Kiss the Cook

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  "Hi, Chris,” said his mother’s voice, “just calling to tell you to bring your bathing suit tomorrow. We're all looking forward to meeting your friend Melanie. And don't forget, Zoey the florist will be there, too. Looks like you'll be busy! Bye!"

  The second message kicked in. "It's Mom again. Don't forget to bring dessert! Bye!”

  Groaning, Chris laid back his head, and closed his eyes. For reasons he didn't understand, he felt irritable and out of sorts. Of course, spending the last few hours listening to Claire Morrison either piss and moan about everything under the sun or extol the virtues of pricey footwear didn't help, but it was more than that.

  It was her.

  Her and her darn cookies. And those big, brown eyes that reminded him of yummy melting chocolate.

  Melanie Gibson.

  It really irked him that he couldn't seem to get the damn woman off his mind. Her, or the fact that the name Pampered Palate was so familiar. While Claire had incessantly blathered on, his thoughts had wandered to Melanie dozens of times. But what good did that do him? What was the point of thinking about a woman who was all wrong for him, and whom he'd probably never see again?

  He recalled his mother's messages and puffed out a breath. Mom expected him to bring a date to the cookout tomorrow. Claire was out of the question, and being fixed up with Zoey the florist held no appeal.

  Chris suddenly sat up straight. Actually, his mother didn't expect him to bring just any old date-- she expected him to bring Melanie. If he could convince Melanie to go, he'd be saved from Zoey and satisfy his mother's matchmaking tendencies in one fell swoop. He looked at his watch. It was past eleven-- too late to call Melanie. He'd have to phone her in the morning. Or even better, maybe he'd stop by her house. Offer to take a look at her car.

  Yeah, that's the ticket. Fix her car, and she'd come to the cookout. Boy, was he a genius or what? Everybody would win. Melanie would get her car repaired, he’d be saved from the horrors of a fix-up, and Mom would get off his back about not dating.

  Of course, his plan meant having to spend the day with Melanie-- a woman who was all wrong for him and whom he’d had no intention of seeing again. A slow smile spread across his face.

  Oh, well. He'd suffer through it. Somehow.

  ~~~

  At 7:45 the next morning, Melanie checked the weather report on her cell phone and groaned. Already eighty-six degrees, heading toward a high of one hundred and two. Another pizza-oven day.

  After tossing on her favorite denim cut-offs and a turquoise tank top, and slipping on a pair of flip flops, she gave her hair a quick finger comb-- no point wasting time on her out-of-control curls when today’s humidity was already winning-- she headed into the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. Caffeine was a must as she planned to spend the morning making sure all her business documents were in order before her appointments tomorrow, first at the bank then later with the accountants regarding her loan to purchase her new catering truck. Expanding the Pampered Palate into private catering was something she desperately wanted and needed for the future of her business. In order to succeed, she had to grow. Having her own eatery and catering business had been her dream since she’d popped her first tray of cookies into the oven at age nine. With the storefront she was half-way there. The truck would allow her fulfill the rest of her dream and she was determined to succeed.

  She entered her sun-filled kitchen and scooped fresh grounds into the coffee maker. While the scent of brewing java filled the air, she set her file folder on the round oak table and fired up her laptop. She’d just settled herself in front of the screen when the doorbell rang.

  She walked to the door fully expecting to see one of her neighbors, all of whom knew she kept a well-stocked kitchen, and was the go-to person when a cup of this or a pinch of that was needed. Melanie didn't mind-- her neighbors were great and showed their support by frequent visits to Pampered Palate.

  When she opened the door, however, it wasn't a neighbor but Chris Bishop, a.k.a. the most beautiful man on the planet, who stood on her porch. With his hair just-out-of-the-shower damp. Wearing a white T-shirt that hugged his broad chest in a way that proved that while he might be an accountant, he definitely crunched more than numbers all day. Her gaze wandered downward, taking in tan cargo shorts, muscular legs dusted with dark hair and Reeboks. He looked delicious and smelled good enough to eat. She dragged her gaze back to his face and was rewarded with a lopsided grin.

  "Good morning," he said.

  Melanie knew he was talking to her because she saw his lips moving, but she had no idea what he was saying. Her hormones, however, were apparently very aware that he was in the area. After hibernating for more than a year, those little suckers were suddenly wide awake and anxious to be entertained.

  Yesterday, at the hospital, the sight of Chris had jump-started them like they'd been shot in the ass. They’d started a veritable hormone-cheerleader kickline. Rah rah rah, sis-boom-bah, they yelled at the top of their tiny hormone lungs. Some action. At last.

  Melanie rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. So he was gorgeous. So he smelled great. So he was nice. So what? He was a man, and therefore not to be trusted. A man who'd obviously had a date last night--no guy wore dress pants to hang out with his buddies. He’d probably spent the evening with some woman who'd jetted into town between modeling assignments.

  She had no time, no space, and no inclination to start something with anyone. Least of all an anyone who surely had women fighting over him. Her gaze flicked down to the bakery bag he held. Besides, wasn't there some dire warning about men bearing gifts?

  He waved his hand in front of her face. "Hello? You okay?"

  Melanie mentally shook herself. "I'm fine. Just surprised to see you. Here. So early."

  "I was hoping you’d be awake.” He peered around her. "Is this a bad time?"

  “For what?"

  He held up the bakery bag and smiled. "Breakfast."

  "Breakfast?"

  "Yeah. You know, that meal in the morning that starts off your day." He paused. "Can I come in?"

  Oh boy. She was in trouble. Big gigantic, whopper-sized trouble. Six feet, two inches of the most delectable-looking male she'd ever clapped eyes on stood on her porch, wanting to come in. Her hormones let out a cheer and did the wave.

  "Who's at the door?" came Nana's gravelly voice. She joined Melanie in the doorway. "Why, if it isn't the hunk!" Nana conducted a thorough inspection of their guest. "Wow, Mel, he's got great legs." She sniffed the air. "Do I smell doughnuts?"

  Chris nodded. "Boston cream. Freshly made."

  Nana elbowed Melanie out of the way. "Well, come on in, honey, and bring your doughnuts. I'll pour the coffee." She hustled off toward the kitchen.

  Chris stepped into the terra cotta tiled foyer. "I hope you don't mind me dropping by like this,” he said as Melanie closed the door, “but I thought you might need some help with your car."

  Melanie's common sense kicked in. He'd brought breakfast and he wanted to fix her car? She narrowed her eyes and told her hormones to pipe down. Something was definitely fishy here. "Why would you want to fix my car?"

  A slow smile curved his lips. "I admit I have an ulterior motive."

  "Don't all men?"

  He laughed. "Actually, it’s more of a proposition."

  Uh-oh. This guy probably dated supermodels-- hell, be probably broke up with supermodels-- and he had a proposition for her? Holy smokes. What if it was one of those propositions like Robert Redford made in that movie Indecent Proposal-- a million dollars for one night of naked splendor and unbridled lust?

  Near panic set in. A million dollars? She'd never raise that kind of cash. But wait-- no, she'd get the money. And get to sleep with him, too. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hormones switched to the Cha-Cha.

  "So what do you think?"

  I think I've lost my marbles. Seriously. He showed up and all her brain cells liquefied and drained out of her body. She licked her dust-dry lips
. "What do I think about what?"

  His dark blue gaze skimmed over her, lingering on her mouth. "My proposition," he said in a deep, velvety voice that reminded Melanie of candlelight, champagne, and bubble baths. "I think it would work out well for both of us."

  Sure as heck was working for her. Her hormones abandoned the Cha-Cha and started dancing the Peppermint Twist

  He stepped closer. Now less than an arm’s length separated them. Heat radiated from his body and she squelched the urge to fan herself with her hand. The air conditioner clearly had gone kaput because it was suddenly hot in here. He smelled like freshly showered man and doughnuts-- a potent combination that rendered her all but woozy. Indeed it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

  "You're staring at me," he murmured, "in a very distracting way."

  Well, yeah, but really who could blame her? She’d be hard pressed to name anyone with ovaries who’d be able to tear their eyeballs away from his guy-- even without the added incentive of Boston cream doughnuts.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth and her heart stuttered. Ohmigod. Was he going to kiss her? Right here in the foyer? Surely not. But, whoa-- the way he was looking at her-- like he was starving and she was the last Boston cream on earth-- and holy crap now he was leaning closer! She was going to push him away. No, she was going to yank him closer. No, she was going to faint. No, she was going to--

  "Coffee's ready!" Nana’s voice exploded in the foyer like a sonic boom.

  Melanie jumped back with a gasp. Her hormones groaned in protest.

  "Coffee's ready," she repeated in a shaky voice.

  "Coffee. Right. That's exactly what I wanted. Coffee."

  Melanie led him into the kitchen, mentally berating herself the whole way. This guy was dan-ger-ous. Yikes. Another second and he would have kissed her. If not for Nana's announcement, Melanie knew she would, at this very moment be on the receiving end of what she had no doubt would have been a mind-blowing kiss. She could almost feel the warm caress of his sensuous mouth. Drat! Er, good. Yeah. Good. Definitely good that Nana had interrupted. Definitely. Probably her lips would stop tingling any second now.

  "Nice place," Chris said. He settled his tall frame into one of the chintz-patterned chairs around the table. "Very homey and cozy."

  “Thanks. It’s a work in progress,” Melanie said, arranging the doughnuts on a serving plate while Nana poured the coffee into thick blue and yellow mugs.

  "Mel was kind enough to let me move in with her a couple years back," Nana said. She joined Chris at the table, sitting in her usual chair by the window. "I used to live in one of those retirement places in Florida, but I hated it. Nothin' but a bunch of hypochondriac old fogeys down there." She bit into a chocolate-iced doughnut and hummed her appreciation.

  Melanie sat down and stole glimpses of Chris over the edge of her mug as she sipped her coffee. He carried on an easy banter with Nana, telling her about his three married sisters and his younger brother. He genuinely seemed to enjoy her company.

  Melanie hadn't dated much since breaking off her engagement to her philandering ex-fiance over a year ago. In fact she'd gone on exactly three dates, all of them disasters, all forced on her by well-meaning friends. Aside from the fact that she hadn't wanted to date those men in the first place, her biggest problem with them was that they all objected to Nana.

  None of them had spared Nana more than a quick hello. Melanie’s ex-fiancé Todd had treated Nana politely but the fact that she lived with Melanie had been a bone of contention between them. As far as Melanie was concerned, Nana was not only her roommate, she was her best friend. And if you didn't like Nana, then the heck with ya.

  But that didn't seem to be the case with Chris. He and Nana were yakking away like they'd known each other for years. His smile and easygoing manner certainly seemed genuine. He couldn't really be such a nice guy, could he? All that male pulchritude and nice? Nah. Impossible.

  He laughed at something Nana said, and Melanie shook her head in wonder. If he wasn't nice, he was doing a damn good imitation of it. Darn it! He had to be a creep. She wanted him to be a creep. She needed a reason to tell him to get lost so her hormones would sit down and shut up.

  He and Nana burst out laughing again, and Melanie swallowed a groan of dismay. Her common sense told her this was bad. Exceedingly bad. Her hormones broke out into a rousing chorus of "Our Day Will Come."

  "Did you say something, dear?" Nana asked.

  Melanie blinked out of her reverie. "Huh?"

  "You were mumbling. Something about hormones." Nana peered at her over her bifocals. "Are you okay? You look flushed."

  Melanie grabbed a doughnut. "I'm fine. The coffee's making me hot." Yup. The coffee's making me hot. That was her story and she was stickin' to it. She wasn’t wondering what he looked like naked at all.

  They polished off the doughnuts in record time. Chris helped load the dishwasher, a gesture that sent Nana into a near swoon. When they finished cleaning up, Nana enfolded Chris in one of her famous bone-crushing hugs. "Any man who brings doughnuts and loads the dishwasher is okay in my book. You're welcome at Casa Gibson anytime, young man." She turned to Melanie and said in a whisper that probably the neighbors could hear, "Don't let this one get away. He's a real honey. Great legs, too." She patted her frizzy hair. "Well, I'd better go fix myself up. See you young folks later."

  Melanie breathed a sigh of relief and pretended her cheeks weren’t on fire. Five more minutes and Nana would be hinting about something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

  Chris leaned his hips against the gleaming granite countertop. "Your nana is quite a character."

  Melanie's hackles rose. No one insulted Nana and got away with it. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "Character? What's that supposed to mean?"

  He held up his hands in surrender. "No need to evil-eye me. It means I think she's great. Very funny. I like her a lot.”

  She uncrossed her arms. Drat. He liked Nana. Didn't think she was a pest. And Nana obviously liked him. Why couldn't he have said what her last date said? Something insulting to the effect that Nana was a crazy old bag. Then she could have sizzled him with a withering glance and told her hormones to take a hike. Her wandering eyeballs gave him a quick once over. Jeez, he was beautiful. Damn it, she needed a cold shower.

  “You like her even though she says whatever pops into her head? Even though her whisper is more like a shout?” Melanie asked. Those two traits of Nana’s had particularly irked Todd.

  “Far as I’m concerned those are two of her best qualities. Especially the shouting whisper.” He grinned and shot her a wink. “She thinks I’m a real honey and have great legs.”

  Okay, time out. As if his smile wasn’t enough to melt knees, a man who looked like him should not be allowed to wink. Ever. Jeez. There oughtta be a law.

  "So, do you want to observe while I look at your car," Chris asked, "or are you going to whip up some dessert?"

  “Dessert? We just ate breakfast!"

  "I meant for the cookout."

  She stared at him. "What cookout?"

  He stared back at her. "The cookout at my mother's house. Today. At two o'clock."

  She shook her head. "I'm drawing a blank. Am I supposed to know about this?"

  Her reached out and laid his hand on her forehead. "Hmmm. No fever, but your short-term memory is shot."

  Melanie stepped back from his far too distracting touch. No fever? Coulda fooled her. She felt like she was melting from the inside out. "Refresh my memory."

  "My proposition. I fix your car, and you come with me to the family cookout. I need a date so my mother doesn't try to fix me up with every single woman within a fifty-mile radius." He paused. "And we need to bring dessert."

  Melanie cocked a brow at him. "Wow. What a romantic invitation. Be still my heart."

  A devilish gleam sparkled in his eyes. He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed his mouth over the backs of her
fingers. "You want romance?”

  "Yes. I mean No! I mean stop kissing my hand." She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held on, his eyes glittering with unmistakable mischief.

  "Nana seemed to like the idea," he said. "She can't wait to go."

  "Nana?" Melanie croaked. "My Nana? When did she agree to this?"

  Chris shook his head. "It's terrible how the heat affects some people. I told you in the foyer. Before breakfast. Nana and I discussed the plans while we were eating. Where were you?"

  "I was, er, preoccupied, I guess." With convincing myself I don’t like you. Yeah. And imagining him naked.

  "Well, you seem lucid now. So what do you say?" He dipped his head and looked up at her with a beseeching expression no breathing woman could possibly be immune to. Including her. "C'mon. Nana already said yes. And you'd really be doing me a favor."

  "Favor? Well, guess I owe you one. Probably two, if you're the scorekeeping sort."

  He ran his index finger down the bridge of her nose, skittering a shiver of delight down her spine. "I'm the scorekeeping sort, and you owe me three.”

  "Three? How do you figure that?"

  "One for blocking in my car, one for my ruined suit, and one for jump-starting your car. That's three."

  "I gave you chicken, so you're down to two."

  "I gave you a ride home. Three."

  "I invited you in for breakfast. Two."

  "I brought Boston cream doughnuts. Three."

  "Oh, all right Three. Sheesh. You sound more like a lawyer than an accountant.”

  He shot her a woebegone look that reminded Melanie of a sad puppy.

  "Hey!" she protested, suppressing a grin. "Quit looking at me like that. I bet you practice that look in front of the mirror. No fair."

  "I'm desperate. My mother wants to fix me up with some woman who has two heads, breathes fire, and could eat me in one gulp." He chucked her under her chin. "Come on," he coaxed. "It'll be fun. And you'll get your car fixed for your trouble."