He raked his hands through his hair and sighed. Good God, the woman had him behaving like a hormonal fourteen-year-old. He hadn't suffered such a bad case of tongue-tying, palm-sweating, boner-inducing lust since the seventh grade, when Marisa Guacamora had let him feel her Kleenex-enhanced breasts through her cheerleading sweater. If Melanie had worn a bikini, he'd probably have suffered an aneurism. This heat she inspired in him was downright scary.
But even scarier was the way his mom and sisters had reacted to her. He didn’t bring many women around to meet the fam-- he’d learned long ago that doing so opened him up to The Inquisition. Still, while his family had been polite to the last couple of his dates they’d met, they’d also clearly been less than impressed.
Not so with Melanie.
His mom and sisters had taken to her, as well as Nana, like ham to Swiss cheese. Within minutes they were laughing and chatting as if they’d known each other for years. Over the next two hours, during which time the group enjoyed drinks on the patio then walked to the pool, Chris had basically been elbowed into the “men group” of his brothers-in-law and Mark, while his sisters and mother had commandeered Melanie and Nana, regaling them with stories of Chris’s childhood. And now they sat all chummy around the table, yakking away, laughing and smiling while he was stuck here with Mark. Even his brothers-in-law had deserted him to float around in the pool-- which he couldn’t currently do thanks to his damn hard-on. Another burst of laughter came from the table then he heard his sisters and Mom saying they planned to pick up lunch from the Pampered Palate one day next week and have a picnic in the park-- and could Melanie join them?
Oh, this was bad. Very bad. This had Death to Bachelorhood scrawled all over it. He needed to nip this in the bud. Get this cookout over with, take Melanie home, then tell his family to forget about her and do that very thing himself.
Yes, that’s what he needed to do. His mind knew it. But his heart rebelled at the thought. Because damn it, he liked her.
Genuinely liked her. And that was a hell of a lot scarier than mere lust. Lust was easy and basic and uncomplicated. Liking her was a whole other ball game. He wished he didn’t, but really, how could he not? She was warm, intelligent, funny, a great cook, and if his smiling five-year-old niece who’d attached herself to her like a sand burr was any indication, she was also great with kids. Plus, his sisters clearly liked her. Plus, his mother had already sent him several not-so-subtle approving nods. Plus Melanie was a fabulous kisser.
Damn it, he should run-- not walk-- away from her and her big brown eyes to protect his long-anticipated freedom, but he felt disinclined to move so much as an inch. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him that being a "swinging bachelor" was not all it was cracked up to be. His date last night with the perfect-on-paper-disaster-in-person Claire was proof of the pitfalls of singledom.
Was it possible that after spending only two months as a carefree man-about-town he was ready to call it quits? Give up the ship, throw in the towel, and involve himself in a meaningful relationship?
No! He wanted to live it up-- have all kinds of guy fun. Sow some oats. Date a hundred women. Yeah. That's what he wanted.
Wasn't it?
He'd certainly thought so. Until two days ago.
Now it seemed he only wanted one woman. The sexy brunette who, at this very moment, was following his sisters and niece into the pool. Wanted her so much he felt on the verge of detonation.
One woman? Whoa! The enormity of that walloped him with the force of a brick to the head. He could practically feel his long-awaited freedom disappearing like steam in a windstorm. No way was he giving up the ship. Damn it, he was going to be a bachelor if it killed him!
Clearly he was suffering from a case of too-much-work, not-enough-play syndrome. And if Melanie was the one his annoyingly particular libido wanted, so be it. Surely if they slept together, she'd be purged from his system along with everything about her that threatened his lifestyle. As long as he was up-front that he wasn't looking for a long-term relationship, he wouldn't feel guilty when they parted ways. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain by pursuing her. What was the worst that could happen?
She could say no.
His insides cramped in protest. No was not an option he cared to contemplate, especially when yes was so much better.
Hmmm. Sleeping with Melanie. Melanie in his bed, tousled from a bout of hot sex. That was definitely something to consider.
And where better to consider it than in the pool?
He set aside his Coke, closed his eyes and mentally ran through the multiplication tables until his arousal subsided enough for him to make a run for the pool. He was just about to stand up when Mark jabbed him in the ribs.
"Holy crap, Chris, she is totally hot," Mark said in an undertone. "Every time I look at her, my bathing suit gets tight. I'm so horny I can barely think straight."
Chris turned to look at his brother. "What?" He must have heard Mark wrong. He didn't just say horny. His brother couldn't be lusting after Melanie.
"I said she's totally hot. Jee-sus, what a body. I'm not sure what office she's running for, but she definitely has my vote."
Great. His twenty-one-year-old brother had the hots for Melanie. This had to be stopped right now. Melanie was his. Well, she wasn't his yet. But he meant to change that. ASAP.
Christ, what was he thinking? He raked his fingers through his hair again in frustration. She wasn't his. He didn't want her. Mark was welcome to her.
Okay, he wanted her and Mark was definitely not welcome to her. But he didn't want to want her. And he definitely did not want Mark to want her. If Mark so much as touched her, Chris would have to hurt him.
"Back off, bro," he drawled in as casual a tone as he could manage. "Melanie's mine."
Mark lowered his sunglasses and peered at him over the rim. "Huh?"
Chris lowered his own sunglasses and stared right back. "Mine," he repeated. "Hands off.”
Mark frowned in obvious confusion, then his expression cleared and he grinned. "Whoa, big brother. Not that Melanie's not great-- and waaaay better than the last few of your dates who were, no offense, utter bores-- but I was talking about Zoey." He let out a low whistle. “She’s freakin’ sizzling.”
Chris gave him a blank stare. "Zoey? The florist with the unpronounceable last name?" Chris's mom had introduced them at the house. They'd exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, then her cell phone rang. She’d excused herself to take the call and that was the last he’d seen of her. And until this second he’d forgotten all about her.
"Hell, Chris, are you blind? Look at her." Mark jerked his head toward the other end of the pool. Zoey lounged on a chaise, her curvy body on display in a hot-pink bikini that barely covered the essentials. Her long, curly blond hair was piled on top of her head, and she was flipping through the pages of a magazine.
“That's the florist?" Chris couldn't help but stare for several seconds. The woman was this close to getting arrested for indecent exposure.
"That's the florist," Mark confirmed. "I talked to her for a while back at the house. She only works at the flower shop one day a week. The rest of the time she's a model for Stacy's Armoire."
"The lingerie company?"
"Can you believe it? Who would have thought that Cousin Margie's second cousin's neighbor's sister would turn out to be a lingerie model? I can just picture her posing in a thong. Holy hell. Somebody throw cold water on me." Mark sat up and faced Chris. "Look, I know Mom invited her for you, and I know how you're into the bachelor thing, and I know this is a request of biblical proportions, but is there any chance you'd consider… " His voice trailed off.
Chris smiled and gave Mark a playful punch on the arm. "Knock yourself out."
"Seriously? You’d bow out?"
Chris looked over at Zoey. Her hot-pink bikini top resembled two postage stamps connected by a wisp of dental floss. His gaze shifted to Melanie. And a tingle of anticipation shot through him-- a zing t
hat Zoey and her blatantly sexy attire simply didn’t inspire. Damn. He had it bad.
"Consider me officially bowed," Chris assured Mark. "Why don't you mosey on over there? Zoey probably needs someone to rub oil on her back."
Mark clutched his heart. "A dreary job, deserving combat pay, but someone's gotta do it. Can't have all that luscious female flesh getting sunburned." He saluted Chris and made his way over to Zoey. Within twenty seconds he was smoothing oil on her back with one hand and giving Chris a thumbs-up with the other.
Good. Now at least Chris didn't have to worry about his mother shoving Zoey at him the rest of the day.
As if the thought of his mother conjured her up, she suddenly stood beside his lounge chair. “Sylvia and I are heading back to the house to get dinner started,” she said, nodding toward Nana. “You all should plan heading that way soon.”
“Will do.”
She leaned closer and said in her sonic-boom whisper, “We all like your girl very much.” Before Chris could think of something damage-control-like to say, she motioned with her eyes toward Mark and Zoey and added, “Am I a matchmaker or what? See you in a few!” With that she sauntered away, chatting with Nana as they exited the pool area.
Which meant his time at the pool was limited. Which meant it was time to get in the water and do what he’d wanted to do since the moment he’d picked up Melanie-- get her to himself.
Walking to the edge, he made a shallow dive and surfaced several yards from Melanie and his niece. "Uncle Chris!" Amanda squealed. "Toss me high like you did last time!" She turned to her new best friend. "Watch this, Mel. It's way cool!"
Chris obligingly tossed Amanda up, catching her before she went under the water, laughing at her shrieks of delight. After the fifteenth toss, he pleaded exhaustion.
"Gotta rest," he said, huffing and puffing in an exaggerated way. "I'm an old man. Besides, Grandma said we need to head home for dinner.” When Amanda started to protest, he tousled her hair. "When you get back to the house, look in my gym bag in the family room. There’s a present in there for my favorite girl."
Amanda needed no second urging. She hopped out of the pool and ran across the cement, yelling, “C’mon, Mom, we hafta go. Now. Gramma said.”
“Boy, you know how to clear a room,” Melanie said, her voice laced with amusement as Chris watched his sisters and brothers-in-law exit the pool and gather their belongings.
He turned to her and barely swallowed the groan of longing that rose in his throat. Damn, she looked good all wet. And she smelled really good, too. Like a tropical drink. One he was dying to taste.
But before he could put that plan in motion she started to turn away. He reached out and snagged her arm. “Hey-- where ya goin’ Mel Gibson?”
“Aren’t we supposed to be heading back?”
“In a minute. The pool feels great and this is the first minute we’ve had alone since I picked you up. Everything going okay? My family can be a bit overwhelming but I kept an eye on you-- it didn’t seem like you needed rescuing.”
“No worries-- I’m not a princess and therefore don’t requiring rescuing.”
“You have a beat-up Dodge that says different.”
She laughed and his heart performed some sort of somersault maneuver when those dimples winked at him. “I should have said, ‘no rescuing required with regards to your family.’ They’re great people.” A look of pure deviltry glimmered in her eyes. “And thanks to your sisters, I have a boatload of stories I could blackmail you with. Heh, heh, heh.”
“My sisters would never sell me out.”
“Wanna bet… Puddle Butt?”
Chris groaned at hearing the nickname his sisters had frequently teased him with growing up. “Sure, sit in a puddle one time and you never hear the end of it. I can’t believe they told you that.”
“Then you probably don’t want to know what else they told me.”
“I don’t. You have any siblings?”
“Nope. Only child.”
“Bummer. Guess I’ll have to pump Nana for info so we’re even.”
Melanie lips twitched and she shook her head. “Nana’s sworn to secrecy. She’d never betray me.”
Unable to resist the overwhelming urge to touch her any longer, Chris stepped forward and slid a single fingertip down her wet arm. “So I guess I’ll just have to find out on my own.”
Something that looked like confusion flickered in her eyes and she stepped back. “So what’s the surprise in your gym bag for Amanda?”
He stepped forward, and she again retreated, a dance that continued for two more steps, ending when her shoulders hit the side of the pool.
Chris braced his hands on the pool deck on either side of her, bracketing her in, enjoying her quick intake of breath. “A Barbie doll she wanted.”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. Relief whacked him when he saw the desire simmering in her eyes. Thank God she felt it, too. He could sense her reluctance, but it was there.
"Did you actually buy that Barbie doll yourself?" she asked.
"I not only picked out Barbie all by myself, I bought her a teeny-weeny party dress."
"I'm impressed. I would have thought most guys would be too intimidated to buy doll stuff."
"Not me. I love toy stores."
She averted her gaze for several seconds and pressed her lips together. He was just about to give in to the craving to kiss her when she spoke.
"Listen, Chris, this is kind of embarrassing for me, and I'm sure it is for you, too,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “I mean, obviously you didn't know she was going to be the way she is, so it's probably best if you just take me home as soon as we get back to the house."
He stared at her, unkissed and clueless. "What?"
She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. "I understand. Really. No hard feelings."
"Okay. No hard feelings. What the hell are you talking about?"
She shot him a classic Are You Kidding Me? look. "Zoey. I'm talking about Zoey."
“What about her?"
She made a fist and gently knocked on his forehead with her knuckles. "Hello? Are you home? I know you invited me today to save you from her, but she's obviously not the blind date from hell. In fact, she looks like she just wandered over from the Playboy Mansion." She pushed her hair back. "I don't want you to feel obligated to be with me. Really. Hey, if I was a guy, I know who I'd rather be with."
"Are you finished?"
She nodded. "Uh, yeah. I guess so."
"Good." He pressed his body into hers, leaving no doubt as to his aroused state. "You're not a guy, thank God, so I'm going to have to set you straight here." He rubbed himself against her, very slowly and very deliberately, darkly pleased at the tremor that ran through her. "That's what you do to me. You. I've been hard and aching for you since the moment we got here. Actually, since the moment I kissed you. No, actually even before that. It's embarrassing." He lowered his head and brushed his mouth along her jaw. "No matter how hard I try, I can't make it go away. You're driving me crazy."
"But what about Zoey?" she asked, slowly sliding her arms around his waist.
"Not my type. I talked to her for about five minutes and we ran out of things to say."
"Well, I wasn't thinking you'd necessarily want to spend your time talking to her."
Chris raised his head and framed her face in his hands. Was that jealousy he saw flicker in her eyes? He sure as hell hoped so as that would certainly help his cause. "Listen: Big-breasted lingerie models are not my type." He made a gagging sound. "Really. I feel breakfast coming up."
She shot him a clearly skeptical look. "Oh, sure. What the hell is wrong with you?”
God knows he’d been wondering that himself. “Nothing. I just happen to prefer brunettes with short curly hair and big brown eyes." He paused as it hit him that that sentence would not have passed his lips even three days ago. What the hell was happening to him? Since the moment he'd met Melanie, it was
as if aliens had abducted his bachelor self.
He cleared his throat. "Now Mark, on the other hand, is as happy as a pig in mud talking to Zoey."
"Hmmm. I don’t think he necessarily wants to spend his time talking to her, either.”
A grin pulled at Chris’s lips. "You're jealous."
"Damn right. What woman wouldn't want a body like that? I've always dreamed of buying a thirty-eight triple D. And if I looked like that in a bikini, I'd wear one everywhere. To the supermarket. The movie theatre. The eye doctor. I'm pea green with envy."
His grin faded. "That's not what I meant."
She looked away and bit her lip. "I know. I'm sorry. But she's the kind of woman who makes every other woman feel frumpy, lumpy, and dumpy. ” She shrugged. “It’s a girl thing.”
“Ah. I see a bit of reassurance is in order. First, there’s nothing frumpy, lumpy, or dumpy about you-- except maybe the lumps in your head for thinking there is. And second, I can’t wait another second for this.” He leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers. And felt that same circuit-frying electric zing he’d experienced the first time he’d kissed her. She went completely still for several seconds. Then she muttered something that sounded like oh, damn, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
With a groan he hauled her up against him with one hand while the other hand fisted in her silky curls. She opened her mouth wider beneath his and he deepened the kiss. Everything slipped away except her. The feel of her molded against him. The sensation of her tongue rubbing his, her fingers skimming down his back. She felt so incredibly good. And tasted so good. Like sunshine and cinnamon and something deliciously spicy, a taste that belonged just to her. Need grabbed him by the throat and he slipped his hand lower, stroking over the lush curve of her butt. God only knows where his hand might have wandered next if a loud ahem hadn’t sounded, followed by his brother’s amused voice.
Kiss the Cook Page 7