Kiss the Cook

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  Melanie narrowed her eyes. "If, and I do mean if I save your sorry butt from the 'dragon lady,' then you have to call us even on the favor thing."

  "You drive a hard bargain, Mel Gibson."

  "Damn straight. And I have to be home early. I need to gather some papers for an appointment tomorrow morning."

  He held out his hand. "Deal."

  Melanie shook his hand and tried her best to ignore the zing of pleasure that zoomed up her arm at his touch. "Deal. Now haul it outside and fix my car."

  He offered her a smart salute. "Aye, aye, Captain." He brushed past her, then paused in the doorway. "About dessert-- Nana said she wanted to bring her own contribution and she's baking a cheesecake, so anything chocolate you wanted to make would be great." After flashing her a big grin and another one of those darn winks, he left. The front door closed several seconds later.

  Melanie collapsed in a chair and waved her hand in front of her face in a hopeless effort to cool off.

  Yup. She was in trouble for sure.

  ~~~

  An hour later, Melanie stepped outside into the oppressive heat carrying a frosted mug of lemonade. Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the sight that greeted her eyes. The only part of Chris that was visible were his legs. The rest of him was under her car. As much as she didn't want to, Melanie couldn't help but admire those muscular, tanned male legs.

  Walking up to him, she tapped his Reebok with her flip flop. "I brought you something to drink."

  He scooted from beneath the car, moving sideways like a sand crab. When his head was clear, he stood up and wiped his dirty hands with an equally dirty rag. In spite of being sweaty, rumpled, and sporting a smudge of something black on his jaw he looked good enough lick. The fact that his not-so-white-anymore T-shirt was molded to his broad chest and impressive abs definitely upped the sexy quotient. Uh huh, like he needed to look more sexy.

  He took the proffered lemonade and drained it in a series of nonstop gulps that drew Melanie's attention to his strong, tanned throat. When he finished, he touched the cold mug to his forehead. "Thanks. I needed that."

  "Want some more?"

  He shook his head. "Not now, thanks."

  His proximity was having a strange effect on her stomach. Stepping away from him, she asked, "How's it going?"

  "Good. I just finished changing the oil. I gave you a complete tune-up and your battery is hooked up to my recharger. All that's left is changing the spark plugs." He indicated the opened hood with a jerk of his head. "Wanna watch?"

  "Sure, but I have to warn you: I know diddly squat about cars."

  "That's okay. I know diddly squat about making dessert."

  Melanie followed him to the front of the car then watched him open a package of what she assumed were spark plugs. She wasn't sure what fascinated her more-- the ease with which he selected foreign-looking items from his toolbox, or the way his muscles bunched and flexed while he worked. Whatever it was, she was soon thoroughly engrossed, and surprisingly curious.

  She leaned over the engine with him. “How do you know so much about cars?”

  “My dad and grandfather taught me. Grandpa was a mechanic.”

  She pointed. “What's that little do-flickit?"

  "The air filter," he said, screwing a spark plug into place.

  "How about that thingamabob there?"

  "The carburetor."

  "I've heard of that. What's it do?"

  "It vaporizes liquid fuel and controls its mixing with air for combustion in the engine."

  "Uh-huh. And the English translation of that is… ?"

  "It makes the car go vroooomm."

  "Ah."

  She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Whew. It sure is hot out here."

  Chris snuck a glance at her and nodded in mental agreement. Hot as hell. And every time he looked at her, in those cutoffs that showcased her longs, slim legs and curvy butt-- which was currently hoisted in the air as she leaned over-- it got a little hotter.

  Her skin was the color of warm honey, and his fingers itched to touch its soft smoothness. Her reddish-brown hair was a riotous cap of untamed curls that begged to be messed with. Her eyes reminded him of sweet, gooey, yummy chocolate, and her mouth ... whoa! Those plump pink lips had carnal thoughts racing through his mind, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on what he was doing.

  Her finger bounced back and forth, pointing at this and that, asking what everything was. He answered all her questions, falling more and more in lust with each passing minute. His mind tried to convince his hormones that this was not the woman they were looking for-- this woman was more than a one-nighter and represented a serious threat to his bachelor freedom-- but his hormones were having none of it.

  This is the one we want, his hormones informed him. This one right here, who doesn't know an oilfiller from a brake pad. The one who smells like fresh-baked brownies and stares at you with those big chocolatey-brown eyes. Now do something about it before we get nasty.

  She pointed to something else, asking what it was. When he turned his head to explain the intricacies of the wiper-fluid dispenser, they bumped noses. Chris froze and stared into her startled eyes.

  She was so close. And she smelled so good. And looked so good. God, so good.

  Before she could back away, and before he could change his mind, he did what he'd wanted to do since almost the first moment he saw her. He angled his head and brushed his mouth over hers.

  He’d expected to feel a tingle, but he wasn’t prepared for the electric sizzle that crackled through him. All thoughts of spark plugs, do-flickits, and thingamabobs drained from his head. He reached for her, pulling them both upright. Their heads smacked into the raised hood at the same time.

  "Ouch!" Melanie yelped, leaning back and rubbing the top of her head. "Wow. I feel dizzy. I bet I have a concussion."

  Chris wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her close, and ran gentle fingers over the small lump forming on her head. "Me, too."

  She gazed up at him. "You think you have a concussion?"

  "No. I feel dizzy. And it has nothing to do with hitting my head."

  "The heat getting to you?"

  His gaze settled on her mouth. "You could say that."

  Her eyes widened. "Oh, my. You're going to kiss me again."

  "That okay?"

  "I'm not sure. The first one almost knocked me unconscious."

  He lowered his head. "Yeah," he breathed against her mouth. "I know exactly what you mean."

  ~~~

  Melanie decided that if their first kiss almost knocked her unconscious, their second kiss-- which just sort of melted into their third, fourth, and fifth kisses-- blew her flip flops right off the soles of her steaming feet

  He kissed her gently at first, an experimental tasting of lips. When he glided his mouth over hers more insistently, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. Good thing, too, because a few seconds later he slid his tongue into her mouth and her knees fell off.

  She groaned and leaned into him, opening her mouth wider. She hadn't been kissed in a long time. And boy, did he know how to kiss. In a way that made her want to drag him off to the nearest cave and have her wicked way with him. His bare legs brushed against hers ricocheting tingles to every nerve ending.

  His lips trailed a heated path down the side of her neck while his hands slid down to her butt and hauled her up tight against him. She plunged her fingers into his thick hair and pressed herself closer. Either he was in the habit of carrying a cucumber around in his pocket, or he was as shaken by their kiss as she was.

  She wasn’t sure how long they kissed-- sorta hard to keep track of time when her insides were simultaneously melting and imploding-- but he finally raised his head and ended the kiss. Darn him.

  With an effort she dragged her eyes open. And found him staring at her, looking as dazed as she felt. "Holy smokes," she said when she could find her voice. "What was that?" />
  "I think," he said in a husky rasp that brought to mind satin sheets and hot sex, "that was spontaneous combustion." He buried his face in her neck and breathed in. "God, you smell incredible. Like fresh-baked brownies and soap."

  She gave a shaky laugh."Yup. That's one of my specialties. Soap brownies. You eat and wash up at the same time. It's a real time-saver."

  He touched his tongue to the side of her neck. "Sounds great."

  "Glad you think so ‘cause I baked them just for you."

  He lifted his head and she bit back a groan of protest at the sudden absence of his mouth against her skin. "Brownies? For me?" he asked.

  "Yes. For the cookout. You said to make something chocolate, and you look like the brownie type."

  "What's the brownie type?"

  The yummy, delicious, drool-inspiring, want-to-scarf-you-down in two bites and then go back for seconds type. "You're a male. That makes you the brownie type."

  He leaned forward and gently bit the sensitive skin behind her ear. Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. "If they taste half as good as you do, I'll be in heaven."

  Yeah, heaven pretty much described the feel of him plastered against her. She inhaled a deep breath and tried to calm her frazzled, dazzled nerves, but it was hard to do with her hormones jumping up and down, giving each other high fives. "My toes feel like they're being barbecued over a slow flame."

  "I don't even want to mention what part of my anatomy feels like it's roasting over a flame."

  "I have a pretty good idea. It's kinda hard to miss, seeing how it's poking me in the belly and all." She knew she should step back, end this madness, but her feet refused to cooperate. Her feet were very happy right where they were. In fact, her whole body was perfectly content nestled against his.

  With obvious reluctance he stepped back and released her. Melanie settled a palm on the car to shore up her less than steady knees and hoped none of her neighbors had witnessed their make-out session. Or worse, videoed it. Just what she needed-- to end up on You Tube.

  He cleared his throat then said, "I'm done with the car."

  Car? What car? She managed to drag her gaze from him and saw her Dodge. Memory returned. Ah. That car. “Oh. Great.”

  "If you give me your key, I'll try it out."

  “Sure. I’ll go get it.” The instant she entered the house, she leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and sucked in a long, deep breath. Holy smokes. That kiss had all but incinerated her. Her heart was still pounding and she doubted her nipples would ever unharden. She’d been absolutely right when she’d pegged this guy as dangerous. Dangerous to her state of mind. Jeez, she’d wanted to strip him bare right there in the driveway. Good thing he’d ended their kiss because her chances of doing so had melted away right along with her knees.

  Which, now that she thought about it, was pretty annoying. So he was a good kisser. All right, a great kisser. Okay fine, a fabulous kisser. Didn’t mean she had to lose her mind. She opened her eyes. It was no big deal. He’d just taken her by surprise, that’s all. She’d just been grateful for his help with her car. Yeah, that was all. Plus, given the fact that it had been so long since she’d been kissed, well, no wonder it had felt so good. So incredibly good her hormones informed her.

  Fine. Incredibly good. That didn’t mean it had been smart. In fact, letting him kiss her had been the exact opposite of smart. She didn’t want or need a man cluttering up her life. So she’d just file their mini make-out session under Shit Happens and not let it happen again. Her hormones screeched out in protest, but she firmly ignored them.

  Once again composed, she grabbed her key ring from the foyer table then headed back outside. And was totally proud of the breezy way she said, "Watch the broken springs. I wouldn't want you to open an artery," as she tossed him the key ring.

  "Thanks," he said, his tone unmistakably dry.

  After carefully settling himself in the driver’s seat, he slid the key in the ignition. The engine turned over on the third try. He shot her a thumbs up then disconnected the battery recharger and slammed the hood. "That should hold you for a while, but you need to have a mechanic look it over." He glanced at the crack in the windshield and the missing radio antenna. "Actually, what you need is a new car."

  "A new car isn't in the budget. I'll just feed this baby a couple quarts of motor oil and she'll be fine."

  Silence descended and Melanie found herself uncharacteristically tongue tied. Half of her was scared to death he was going to kiss her again.

  The other half was irritatingly scared to death he wasn't.

  Her common sense told her to set things straight immediately. To tell him that while their kiss had been nice (yeah, yeah, fabulous), it had been a mistake and wasn’t going to happen again. Unfortunately it seemed she’d suddenly turned mute.

  "What's the matter, Mel Gibson? You look nervous." He took a step closer to her, until their bare legs brushed. "Am I making you nervous?"

  "Certainly not," she lied in her haughtiest tone. Nervous? He made her more nervous than a dog on its way to the vet.

  He studied her for several long seconds with an expression she couldn’t decipher. "Well, you make me nervous."

  "I do?"

  "Big time. And I can’t say I’m happy about it.” He frowned. “Every time I look at you my stomach feels weird."

  "Probably ate some bad Boston cream," she suggested with a shaky laugh.

  "I don't think so. But we can argue about it later."

  "Later?"

  "Yeah. The cookout, or aka Your Half of Our Bargain. I'll pick you and Nana up around one-thirty."

  He neatly replaced his tools. Melanie tried not to notice how tanned and strong his arms looked, or how incredible they'd felt wrapped around her. She failed completely. She noticed and she remembered.

  "There's a pool at my mom's subdivision," he said when he finished, "so bring your bathing suit. And don't forget those brownies."

  “Brownies, Nana, bathing suit. Anything else?"

  Again he regarded her with an unreadable expression and she found herself holding her breath. Then he shook his head. "Nope. See ya, Mel." He ambled off to his car, whistling like he hadn't a care in the world. Infuriating man. First he kissed her into oblivion then he walked away as if nothing had happened. Men. Blech.No wonder she’d sworn off them. Smart girl. But not so smart now, and look at the mess she gotten herself into. A cookout. With Mr. Sexy. And she couldn’t back out of it-- he’d fixed her car so she owed him.

  After watching him drive away, Melanie entered the house and stalked the length of the kitchen several times, thoroughly annoyed at herself. “I should have told him I didn't want to see him again,” she muttered as she paced. “When he'd offered his proposition, I should have said, ‘Sorry Chris, but I have no time for you and I don't want to involve myself with you, or any man, in any way.’”

  Exactly. So how the hell had that turned into, “Sure, I'll go to the cookout and bring dessert?"

  Damned if she knew.

  And now he'd kissed her. Kissed her until she'd all but melted into a steaming puddle on the driveway. She could still feel the imprint of his body against hers. Still taste him on her lips. She stopped pacing and dragged her hands through her hair. Why, oh why hadn’t she given him and his doughnuts a firm adios and wished him a nice life? Why hadn’t she slammed the door in his beautiful face? Why hadn’t she--

  Nana tapped her on the shoulder and Melanie nearly jumped out of her skin. "You okay?" Nana asked. “You were talking to yourself. That’s never a good sign.”

  Melanie snapped out of her fog. Okay? Not exactly. "I'm fine."

  A sly grin eased over Nana's wrinkled face and she nudged Melanie in the ribs. "Great kisser, huh?"

  Fire burned in Melanie's cheeks, but there was no point in denying it or even trying to soft soap it as Nana could read her like a book. "Actually, great is an understatement."

  Nana slapped her knee and let out a whoop. "Well, it's about
time! But I do have one piece of advice."

  Good. Advice is what she needed. Levelheaded adult advice from her wise grandma. "I'm listening."

  "Better change your shorts before you meet his mama." Nana cast a pointed glance at Melanie's rear. "Mr. Great Kisser left a motor oil handprint on your butt." With that, Nana walked out of the kitchen, chuckling.

  Melanie twisted around and groaned. The seat of her shorts-- her favorite shorts-- bore the black imprint of Chris's large hand. She didn't know much about motor oil, but she suspected it would be nearly impossible to wash it out of cloth. Great. Of course, now they were even on the ruined clothes thing, although she was only out a pair of shorts. He'd lost a suit.

  She glanced again at the handprint and heat swamped her at the memory of his hard body pressed against her.

  She seriously needed to stay away from him.

  In fact, she never wanted to see him again.

  Damn it, she couldn't wait until 1:30.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Chris lounged on a chaise by the pool and struggled to keep his eyes off Melanie.

  Talk about mission impossible.

  From the moment he'd seen her in her bathing suit, all the blood had drained from his head and settled in his groin, a fact that made standing up without holding a towel or a newspaper in front of him a bit of a problem. For now he lounged, knees strategically bent, cradling an ice-cold can of Coke between his hands, and tried to carry on a conversation with his brother. But his gaze and his attention remained on Melanie who sat at a nearby round table, shaded by an umbrella, chatting away with his sisters, mother, and Nana. From what he could gather, they were debating the virtues of different brands of food processors. Of course, it was hard to eavesdrop on their conversation with Mark flapping his lips.

  Mark was talking a mile a minute, but who the hell knew what he was saying? "Blah, blah, blah," Mark said. Chris nodded absently and made a few noncommittal noises in response, but he was too busy feasting his eyes on Melanie to follow Mark's story.

  Her turquoise bathing suit looked like a tank top paired with a bikini bottom and was downright modest compared to many he’d observed, but as far as he was concerned, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Damn, the woman had more curves than a mountain road. A mere inch of toned tummy was visible, a tanned bit of skin he couldn’t stop staring at. A tanned bit of skin he vividly imagined exploring. With his tongue.