Kiss the Cook (14 page)

“Everything okay in there?”
Chris called through the screen door.

“Yup.
”
Except that you’re the Most Distracting Man on the Planet.
Jeez-- that knife could have amputated her toe. He was distracting
and
a foot hazard.

Twenty
minutes later Melanie sat across from him in the breakfast nook. When she eyed her steak with trepidation, Chris laughed. "You're not about to be poisoned," he promised. "Steak is the only thing I know how to cook, and after lots of practice, I'm good at it."

Melanie sampled a bite,
then smiled. "This is excellent."

"Coming from a gourmet cook, I'm flattered, but the note of surprise in your voice is a bit deflating."

"I'm not surprised. Well, maybe a little," she conceded. "I guess I had a stereotypical view of bachelors-- can't cook, live in green fungus-filled squalor, spray Lysol on dirty clothes rather than do the laundry." She waved her fork around. "I must admit, I'm impressed."

"Wait 'til you taste dessert."

Melanie looked at him and almost choked on her potato. She wasn't sure what dessert was, but based on that I-wanna-gobble-you-up look in his eyes, she had a feeling it was going to involve more than a simple slice of pie. And that she would love it. She gulped down the rest of her drink and held out her glass for another.

After dinner they sat on the deck, sharing a cushiony blue-and-white striped patio loveseat. Melanie leaned her head back and sipped her third martini. By the time she was halfway finished with it she real
ized that those suckers tasted pretty damn good-- in fact, they were the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.

Of course, they were
kinda strong, a fact that came to her attention when Chris asked her a question. She turned her head to look at him and noticed her vision arrived several seconds later.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You okay?"

She fought a powerful urge to giggle. "Certainly."

Leaning over, he peered at her in the darkness. "Uh-oh. That third martini was probably not a good idea."

"Nonsense. I can hold my liquor as well as you."

"I've only had one."

She glared at him. "One?"

"I'm driving," he said in a mild tone.

"You know, that's one of the things I like about you," she said, slapping her palm against his thigh. "You're very responsible."

He took her hand and
slowly entwined their fingers. "I'm glad to hear there are things about me you like, 'cause there's a whole lot I like about you."

The
feel of his long, strong fingers wrapped around hers, combined with the heat in his eyes made her tingle all over. "Really? Like what?"

"
Like… everything. Your smile, your laugh, your sense of humor. You're smart, beautiful, funny, kind, good to your grandmother, and you make the best cookies I've ever eaten." He lifted her hand to his beautiful mouth and traced his tongue down the center of her palm. Holy Spine Melter. She almost slithered bonelessly off the chair in response.

"Not to mention," he continued in a husky
voice, "that you're sexy as hell."

Wow, wow, holy cow.
Melanie finished off her icy drink with a long, deep glug, hoping to cool the fire his words had lit. One more compliment like that and she was going to go up in a puff of smoke. And speaking of smoke... it was
hot
out here!

“Well,
I’m glad you think so,” she said, enunciating her words carefully, because somehow her tongue suddenly felt sort of thick, “‘cause as I said, there's a whole big bunch of stuff I like about you."

H
e brushed his mouth across her palm. "I'm listening."

Melanie stared at him, her head swimming. Jeez, it was
seriously
hot. Didn't he have air-conditioning? Oh, they were outside.

"I uh, like your smile," she said. "The way you treat you
r family. The way you treat Nana." He brushed his lips against the sensitive inside of her wrist, shooting tingles all the way up to her scalp. "And, ah, the way you treat me.”

He drew her index finger into the warm silk of his mouth and Melanie almost swooned. "I, umm, I like that, too." She rested her head on the cushion. "Whew! Is it
hot
out here, or is it just me?"

He took her empty glass and set it on the deck, then leaned forward until his lips touched her ear. "It's definitel
y not just you. Let's go inside."

Standing, he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet.

A giggle erupted from her. "Holy smokes. Who's moving the floor?"

Chris wrapped a strong arm around her waist and led her through the sliding glass doors. Just as they entered the kitchen, Melanie stumbled. She clung to his shoulders and said, "
Whoopsie-doo! Hey, I left something outside."

"What's that?"

"My knees." Holding on to him, she shook one leg, then the other. "My knees are gone." She touched her face. "My eyebrows, too."

"Oh, boy. That third martini was
definitely
a mistake."

"Nonsense. I feel swell. In a numb, tingly sort of way. I'm not sure about the numb, but the tingly is definitely all your fault."

Feeling wonderfully free and uninhibited, and unable to remember why she shouldn't, Melanie stood on tiptoe and kissed his neck. "Yum. You smell good." She pressed herself against him, running a series of tiny kisses up his jaw. "Would you, by any chance, be dessert?"

A choking sound ca
me from his throat. "Melanie… "

She gently bit his earlobe. "
Hmmmm?"

"Let's get you in the car. I think I'd better take you
home
."

Home? No, she didn't want to go home. She wanted to stay right here. Where they could get comfortable and he could put out the fire he'd started inside her.

But if he wanted to go to her place, that was okay. Nana would be out all night with Bernie.

Too languid to argue, Melanie gathered her purse and let Chris lead her to the Mercedes. She spent the fifteen-minute drive to her house in a hazy daydream, imagining making love to Chris.

She wanted him. There was no point in denying it any longer. It had been so long since she'd wanted a man… since a man had wanted her. She'd fought this attraction, but she was ready to admit defeat.

Without warning, an idea popped into her mind
with
such clarity, she imagined a light bulb bursting to life above her head. Since she didn't want a relationship, she'd just use him for sex!

Her heart could stay in another room altogether. What a perfect plan! Why hadn't she thought of that in the first place? He wasn't interested in a long-term relationship, so as l
ong as she remembered the rules-- no strings, no commitments, no emotional attachments-- she wouldn't risk a broken heart. They'd just enjoy hot, feverish sex.

Was she
a genius or what?

After parking in front of her house, he said, "C'mon, Miss Martini
. We're home." He walked her to the porch, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist-- good thing, too, because her legs were all kinds of wobbly. By the time they stood in front of the door, her heart was pounding in anticipation. If he didn't kiss her in the next ten seconds, she was going to jump him.

"Do you have your key?" he asked in an amused tone.

"Key? Of course I have my key." She stared at him, waiting for him to kiss her. Nothing.

A smile quirked his lips. "Do you need help finding it?"

"Finding what?"

"Your key."

"Shertainly not." Melanie dug around in her purse and came up with the key. "Ta-da!"

Chris took it and opened the door. The moment they stepped into the darkened foyer, Melanie turned, pushed the door closed, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Are you going to kiss me, or what?"

A strangled sound passed his lips. "I'm going home. Now. While I still can."

She tried to pull
his Polo shirt from his jeans and her fingers-- which felt both huge and numb-- only grabbed air.  “Whoa, that shirt is a slippery sittle lucker-- I mean little sucker!” She tried again and managed to wrangle one hand under his shirt. "I don't want you to leave. I want your hands on me. Mine on you. I want to make love with you."

Groaning, he tunneled his fingers through her hair and looked
into her eyes. "Melanie. You're killing me." He dropped his head until their foreheads touched. "This is so ironic. You've finally said the words I've wanted to hear, and you probably won't remember saying them in the morning."

Melanie leaned back and glared at him. "Are you insinuating that I'm tipsy?"

"Does the expression 'three sheets to the wind' mean anything to you?"

"I am
not
three sheets to the wind."

"You're right. You're
four
sheets to the wind. Completely snookered."

Insulted, she drew herself up. "I've never been snookered in my life." A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her.
"Snockered,
maybe. Snookered never."

"Oh, yeah? How are your knees?"

She concentrated for a moment "Missing in action."

"Eyebrows?"

"Gone." She hiccuped. "But not forgotten."

He sighed and cupped her face between his hands. "Listen to me, Melanie. When we make love, I want you to remember every single second. I want you completely aware every time I touch you. Everywhere I touch you. As much as I'm literally aching to stay he
re, I can't. Tonight is not the night."

Melanie stared at him-- both of him-- and frowned. "So…
you're leaving."

"Yeah. But I'll be back."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. Wait, better make it eleven. You'r
e going to need the extra hour sleep."

"What are we doing tomorrow?"

He kissed the tip of her nose and opened the door. "Canoeing. Better rest up. And glug back a big glass of water before you go to bed. And take a couple of Advil."

"Canoeing?
Water? Advil?” Good Lord, she could barely wrap her tongue, or her mind, around the words. “What are you talking about?"

"Canoeing because it's on the things-to-do-before-you-die list,
water because alcohol dehydrates you, and Advil for your headache. Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." He left, closing the door behind him.

Melanie
glared at the door then lurched toward the stairs. Darn it, how was a person supposed to walk when the floor kept shifting? She huffed out a breath and grabbed the banister.

Canoeing?
Was he nuts? She didn't want to go canoeing. Didn't know the first thing about it. And what was that about glugging water? She wasn’t the least bit thirsty. And Advil? What headache?

By the time she'd staggered into her bedroom and undressed, her temples were pounding like the ham
mers of hell.

Oh.
That
headache.

CHAPTER TEN

The next morning,
Chris stopped at the bakery for cinnamon rolls
on his way to Melanie's house. The place was packed, as it always was on weekends. He pulled a paper number from the machine and glanced at it. Forty-eight. A lighted sign indicated number thirty-two was being served. That was the problem
with this bakery-- they made the best doughnuts and pastries in Atlanta and everyone knew it.

Resigned to the lengthy wait,
he
snagged a copy of the morning newspaper from the stack by the door and skimmed the headlines. He was halfway through the sports page when he heard someone behind him say the words "Pampered Palate."

He discreetly turned his head and
saw two men about his own age, one dressed in running shorts and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt, the other wearing ratty cut-off sweatpants. Both sported sweat-flattened hair and the faint aroma of gym socks.

"My client is scheduled to close on the property early next month," Running Shorts said. "Mark my words, it's going to be the hottest eatery in Atlanta once it's up and running.
”

"What kind
of food?" asked Ratty Sweatpants.

"A combination of Italian and Mexican. Eclectic decor, live music, patio bar. They're calling it Spaghetti Loco and believe me, there's nothing else like it."

"Sounds great. When's it scheduled to open?" asked Ratty Sweatpants.

"In about six months."

"Your client isn't worried about the Pampered Palate right across the street?"

R
unning Shorts chuckled. "Hell no. That's not even a restaurant. They're a small takeout place. Spaghetti Loco will put them out of business within a year."

"Hey,
don't do that," Ratty Sweatpants protested. "I order from there at least once a week. The food's good, and the owner's not bad either."

"Yeah?" Running Shorts dropped his voice, and Chris leaned ba
ck to catch his words. "She hot?"

"Very."

"You tappin’ that?"

"Not yet," Ratty said, "but she's definitely
on my 'list of things to do.'" They both chuckled.

A combination of anger, jealousy, and possessiveness unlike anything he’d ever before experienced surged through Chris, and he
pulled in a deep calming breath to fight off the urge to drag Ratty outside and disabuse the bastard of his
amorous plans, then shove his "things to do list
"
where the sun don’t shine. And Ratty was just going to have to start ordering lunch from Taco Bell.

Just then Chris’s
number was called. He placed his order, paid, then left before he gave in to the temptation to smack those two creeps upside their heads with his doughnuts.

Once s
eated in the parking lot in the Mercedes, he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Damn it, he couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so unsettled and frustrated.

The idea of Ratty Sweatpants
, or
any
guy, dating Melanie-- touching her, kissing her,
making love
to her, tied his insides into hard knots. He'd never experienced such hot, pulsing, jealousy before, and he didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

This caring about a woman business was a major pain in the ass. He'd be much better off sticking to his carefree
bachelor plan-- dating a string of beauties and keeping his heart to himself. Yeah, much better off. But unfortunately he was finding that plan impossible to stick to.

Damn it all to hell and back.

He blew out a frustrated breath then started the car. He was halfway to Melanie's house before the other part of Ratty and Running's conversation worked its way back into his mind
.

A new restaurant was scheduled to open right across the street from the Pampered Palate.

The ramifications of that information hit him like a bucket of cold water. Did Melanie know about this?

But more important, did the
bank
know? The fact that a competitor was opening so close by could and most likely
would
influence the bank's decision on granting Melanie her loan. It was definitely information that should be disclosed in his company's independent review.

If th
e bank didn't already know… Chris groaned at the thought. If they didn't know, he'd have to tell them. Or at least inform Glenn so
he
could tell the loan officer.

Crap.
Technically, he supposed he could keep quiet about it. Who would ever know what he'd overheard? But his conscience would chew at him, even though it was a gray area.

Maybe the
point was moot-- maybe the bank already knew. Was it possible Glenn or Bob Harris had found out and were already going to include the info about the new restaurant in their review? Or perhaps Melanie knew and had told Glenn and the bank. Maybe Chris's firm or the bank would investigate the empty stores to find out what kind of businesses were planning to rent them.

He wouldn't know all the facts until he spoke to Glenn on Monday. He briefl
y considered calling him now but decided to wait. Better to first ask Melanie a few discreet questions. If she already knew and had disclosed the info, there was no problem. If she didn't know… he pushed the disturbing thought aside.

And prayed he wasn't going to ruin her chances of getting her loan.

~~~

Chris rang Melanie's doorbell at exactly eleven o'clock, and Nana threw open the door.

"Well! If it isn't the hunk!" she said, smiling broadly. "And you brought those yummy doughnuts again." She looked him up and down over her bifocals. "Jiminy Cricket. You're a looker for sure."

Chris laughed. "Same goes, Nana."

She patted her bright red hair and blushed. "Now don't you go fiirtin' with me, young man. I've got a beau of my own."

"Bernie's a lucky man."

"You're darn tootin'," Nana agreed with a wink. "Come on in. There's coffee brewing, and I just took a batch of double chocolate chunk cookies out of the oven."

Chris rubbed his hand over his stomach. "I love you, Nana."

Following Nana into the kitchen, Chris made himself at home in one of the chintz-covered chairs. He really liked this house, he decided, accepting a yellow ceramic mug filled with aromatic coffee. And he especially liked the women who lived in it.

He scooped a cookie from the serving tray. "Where's Melanie?"

"She'll be along. I heard the shower running earlier. Did you have fun last night?"

Chris bit into the cookie and moaned in ecstasy. He felt like an eight-year-old, sitting at the table after school, munching on home-baked cookies for an afternoon snack. "Last night was great. Melanie loved the motorcycle."

Nana raised her brows. "Motorcycle?"

"Didn't she tell you?"

"No. I, er, only arrived home a few hours ago."

His lips twitched at t
he scarlet flush staining Nana's cheeks, as well as the wicked gleam in her eye. "Nana! You devil."

S
he chuckled. "Ain't it the truth? Now, what's this about a motorcycle?"

Chris told Nana abou
t Melanie's inaugural bike ride-- leaving out the part where her granddaughter had all but seduced him in the parking lot. He'd just finished when Melanie walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning," Nana said, eyeing her granddaughter up and down.

Melanie mumbled something unintelligible and headed straight for the coffeepot.

Nana raised her brows and picked up her mug. "I'm
outta here, kids. I'm gonna enjoy me a nice long, hot bath. Bernie's taking me to Chili's for the early-bird special then we're heading back to his place to watch the Braves game and drink martinis."

"Take my advice, Nana," Melanie said, easing herself into a chair. "Don't drink martinis. Ever."

A knowing look entered Nana’s eyes. "So that's why you're looking so peaked." She fixed her gaze on Chris. "Did you get my granddaughter drunk, young man?"

Chris lifted his palms in surrender. "No, ma'am. She did it all by herself."

Nana raised her brows. "You take advantage of her weakened condition?"

"Nope
. She tried her darndest to seduce me, but I did the honorable thing and hauled her tipsy butt back home. The effort almost killed me."

Melanie glared at both of them, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug like it was a lifeline. "Would you two stop talking about me as if I'm not here?"

Nana hooted out a laugh. "Oohh, she's a prickly one this morning." She patted Chris's shoulder. "Good luck, young man. You're gonna need it." She waggled her fingers at them then left.

Chris stretched out his legs, helped himself to an
other cookie, and watched Melanie sip her coffee with her eyes closed. Damned if she wasn't adorable, even if she was kinda grumpy.

He wanted to ask her about the vacant store across from the Pampered Palate but decided to wait until he could casually toss his questions into the conversation. He wasn't about to spoil their day when there might not be anything to worry about.

She didn't speak until she'd poured herself a second cup of coffee. Then she cleared her throat. "Ah… about last night. I think I may have had one too many martinis."

He watched, fascinated, as a peachy blush suffused her entire face. "How do you feel?"

She huffed out a breath. "Actually, I feel pretty good. Good grief, I slept like someone hit me on the head with a hammer. I woke up with a headache, but I took some aspirin and it's almost gone." She twisted her fingers together then raised her gaze to his. "What I'm really feeling is embarrassed."

"Why?"

She stared at him as if he was nuts.
"Why? How
can you even ask? I threw myself at you. And if that's not bad enough, you turned me down. How humiliating is
that?"

If
she hadn't looked so distraught, Chris would have laughed. She thought he'd turned her down? Crazy woman. He stood and drew her to her feet then tipped up her chin until her gaze met his.

"You have it all wrong, Melanie. I didn't turn you down. All I did was postpone the inevitable." He lowered his head and kissed her softly. She tasted like cookies.

She drew back and regarded him with a wary expression. "You mean you think we're going to… " Her voice trailed off.

"Absolutely. Don't you?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's a
great
idea. But even if it wasn't, it's still going to happen."

"How do you know?"

He looked into her warm, chocolaty, confused eyes and fell a little farther into the black abyss of emotional commitment yawning in front of him. "Because I can't seem to stop it. There's something between us, and I can't walk away from it. Much as I'd like to, I can't."

"I can."

He searched her eyes and knew she wasn't telling the truth. "Liar," he said softly.

A small smile touched
her lips. "Well, I can try."

"Forget it. It won't work. Believe me. I know." He dropped a quick kiss on her nose. "Now, I suggest we enjoy one more cup of coffee before heading out on our canoeing expedition."

She groaned. "In other words, let's put
this
embarrassing episode behind us so we can move on to other, more potentially embarrassing episodes."

"You nailed it."

"Great. I guess I'd better tell you I know diddly-squat about canoeing."

“
Don't worry. You're in good hands. We'll have a lot of fun."

She eyed him with clear suspicion. "Define fun."

He laughed. "Trust me on this."

~~~

An hour later, Melanie was fervently wishing she hadn't trusted him on this.

She stood at the end of the floating dock and pointed down, a sinking feeling in her stomach. "What is
that?"

"That," Chris said, his voice filled with suppressed laughter, "is a canoe."

"Canoe, my ass. It's nothing but a carved-out, six-foot cigar." She planted her hands on her hips. "If you think I'm getting in that skinny excuse for a boat, you're out of your mind."

Chris cocked a brow at her.
“You
said canoeing was something you wanted to do. So here we are, at beautiful Lake Lanier, a canoe rented and at our disposal for the next hour." He crossed his arms over his chest. "So what's the problem?"

Melanie could tell he was trying not to laugh at her. Raising her chin, she said, "When I said
canoeing,
I was speaking strictly metaphorically."

"Oh, really?"

"Of course. When I said I wanted to go
canoeing,
I
meant
I wanted to go on a Caribbean cruise." She nodded vigorously, knowing she was beat but willing to try one last, desperate attempt to save herself. "Clearly you're much too literal-minded to appreciate the finer points of symbolism. Canoe. Cruise. Both boat words that start with c. It's really rather interesting how-- "