanie’s heart squeezed at the sad look in his eyes as he gazed at the photo. "I'm sorry."

His face cleared and a half smile touched his lips. "Yeah. Me, too. He was a great guy."

After she set the photo back on the shelf, Chris led her to the sofa. Once they were seated he handed her a drink.

She sniffed it and her eyes fogged up. "Yikes. What
is this?"

"It's the best vodka martini you'll ever have."

"Martini?"

"I seem to recall you saying you wanted to have one before you died."

"This may come as a shock to you, but I'm not planning to kick the bucket anytime soon."

"No time like the present," he said, clinking the edge of his skinny, triangular-shaped glass to hers. "Try it
."

She
took a tentative sip. The alcohol was icy cold and powerfully potent.

"Well?" he asked.

"I like it. I imagine it’s what freezing-cold lighter fluid tastes like.”

He laughed. "You can no longer say you've never tried a martini." He leaned back and stretched out his Levis-clad legs.
“I thought we'd start on the other stuff tomorrow."

"What other stuff?"

"Canoeing. Tennis. Cooking lessons. Baking." He shot her an exaggerated leer. "Skinny-dipping."

"Whoa," she said, a
larmed by the hormonal chaos his words started. Skinny-dipping meant Chris naked, and she'd already vowed not to say those two words in the same sentence. The mere thought of him naked made her toss back a hefty swig of her drink. "Those are lifetime goals. If I knock them all off in one weekend, what will I have to live for?"

He leaned forward and dropped a warm, teasing, heart-accelerating kiss on her lips. "I'm sure we can come up with somet
hing.”

Before Melanie could jolt her vocal chords into replying, he stood a
nd said, "The steaks need to go on the grill. Wanna join me?"

"Sure." She followed him into the kitchen, and raised her brows. This was definitely not the month-old-linguine-encrusted room s
he'd envisioned. Cherry wood cabinets complimented the maroon-veined, cream granite countertop and terra-cotta ceramic tile floor. A round, glass-top table took up the corner eating nook, and sliding doors led to the deck, where a gas grill gleamed in the moonlight.

"Very nice," Melanie remarked, turning a
round in a circle. "Very manly. And clean, too. I like it.”

"Thanks.
It’s a lot cleaner since Mark moved out. He could wreck a room in ten seconds flat.”

Melanie nodded, imagining that living with a college-aged sibli
ng hadn’t equaled Neatness All Around. “What can I do to help?”

“
Table needs to be set.”

“I’m on it.”

“Dishes are in the upper left cabinet. I'll get the steaks."

Melanie gathered plates and cutlery, all the while sneaking peeks of Chris manning the grill.
Good grief, the man looked all kinds of yummy wielding tongs and turning foil-wrapped potatoes. So good she completely lost track of what she was doing and missed the table when she set down a knife.  It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.