Some Like It Hot (5 page)

“I had a dream last night,” she said.

“About me?” He flashed her his dimples.

Yes.
“No, don’t be silly. Why would I dream about you? I dreamed of a great new recipe.”

“I’m disappointed,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d dreamed about me.”

“Get over yourself. I dream about food.”

“That’s it? Nothing about me?”

Melanie tried not to be charmed. “Are you going to let me try out the recipe? Or do I have to mention to Charlotte that I saw you talking to the
Times-Picayune
reporter?”

Robert skewered her with his gaze, but a smile twitched at his lips. “Are you threatening me?”

“
Threaten
is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as negotiation.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. Blackmail away.”

“Nothing?” She arched an eyebrow. “No deep dark secrets rattling around in your closet?”

It wasn’t her imagination. A quick but unmistakable guilty expression flashed across his features. Maybe he did have something to hide.

“Tell me about the recipe,” he said.

“A Valentine’s specialty, although I’m thinking it could be great for Mardi Gras as well.”

His eyes narrowed. “What have you got in mind?”

“Oysters,” she said.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Succulent, wet, slippery.” The words were like an invitation. “Served with a champagne mignonette sauce.”

“Sexy,” he said.

“That’s the point. But I’m not done yet.”

“What else?”

“On a bed of tender, yet still firm, sautéed asparagus spears.”

Melanie could practically see Robert’s mind traveling the track she’d set up.

“And get this,” she murmured. “The whole thing is topped by white truffles dripping with hot, melted butter.”

A sexy glint in his eye, he lowered his head and whispered so only she could hear. “You’re very wicked.”

The kitchen was crowded. Staff members bustled to and fro. The lack of privacy should have been embarrassing. Instead, it was strangely erotic.

Their gazes fused.

A shock of sexual awareness, so overwhelmingly strong it stole her breath, jolted through Melanie. She took a step backward. The curve of her spine bumped into the counter as she willed herself not to blush.

“Something’s burning.”

“Huh?” Her body was on full alert but her brain felt sluggish and she couldn’t process what Robert had just said.

He nodded toward the stove. An acrid smell filled the air.

Her diablo sauce!

In her hormone-induced trance, she’d stopped stirring, and the sauce was scorching on the bottom of the pan.

Mindlessly, she grabbed for the saucepan to pull it off the burner, but her elbow struck the handle and sent it flying. The pan clattered to the floor, splashing hot pottage on her bare ankles and shins. Of all the days to wear a skirt.

“Oww,” she howled, hopping from one stinging leg to the other.

In an instant, Robert had hold of her.

Melanie had no idea what he intended. She was too busy
hissing with pain. He bent and scooped her into his arms, peeling off her kitchen clogs with his broad hand.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the burning sensation. Robert tucked her butt solidly in the curve of his left arm, stood up and rushed her across the room to the sink. He dangled her legs over the stainless steel basin and carefully hosed the sauce off with the vegetable sprayer.

The cool water brought immediate relief.

She let her head sag against his shoulder. She weighed a hundred thirty-six pounds, and Robert was holding her with the same ease she held her niece, Daisy Rose. Behind her, she heard someone pick up the saucepan from the floor and begin cleaning up the spill.

“I’ll get that,” she said. “It’s my mess.”

“Hush,” Robert commanded, but in a tender way.

Melanie hushed.

He wrapped clean dish towels around her burns and carried her toward his office.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“I know that.”

“So put me down.”

“Not yet.”

“You’ll hurt your back.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Stubborn man.”

“Smart-mouthed woman.”

He paraded her through the kitchen, past the curious stares of the other cooks.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” she declared as Robert waltzed her past the busboy, who was busily wiping Diablo sauce off the front of the stove.

Smiling shyly, Raoul made brief eye contact before quickly ducking his head and intensifying his scrubbing.

“Gosh,” Melanie murmured under her breath, awareness dawning. “I never realized it before, but I think the kid might have a crush on me.”

“Are you blind? The entire kitchen staff has a crush on you.” Robert’s voice was gruff.

“Really?”

She glanced around the room and realized every eye in the place was on her. Just because they were staring at her didn’t mean they had a crush on her. Although come to think about it, the guys did stare at her a lot.

“As if you didn’t know.”

Honestly, she didn’t know. Was he right?

“Allison, too?” she teased, more to keep her mind off the feel of Robert’s arms around her than the sting of the burns. She was referring to Chez Remy’s assistant pastry chef.

“No, not Allison, but everyone else.” Robert backed into his office, pushing the door open with his shoulder, Melanie still clutched in his arms.

You included?
Melanie wanted to ask, but she was afraid of how he might answer. What if he said yes?

She was feeling a little whacked out from the conflicting emotions surging through her and the stinging pain in her legs. Her belly burned and her pulse fluttered wildly at the hollow of her throat.

Inside his office, Robert eased her into the chair parked behind the teakwood desk that had been in her family for over a hundred years. The top of the desk was spit-and-polish tidy. Papers were stacked neatly in either the in-box or the outgoing file. The nearby bookcase was filled with cook
books, nutrition texts and business tomes. Even the trash can had recently been emptied.

Robert’s masculine fragrance clung to the chair’s gray tweed fabric. The rich woodsy scent teased her olfactory receptors, as if whispering,
This is for you
.

Melanie wasn’t one to ignore her instincts. No matter what her head was telling her about Robert—that he was all wrong for her—her body’s chemistry was singing a very different tune.

He knelt on the hand-woven rug in front of her and cupped her right heel in his palm. The expression in his eyes was so exquisitely tender she couldn’t bear to look.

“It’s my fault you burned your legs,” he said. “I distracted you while you were working.”

“Oh, please.” She waved a hand. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”

“What people?”

“The kind who want to assume responsibility for everything that happens. Like my sister Charlotte. It’s not your fault that I had my head up my…” She stopped herself just in time before using the earthy language that had gotten her in a lot of trouble when she was a kid. “…in the clouds.”

“It’s my kitchen. I’m in charge.”

“You’re not God,” she said. “Accidents happen.”

“You know,” he mused, his fingers tenderly holding her foot, “there’s a philosophy that says there are no accidents.”

“What? You’re saying I dropped a pan of diablo sauce and burned my legs just to get you to take me into your office so I could be alone with you?”

“Did you?” He cocked his head.

“I’m not that calculating, LeSoeur. In case you haven’t noticed, I shoot from the hip.”

“And ask questions later,” he muttered.

She suddenly wanted to yank her foot away, but instead sank her top teeth into her bottom lip. Not to brace herself against the pain, but against the unexpected pleasure of his touch. She felt unsettled in a strange and unaccustomed way.

When his fingers gently crept up her leg to remove the towels he’d wrapped around her burns, Melanie realized the man was a lot more sensual than she’d given him credit for. His caress was lighter than oxygen and way too thrilling.

“Slide out that bottom drawer.” Robert gestured with his head, inclining it toward the desk drawer at her right. “There’s a first-aid kit inside.”

She leaned over the arm of the chair, grabbed the drawer handle, tugged it open and found the kit.

He took it from her with his free hand.

Their fingers brushed and she felt a wildfire of sensation. He pretended to be absorbed with opening the box and taking out a jar of cream to rub on her burns.

“More than likely it’s only first degree,” he noted, swabbing her legs with the soothing salve and then taping nonstick Telfa gauze over the wounds. “Probably won’t even blister.”

“That’s good,” she said, her voice sounding faraway and kind of fuzzy, even to her own ears. The way his fingers tickled her flesh made her insides tremble like an addict in need of a fix.

He angled his head and stared at her with sultry eyes. Although he pressed his lips tightly together, she could see what he was trying so desperately to hide.

Stark, hungry need.

Melanie looked into his eyes, ached to feel the pressure of his lips against hers. She couldn’t keep resisting her impulses. It went against her nature. So without fully considering what she was about to do, she leaned forward, puckered her lips and prayed he would take the hint.

D
AMN HIM
,
HE SHOULD
not have kissed her.

But he had.

Robert was weak from four months of fighting the attraction. He was just a guy, with a caveman desire for the luscious woman in front of him. He couldn’t think about anything except how much he wanted her. He was ready to wave the white flag. He was going to have to do a hell of a lot of journal writing to tame this beast.

He blamed their close proximity, the privacy of his office, the hot diablo sauce and the fact that her delicate foot was cushioned in his palm. He faulted the devilish glint in her indigo eyes as she leaned forward, revealing an exquisite view of her cleavage and just daring him to kiss her. He laid blame on the sweet, full, puckered lips hovering mere inches from his own. But most of all, Robert held himself responsible. He’d been too long without sex, his judgment seriously clouded by testosterone, or he would have remembered that this was Melanie Marchand, his boss’s sister. If anything went wrong between them, he’d be the one to lose his job, not her.

Her lips parted, and the sight of that impish pink tongue was his total undoing. Her eyes were locked on his, the muscles in her throat moving as she swallowed.

He was careening toward a head-on collision with professional disaster and he knew it, but in the heat of the moment he simply didn’t care. His mind was that skewed by her. Robert reached up and pulled the elastic band from her ponytail. Her hair fell over his hand in a shiny dark cascade.

Sharply, he inhaled.

Her eyes widened.

He sank his lips onto hers.

She let out a soft sound of pleasure and arched against him. Underneath her shirt, he felt her nipples pebble. She smelled so good, like the Cajun holy trinity of bell peppers, celery and onions.

He cupped her face in his palm, amazed at her softness. Her hair was tangled around his fingers, ribbons of ebony silk.

With a sigh, she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

A scorching heat flashed through him, incinerating everything in its path. His tongue, his throat, his gut.

He was on fire for her.

The taste of her mouth. Wow!

Kissing her was raw and real, primal and fierce.

Perfectly, their mouths fit together. The scrape of his skin—already sprouting a slight stubble even though he’d shaved that morning—against her tender chin made for an intoxicating contrast. She was all woman and he was all man.

Naked need, passionate frustration, pure animal lust erupted and spun a magic that went far beyond the mere joining of their lips. This single, wild union was everything.

Robert fisted his hand tighter in her hair and pulled her even closer to him, penetrating her with his tongue, exploring her fully. Ah yes, yes. This was what he’d been tasting in his dreams.

He groaned low in his throat, his body straining and pushing against hers, and Melanie met him measure for measure—a sensual woman unabashed in her sexuality.

His lips vibrated against hers as he breathed, “Melanie.”

No name had never sounded so sexy.

She moaned quietly and he swallowed up the resonant sound, like a man too long deprived of what every cell in his body cried out for.

He yearned to tumble her onto a soft mattress, rip her clothes off and dive into her. He ached to feel her body close around his.

He was in turmoil, excitement warring with caution. And guilt.

He jerked his head back, yanking away, struggling to snatch hold of some shred of sanity before it was too late. Her eyes were clouded and heavy-lidded. Her lips trembling…

He wasn’t the only one totally blown away. Embarrassment and regret washed over him.

“Melanie…” What was he going to say? That he was sorry? But he wasn’t sorry. He’d enjoyed every minute of it.

She reached out to draw him back to her, but he raised an arm, blocking her hand. He was breathing hard and he couldn’t speak, but he flashed her a desperate message with his eyes.

Touch me again and I will have no choice but to take you right here, right now, the rest of the world be damned.

At that moment a knock sounded, and they had just enough time to jump apart before the door swung open and Jean-Paul stuck his head into the room. “Kitchen’s gone crazy busy, Chef LeSoeur. We’re really in the weeds. Is Mel okay to come back to work?”

I
T WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT
when Melanie left the restaurant. She floated, flying high on the long-acting endorphin rush of Robert’s kiss.

She’d imagined that he’d be a terrific kisser, strong and masterful. But there was also a surprisingly tender side to him she hadn’t expected. She’d felt it in the gentle sweep of his tongue as he’d explored her mouth. She wondered how far things might have gone if Jean-Paul hadn’t interrupted at just the wrong time. Or maybe it had been the right time. His interruption had kept her from making a huge mistake.

Car keys in hand, she stepped out into the courtyard and was surprised to find Charlotte sitting on one of the wrought-iron benches in the patio garden. The pool area glistened in the muted lighting. Overhead the stars were rich and bright against an inky sky. Her sister was a meadowlark who rarely stayed up past ten. Why was she still at the hotel?

“Char?” Melanie ambled over.

Charlotte looked up, her face wan in the moonlight. “Hello, Melanie.”

“What are you doing out here all by your lonesome? Why don’t you go on home?”

“I can’t turn my mind off with everything that’s going on right now.”

The cool February night breeze gusted, and Charlotte pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. There was a strain around her mouth that concerned Melanie.

“You want me to make you some warm milk?” She gestured toward the kitchen. “Might help you sleep.”

“No thanks, I’m fine. I’ll go home in a minute.”

“You don’t look fine. You look exhausted.”

“I am a bit. I think everything’s finally starting to catch up with me—Mom’s heart attack, the problems we’ve had recently at the hotel. I’m not as young I used to be.”

“You’re not old.” Melanie plunked down beside her. It wasn’t like her competent, efficient older sister to admit a weakness, and she felt honored that Charlotte would confide in her. “Want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

Charlotte gave a humorless laugh. “I’m supposed to be the one getting you to talk, not the other way around.”

“Talk? What do you want me to talk about?”

“Why you’ve been so on edge lately. Moody. You’re normally a pretty upbeat person, Melanie.”

“I haven’t been moody,” she said automatically, then realized she had and it was all due to this infernal attraction to Robert that she had no idea how to handle.

“You seem distracted. Like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” Charlotte paused and studied her for a long moment. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Melanie tugged the elastic band from her ponytail, wrapped it around her wrist and fluffed her hair with her fingers. It had been a madhouse in the kitchen tonight. Robert had pitched in during the worst of the dinner rush, working side by side with her at the stove to prepare a new batch of diablo sauce, but instead of being helpful, as he’d intended, he was a major distraction.

She hadn’t been able to stop sending him sidelong glances.

Or noticing how good he smelled. Like food and hard work and treacherous man.

Yeah,
she wanted to say.
Robert LeSoeur is driving me crazy and I don’t know what to do about it. Fire the guy and
I’ll be fine
. Instead she said, “How come you and Mom never considered offering me the executive chef position?”

Melanie hadn’t asked the question that had been eating at her for four months because her feelings had been hurt and she’d been too busy pretending that she didn’t care. But this seemed like the right time to bring it up. She would tell her.

“We considered it.”

“And you decided to hire an outsider over family. Why? You don’t think I’m capable of running Chez Remy?”

“It’s not that at all.”

“What is it then?”

Charlotte interlaced her fingers and brought them up to press flat against her lips. Melanie recognized the sign. Her sister was trying to think of how best to phrase her statement.

For some reason, the gesture irritated her. Charlotte was so damn controlled she even rehearsed her words before she let them out of her mouth.

“Egads, Charlotte, just come right out and say what’s on your mind.”

Her sister looked startled. “I was just…”

“I know what you were just doing. You were carefully considering every word. For crying out loud, be spontaneous for once in your life.”

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, fine. Mother and I felt the job was too administrative for you. You’re creative and you would feel stifled within a matter of weeks.”

“You’re saying I’m too irresponsible for the job?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s what you were thinking.”

Leave it alone,
a voice in the back of Melanie’s head warned.
You won’t feel any better when Charlotte confirms what you already believe.

“Mom and I thought if you had the executive chef position, you’d start resenting the responsibility, grow restless and end up leaving sooner than if we hadn’t given you the job. But the truth is, we didn’t think you’d want the position. Come on, Mel, if you really wanted to stay here you wouldn’t still be subletting your apartment in Boston.”

Melanie opened her mouth to refute the argument, but realized her sister had a point. She was still holding on to her Boston apartment, keeping her options open. She did chafe whenever she felt her choices narrowing. But it hurt to think her family didn’t believe she could step up to the plate and pinch-hit when they needed her.

“You want someone you can depend on as executive chef, and I’m just not dependable, is that it?”

“Be fair,” Charlotte said. “You haven’t exactly been the poster child for steady and stable. You went to how many colleges before you dropped out to go to culinary school?”

“Five, but that’s only because Mama and Papa wanted me to go to university. All I ever wanted to do was cook. Besides, you’re supposed to be confused and reckless when you’re in college.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Of course not,” Melanie said. “You’re Saint Charlotte, who never does anything wrong.”

“Look,” Charlotte said, ignoring her comment in that saintlike way of hers. “You’ve moved from job to job and guy to guy. You married David on the spur of the moment and divorced him just as quickly. You can’t balance your check
book. You don’t have a dime in savings. And you’re always off on one travel adventure or the other.”

She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “Which is all fine—it’s your life, your prerogative. But the Hotel Marchand is my life. I love you, Melanie, but I needed someone I could rely on. Someone like Robert. You want me to be blunt? Well, here’s me being blunt. We didn’t offer you the position because we knew we couldn’t count on you.”

The honesty she’d begged for was devastating.

To hear that her sister actually thought such things about her shattered Melanie’s heart.

She wanted to burst into tears, but she forced them back. She’d asked for the truth, and ugly as it was, her sister had given it to her.

Melanie swallowed hard, choking back her sadness. “Felt kinda good, though, didn’t it? Speaking your mind.” She gave Charlotte a half grin, struggling not to reveal her pain, using the old a-good-offense-is-the-best-defense ploy.

“This is how you get into trouble, letting your thoughts flow uncensored from your mouth.”

“And overthinking things is the reason you’re stuck in a life you don’t really want,” Melanie challenged.

Charlotte gasped. “I love my life.”

“Do you?” Melanie arched her eyebrows. “Really? Or are you so into being the good girl and doing what’s expected of you that you’ve never even examined what it is that you really want?”

He sister said nothing, but she was breathing heavily, struggling to tamp down her anger, rein in her control.

“Char…Charlotte.”

Melanie felt contrite. She was so sorry she’d lashed out. Her
sister meant well. Their approach to life was very different, that was all. She had no business saying what she’d just said.

“I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed. “I meant to cheer you up, to make you feel better, not start a fight.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Charlotte held out her arms. “Give me a hug?”

Melanie melted into her older sister’s embrace and they hugged each other tightly. “I’m going to try really hard to be a better person. I promise.”

“Honey, just be yourself.”

“I have been, but lately it feels like I’ve outgrown the old me.”

Charlotte laughed. “You’re just looking down the barrel of the big three-O. Turning thirty makes you reevaluate everything.”

“Tell me about it.” Melanie chuckled ruefully.

“If there’s ever anything you need to talk about, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

“Thank you for saying so.”

“I’m glad we got this out in the open. I think I can get some sleep now.”

“Me, too.” They smiled at each other, and love for her sister filled the lonely spot in Melanie’s heart. “And Char?”

“Yes?”

“If for some reason Robert decides to quit, could I be considered for the executive chef job?”

“Sure, of course. If you really wanted it, but I don’t think Robert’s going anywhere. I heard him telling Luc he was buying a house here.”

“Really?” Melanie’s hopes sank.

She felt so conflicted. On the one hand she would love to be the executive chef of Chez Remy, but as Charlotte had pointed
out, it was a big commitment. Running a restaurant involved managerial skills and Robert seemed perfect for the job.

So where did that leave her in the grand scheme of things?

W
HEN
M
ELANIE ARRIVED
at work the next day she received an unexpected surprise. Her chocolate turkey was featured as the evening special. A gleeful sense of victory swept over her and she rode the feeling like a prize-winning racehorse.