What's Cooking?

by Sherryl Woods

  “Come on, darlin’,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s go to lunch.”

  “I could fix something here,” she offered.

  “Bad idea.”

  “You don’t trust my cooking,” she asked incredulously.

  “Your cooking’s spectacular. What I’m afraid of is the kitchen getting a little too hot and chasing us straight up to the bedroom. I know that’s a violation of one of those rules of yours.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Of course, if you want to rescind that particular rule, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, I’ll applaud your generous spirit.”

  For the first time all day, Maggie laughed. “You wish. Let’s go, Flannery.”

  “Where?”

  “It hardly matters, as long as there’s not a bed in sight.”

  He winked at her. “Who needs a bed when there are all these fields and secluded beaches close by?”

  Maggie groaned. Now that image was going to be in her head all afternoon. They weren’t going to pass a cornfield without her imagining the two of them hidden away from view, their hands all over each other.

  “You are a cruel man,” she murmured as she stepped into Rick’s car.

  “Just wanted to even things up. You’ve been tormenting me ever since I got here.”

  She smiled. “Good to know.” Maybe if he said it often enough, she’d finally start to believe he really meant it.

  After several days of fighting to keep his hands to himself, Rick recognized the absolute necessity of finding a lot of distractions. Otherwise he’d spend every minute trying to convince Maggie to jump into bed with him.

  Of course, he argued, if he were around all the time, she might start to believe that he wasn’t going to run out on her at the first opportunity. Better, though, that she learned that lesson during his absences.

  Besides, as they’d discussed when she’d laid out more of those absurd ground rules of hers, she’d come here because she needed space away from him to think. They’d agreed very sensibly that she could hardly do that if he was underfoot every second. He wasn’t convinced that thinking was the answer, but she was, so for now he’d let her have her way.

  But all that thoughtfulness and consideration was leaving him at loose ends most mornings. Usually having so much time on his hands would wear thin after a day or two, but he’d started packing up his camera, climbing into his car and exploring the region, heading off in a new direction every day.

  After the first day, he was forced to admit that it was no longer just an exercise. It was, in fact, oddly exhilarating to be taking pictures for the sheer pleasure of it, rather than for an assignment.

  Nature was turning out to be an even more fascinating subject than the gorgeous women he usually shot. Models had their idiosyncrasies, most of which he’d seen by this time, but nature’s lighting, the capriciousness of the birds, the ever changing swells on the Chesapeake, were just as challenging. He’d spent one entire morning taking pictures of the centuries old Christ Church as the light filtered through the surrounding trees. As a result, his excursions were taking longer and longer, but he always called to let Maggie know he was running late. It was a concession he wouldn’t have made for most women, but it was such a small courtesy that it seemed absurd to balk at it or to view it as some sort of attempt on her part to put him on a short leash.

  On his wanderings he’d found plenty of out-of-the-way restaurants with home cooking and no pretensions. There was always a local around who was eager to strike up a conversation, if Rick was so inclined. He’d picked up bits of history and plenty of gossip, all of which he shared with Maggie when he got to her place each afternoon.

  Not five minutes ago he’d heard that Cornelia Lindsey’s granddaughter—Maggie, in fact—was staying at Rose Cottage. “Has a beau there, too. Followed her all the way from Boston,” the waitress said, her expression dreamy. “Isn’t that romantic? Maybe she’ll wind up getting married in her grandmother’s garden, the way her sister did.”

  Rick choked on his soup at that. The girl slapped him on the back and studied him worriedly.

  “You okay?” Willa-Dean asked. “Don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You probably didn’t even know Mrs. Lindsey, since you’re not from around here.”

  “No, I didn’t know her,” Rick admitted.

  “Where’d you say you were from?”

  “Boston, actually.”

  The waitress stared at him, the coffeepot in her hand suddenly bobbing so erratically that Rick felt compelled to take it from her.

  “You’re the one,” she said, blushing all the way to the roots of her bleached hair. “You’re with Maggie.”

  He nodded, since there seemed to be little point in denying it. He did feel compelled to correct one thing, though. “I’m not staying at the house,” he told Willa-Dean.

  “Why on earth not? It’s plenty big enough,” she said, then blushed furiously again. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  She didn’t seem to see the irony in worrying about that now, after spending ten minutes dispensing every tidbit she knew about Maggie’s anonymous suitor.

  “No problem, but maybe you should bring me that pie now,” he suggested gently.

  Willa-Dean looked completely rattled. “The pie, of course. I’m so sorry. I’d stuff some in my mouth, but there’s no room with my foot in there.”

  He laughed. How could you be mad at someone who was as bouncy and friendly as a puppy? Maggie, however, was not going to be overjoyed to learn that her love life was the hottest topic in the local gossip mill. Maybe he wouldn’t share this tidbit with her.

  Willa-Dean brought his warm apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on top. “It’s on the house,” she said. “Consider it an apology.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology,” he insisted, then took a bite of the pie. The distinctive combination of tart and sweet flavors burst in his mouth. The crust practically melted on his tongue. As soon as he’d swallowed, he said, “Willa-Dean, will you marry me?”

  She stared at him, clearly shocked. “What?”

  “This pie is amazing,” he explained. “Please tell me you’ll marry me.”

  She laughed. “You wouldn’t be getting what you’re bargaining for,” she said. “I didn’t bake it. We buy ’em from a lady over toward Reedville.”

  “Then I’ll marry her.”

  “She’s eighty.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He was barely exaggerating. Apple pie was a dessert staple and one of his favorites, but this woman had raised it to an art form. If he could have this pie every day, he could live here and be content.

  “Does she bring in pies every day?” he asked. “I’d like to meet her.”

  “Actually, she’s never here. She sends the pies over on Tuesdays and Fridays. Her husband brings them.”

  “Then consider me a new Tuesday and Friday regular,” he told Willa-Dean. “Can I buy a whole pie to take home? Maggie has to taste this.”

  “Sure you can. I’ll get one for you.” When she returned with the pie in a box, she asked, “So, since you’re going to become a regular in here, does that mean you and Mrs. Lindsey’s granddaughter are staying here for good?” She was clearly eager to have a fresh tidbit for the gossip mill.

  Since his plans with Maggie seemed to change on a day-by-day basis, Rick opted for an evasive reply that covered what he knew at this moment. “For the foreseeable future,” he told her.

  No need to explain that he couldn’t predict a future with Maggie much beyond tonight. Usually that wouldn’t have bothered him one bit, but for some reason he left the restaurant feeling oddly restless and uneasy. Not even the prospect of sharing the incredible pie with Maggie cheered him.

  Rick sighed heavily. When in the heck had the promise of an evening with an incredible woman ceased to be enough? When had he started wanting more?

  Chapter Six

  “You’re doing what?” Ashley asked, her tone incredulous.

>   “Playing Monopoly,” Maggie said, her gaze never leaving Rick. She had to watch the man like a hawk. “And unless you called for something specific, sis, I need to get back to it. Rick cheats.”

  “I do not,” he protested indignantly, even as Maggie caught him trying to unobtrusively slide a hotel onto one of his properties.

  Maggie snatched the hotel out of his hand. “Stop that,” she commanded, then tried to focus on her sister. “Ashley, did you want something?”

  “I just called to check on you, but I don’t even have to ask how you are. I think it’s obvious you’ve lost your mind,” Ashley muttered.

  “How is that obvious?”

  “You are tucked away in a cozy seaside cottage with a man most women would kill to spend time with, and you’re playing board games with him. I’m no shrink, but I’m pretty sure that translates into insanity.”

  Keeping her gaze fixed on the game board and Rick’s sneaky hands, Maggie tried to come up with a response that would satisfy her sister. “Games are fun. You should try them sometime, Ms. Workaholic.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Ashley retorted. “You weren’t exactly a slouch in the work department before you ran away. And speaking of that, how’s the magazine getting along without you?”

  “The magazine is doing just fine. I’m able to do most things by e-mail anyway.” She gave Rick a daunting look when he tried to slip a couple of houses off one of her properties. He grinned, clearly not the least bit contrite. “Ashley, I really do have to go. I have a lot riding on the outcome of this game.”

  “Oh?”

  “If I win, we go out for ice cream.”

  “Ah, I think I’m beginning to see what you’re up to. And what happens if Rick wins?”

  “I have to fix him Dad’s famous lasagna for dinner tomorrow.” She tried really hard to inject a self-pitying note into her voice for Rick’s benefit. He was very proud of himself for coming up with such an extreme and demanding penalty.

  “You do know there’s a frozen lasagna in the fridge, don’t you?” Ashley asked. “We brought it down for Melanie before the wedding.”

  “I know that,” Maggie said cheerfully. “Rick doesn’t.”

  “Ah,” Ashley murmured knowingly. “He’ll be impressed and you’ll barely have to lift a finger.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Very clever,” Ashley said with approval. “But tell me again, why are you trying so hard to impress him if you think there’s no future in the relationship?”

  “I’m not trying to impress anyone,” Maggie insisted. “I’m trying to keep him entertained. He is a guest, after all.”

  “I’m sure there are other forms of entertainment Rick would find more to his liking than Monopoly.”

  Maggie laughed. “I’m sure you’re absolutely right, but most of those are absolutely off-limits. This is tonight’s diversion.”

  “And tomorrow’s?”

  Maggie wasn’t sure she had an adequate answer to that one. She’d been scrambling for safe diversions from the moment Rick arrived. It was not a topic she intended to discuss with Ashley while Rick was blatantly eavesdropping on every word.

  “Got to go,” she said instead, and hung up before Ashley could ask any more uncomfortable questions.

  She frowned at Rick as she sat back down. “Did you cheat?”

  “How could I? You were watching me every second,” he grumbled. “Want some more wine?”

  She’d noticed that he hadn’t touched the wine tonight. She had to wonder if that was part of his plan. “You just want me to have another glass so my defenses will be weakened and you can sneak something past me,” she accused. “Forget about it.” She rolled the dice and moved her token to a pricey piece of property. She bought it without comment.

  Rick laughed. “You really don’t trust me at all, do you?” he asked as he took his turn.

  “Not when it comes to Monopoly,” she confirmed. “Or any other game, for that matter. I know you did something behind my back to win at Scrabble last night.”

  He tried very hard to look offended, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. “How does anybody cheat at Scrabble?” he demanded.

  “That’s what I’d like to know, but I guarantee you I’m not even leaving the room to go to the bathroom next time we play.”

  “I think this distrust of yours is symptomatic of a bigger issue,” he said. “I think you have deep, psychological scars going back to childhood, probably when one of your sisters consistently beat you at games. My money’s on Ashley.”

  “Ashley never had time for games,” she said, putting a hotel on another property. “And I don’t have any scars from childhood except the one on my knee from when Jo pushed me down in the gravel so she could get to the ice-cream truck first.”

  A mischievous spark lit his eyes. “I’ve seen that scar,” he recalled. “Kissed it, too.”

  A little shiver washed over her. He had, indeed. It was just one of the wicked kisses that had turned her into putty the first night they were together. “Let’s not go there,” she said hurriedly. Too much talk of kissing was almost as bad as having his lips locked with hers. It was fascinating how that worked. Since Rick, too, seemed to be distracted, she claimed another piece of property. Pretty soon he wasn’t going to be able to make a move without going into serious debt.

  “Why don’t you want to talk about it?” he asked, his expression innocent. “Does thinking about me kissing your knee make you all hot and bothered?”

  “Absolutely not,” she insisted, but her cheeks burned at the lie. As observant as he was, it was probably a dead giveaway. He seemed to enjoy taunting her for precisely that reason.

  “Want to talk about something else?” he asked, his gaze focused on her and not on the board, which she was about to control.

  “Please.” Although all this talk of kissing was working nicely to her advantage at the moment, maybe she should ignore her own discomfort and keep his mind on something besides Monopoly.

  “Let’s talk about that fabulous dinner you’re going to make for me when I win this game,” Rick suggested before Maggie could return to the topic of kissing. “I’m thinking the lasagna alone won’t be enough. We should have garlic bread, maybe a key lime soufflé drizzled with raspberry sauce. What do you think?”

  He turned the recitation into something so seductive, Maggie almost dived across the table to smother his face with kisses. He knew the effect he was having, too. She could see it in his eyes.

  “How did I miss the fact that you have this diabolical streak?” she asked.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You turn everything into a seduction.”

  He laughed. “What can I say? It’s a talent.”

  “It’s annoying,” she corrected.

  “Then you’re not even remotely tempted to toss aside this Monopoly board, forget all those ridiculous rules of yours and make wild, passionate love to me right here, right now?”

  She scowled at him. “Not at all,” she lied flatly. “And my rules are not ridiculous.”

  “Amazing,” he said. “You said all that with a straight face.”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  “Really? Maybe I’m having a hard time buying it, because being wickedly impulsive is all I want to do.”

  “Too bad,” she retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting that she was as turned-on as he was. She gestured toward the board. “And you just landed on one of my very high-priced properties. Pay up, Flannery. I think that should pretty well bankrupt you.”

  He stared at the board, then at her. “How the hell did you do that?”

  She grinned, filled with an amazing sense of triumph even though it was only a game. At least this was one she was apparently good at playing. “I’m not so bad at distraction myself,” she told him. “And I am very hungry for a double-dip cone of mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

  “On one condition,” he said.

  “No conditions,” she p
rotested. “I won fair and square.”

  “One condition,” he repeated, his gaze locked on her mouth.

  Maggie swallowed hard. “Which is?”

  “Just this,” he murmured as he leaned across the table, scattering hotels, houses and pretend cash in every direction. He claimed her mouth.

  Maggie sighed against him, welcoming the kiss with an enthusiasm that was dangerous. Who needed ice cream when this was the alternative?

  Rick couldn’t figure out when a game of Monopoly or Scrabble had become almost as enticing as sex. He couldn’t recall a single time in his life, in fact, when there had even been time for games. His mom was rarely sober enough, and there hadn’t been anyone else around. The guys he knew were more into hard-driving games of basketball or football than they were into quiet evenings at home. He’d had no idea how relaxing and ultimately stimulating such an evening could be.

  Or maybe it was Maggie who provided the stimulation. She played to win and didn’t seem the least bit inclined to let him get away with anything less than real competition, either. He loved trying to slip something past her watchful gaze, just to see the sparks of indignation flare in her eyes.

  He was lying in bed—alone—remembering the Monopoly outcome and the amazingly steamy kiss that had followed, when his cell phone rang. It was so rare to get halfway decent reception that it startled him.

  “Yes?”

  “Flannery, where the hell are you? I’ve been leaving messages for you for twenty-four hours now,” his agent groused.

  “I’m on vacation,” Rick said complacently.

  “You don’t take vacations,” Frank Nichols replied with the confidence of experience. He’d been managing Rick’s career for a very long time.

  “I’m turning over a new leaf. I called your office and told Lacey I’d be in touch when I’m ready for a new assignment. Didn’t she pass along the message?”

  “Of course she did. I didn’t believe her. Besides, you won’t want to turn your back on this offer that came in yesterday.”