Kiss the Cook (19 page)

"Tennis lesson. Cooking match," she whispered back. Whew. What a relief. He didn't affect her concentration at all.

Not one little bit.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

On Monday afternoon, Chris sat on a Chicago-bound jet and tried to focus on the spreadsheet illuminated on his laptop screen. But his mind refused to cooperate.

All he could think about was his early morning conversation with Glenn Waxman about the vacant store across from Pampered Palate, and how that conversation would ultimately affect Melanie's loan.

Glenn hadn't known about the proposed restaurant. Chris squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a groan.
Well, he knows now, thanks to me.
In fact, Glenn had been very grateful for the information, explaining that if the review had gone to the bank missing such a pertinent fact, the firm would have looked extremely foolish.

Chris had pointed out that since he'd merely overheard the conversation, there was always the chance the info was incorrect. Glenn
had promised to verify the fact before adding it to the review.

It won't matter,
he told himself for what had to be the hundredth time.
She'll still get the loan.

Ye
t no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, a sick ball of dread cramped his stomach and refused to budge. Glenn had said the review should be finished by the end of the week, which meant Melanie would hear from the bank by the middle of next week.

Since she'd only worry, he
’d decided there was no point in telling her what he'd done until Glenn had verified the information and she knew the bank's de
cision. It was only a matter of a few days, and he reasoned that by remaining quiet he’d save her from getting an ulcer.
After she heard from the bank, he'd tell her. If the loan was approved, he had nothing to worry to about.

If it wasn't, he'd simply explain why he'd done what he had.

And pray he didn't lose her in the process.

~~~

When the doorbell rang at nine A.M. Saturday morning, Melanie inhaled a calming breath and forced herself to walk slowly down the stairs. She knew Chris stood on the other side of the door, and she didn't want to appear overly anxious.

Not that she
was
overly anxious to see him. Not a bit. After all, she'd just seen him five days ago. She huffed out a breath. Had it only been five days? It had felt like five years. Five long, dreary years in solitary confinement.

Get a grip, Melanie.
He’d called and texted while he was away, but every communication had only left her aching for him. For his touch, his arms around her, his kiss--

T
ossing in the towel, she ran down the last few steps and threw open the door.

Before she could
so much as say hello, he’d snatched her against him, and covered her mouth with his in a deep, tongue mating kiss. Every cell in her body melted and sighed,
welcome home.

Nipping tiny kisses along her jaw, he said, "Boy, I'm sure glad it wasn't Nana who opened the door."

A breathless laugh escaped Melanie. "A kiss like that and poor Nana would pass out. I'm feeling a bit faint myself."

The sexy
half grin she loved eased over his face. "As promising as that sounds, it’ll have to keep. We’re due on the tennis court in forty-five minutes."

"Forty-five minutes! I thought we had a breakfast date. I'm starving." I
want to stay here and kiss you. All day.

"Change of plans. We can grab a bagel and coffee on the way to the courts." His gaze roamed over her cherry red
sundress and wedge sandals. "You look great, but you should change into your tennis gear." He glanced at his watch. "Not to rush you, but you have about three minutes. We're playing that guy at my firm I mentioned I’d like to beat-- Dave Webber-- and his girlfriend-of-the-moment, whose name escapes me. Dave's bested me the last three times we've played and he's pretty insufferable about it. I really want to wump him today."

“
Three minutes? Are you serious?”

“Yup.” He grinned and gently tugged one on her curls. “And you’re down to two minutes and fifty seconds.”

Muttering under her breath about aggravating men, she walked-- okay, more like stomped-- up the stairs. Darn man. Who did he think he was, kissing her like that then calmly announcing tennis plans as if he hadn't just rocked her world and gotten her all hot and bothered? And how the heck was she supposed to "wump" anybody at tennis if she didn't eat breakfast first? And three minutes to change her clothes? Who could change clothes that fast? She had half a mind to tell him to get lost and--

"Melanie?"

She turned and gazed down at him, standing at the bottom of the stairs, his expression serious, looking more beautiful than any man had a right to
, which only served to aggravate her more. "Yes?"

"I missed you."

And just like that her annoyance evaporated-- which probably should have annoyed her, but didn’t. He’d missed her. Well, good. Because she’d missed him, too. Constantly. Of course, it wasn't necessary that
he
know that. Mimicking his earlier words, she said, "That sounds promising, but I need to buck up. There's a tennis match to play, you know."

~~~

It took Melanie all of two minutes to agree with Chris that Dave Webber was indeed insufferable about his previous victories on the tennis court. Dave's girlfriend, Jenni, sported an innocent smile and a killer forehand. Not good indications for a wumping.

The match
began with Chris serving first. His first serve landed in the net, as did his second one, resulting in a double fault. He switched court sides, and promptly double faulted away another point

Melanie switched courts again and looked back at him from her position near the net. "You okay?"

He frowned and nodded. And promptly double faulted again.

Melanie walked back to the baseline. "What's wrong?" she asked in an undertone. "Are you ner
vous? You served beautifully in the warm-up."

"I'm not nervous," he said in a distinctly annoyed voice.

She raised her brows at his tone. "Then what's with you? You said you wanted to beat this guy, and I don't blame you. He's totally obnoxious. May I remind you that the idea is to hit the ball
over
the net? That expression 'nothing but net' is for basketball, not tennis."

"I know that
."

"Could have fooled me. If you're not nervous, then what's wrong?"

"Your ass."

She stared at him.
"Excuse me?"

"Your ass. That damn short tennis skirt. Those long legs staring me right in the face. You look incredible. I can't concentrate. Every time I try to serve, I see you up at the net, half bent over, and I lose it."

"As much as I appreciate the compliment about my, er, ass, we have a whole match to play here. If you can pull yourself together, we can hand this guy the thrashing he deserves."

"Okay." He eyed her legs. "Would you consider slipping on a pair of sweatpants?"

"Have you lost your mind? It's ninety-five degrees out here!"

"Are we playing tennis or chatting?" Dave called from the other side of the net.

"We're strategizing,” Chris called back. “Give us a minute." He turned back to Melanie. "All right. No sweatpants. But I need some kind of incentive."

Melanie narrowed her eyes. "Like what?"

A wolfish grin curved his lips. "What do I get if I win?"

"What do you want?"

He leaned forward and whispered one word in her ear. “You.”

Her ni
pples tightened and a blush scorched her skin. She tightened her grip on her tennis racket to keep it from slipping from her boneless fingers. “You know, talking about
that
isn’t going to help
my
tennis game any,” she whispered back.

His
gaze flicked to her nipples. “Do we have a deal?”

“
Based on your game so far, wild monkey sex isn’t in your immediate future, so if that’s the incentive you need, fine.” Yeah-- she’d somehow muster up the courage to get naked with him. “You're on."

Walking back to her position at the net, Melanie prepared for Chris's next serve. Seconds later the ball zoomed by her ear with gale-force strength for an ace. He went on to serve another ace, then another, and then one more to even the score at deuce. She and Chris won the next two points to take the game.

Tossing her a wink, he said, "See? I just needed a little incentive."

They battled it out for another two hours, but finally Melanie and Chris won in three
close sets. The instant after everyone shook hands, Chris scooped up the tennis gear, grabbed Melanie's hand, shouted good-bye, and strode off the courts.

"Whoa!" Melanie said, breaking into a jog
to keep up with him. "Where's the fire?"

He stopped abruptly and kissed her with an intensity that blew the bottoms of
f her Nikes."Feel the fire?"

Oh, yeah. She felt it, all right. All the way down to her smoldering toes. Mutely, she nodded.

"Then let's go. 'Cause as much as I love you
in
that skimpy skirt, I can't wait to get you
out
of it."

Again Melanie simply nodded. Who the heck was she to argue with logic like that?

~~~

The fifteen-minute ride to his condo was an exercise in agony for Chris. God, he couldn't wait to get his hands on her. Touch her soft skin, feel her pressed against him. He'd missed her so damn much, he'd wanted to fall on her the moment he'd seen her, but he knew he couldn't or they'd never make it to the tennis courts. Now the match was over, and she was all his. Thank God.

But for how long?

Glenn had told him that
his inquiries revealed that an eatery called Spaghetti Loco was indeed scheduled to open across the street from the Pampered Palate-- information that had been included in the review and that Chris suspected would
sway the bank's decision concerning Melanie's loan. Would she blame him if the bank turned her down? And if she did, would he lose her?

No. Damn it, he wouldn't allow that to happen.

Needing to touch her, he held her hand the entire way home, and the instant the condo door closed behind them, he pulled her to him, kissing her with a heated desperation unlike anything he'd ever felt before. His hungry lips trailed a hot path down her neck while his restless hands slid up her thighs, under her
skirt

"I don't think we're going to make it to the bedroom," he whispered against her mouth. He slipped his fingers into the waistban
d of her tennis panties and tugged them down over her hips.

"I don't think we're going to make it out of the foyer," Melanie agreed in a breathless voice, her fingers busily working on his shorts.

"How do you feel about the floor?" he asked, jerking her top from her skirt.

"Works for me."

~~~

"This floor is damn hard," Melanie
moaned fifteen minutes later. "I feel a killer cramp coming on."

Chris, lying flat on his back next to her on the hardwood, grimaced in clear agreement. "Next time let's at least try and make it to the sofa, okay?"

"Agreed. At the very least you need a rug in here. I just want to know which one of us is going to get up and call the paramedics for the other one."

He chuckled.
"Hey, we kicked some serious butt on the tennis court. Thanks for helping me put Dave in his place. I'm going to rename you Maria Sharapova."

"Thank you, Roger Federer
." Melanie raised herself on one elbow and gazed down at him. He looked happy and tired, but unless she was mistaken, and it appeared obvious she wasn't, he was on his way toward full-blown arousal again. A half-laugh, half-groan escaped her. Looking pointedly at his groin, she asked, "Good grief, is that what I think it is?"

Lifti
ng his head off the floor, he looked down at himself. "I'm afraid so." Moaning, he rolled to his feet then helped her up. Brushing her hair out of her eyes, he said, "C'mon, Ms. Tennis Ace. Let's wander into the bedroom and you can finish paying off your debt of honor. Then, in keeping with our getting-wet-on-every-date tradition, we'll take a shower. After that you can teach me how to cook. How does that sound?"

How did that sound? "It sounds like heaven."

~~~

They didn't get around to their cooking lesson un
til late Sunday afternoon.

Dressed in shorts and her favorite
T-shirt with
Kiss the Cook
emblazoned across the chest, Melanie forced herself to concentrate on the lesson, but it was darn hard to do when her pupil kept nuzzling her neck.

"Behave yourself," she scolded in her best schoolmarm voice. "What kind of student are you?"

"I'm just following directions," Chris said. He brushed his fingertips over her breasts. "It clearly says right here to kiss the cook."