Kiss the Cook

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  She nodded vigorously, desperately trying to convince him-- and herself. "If I was looking for a man-- which I'm not-- but if I was, it certainly wouldn't be an accountant. It would be a Marlon Brando type." Yeah. Yeah. That's the ticket.

  Doubt was written all over his face. "You're looking for a dead, three-hundred-pound actor old enough to be your father?"

  "No, of course not. I meant a young Marlon Brando. Like in that classic movie where he's on the motorcycle."

  "So you want a motorcycle kind of guy?"

  "Yes. I've always wanted to be a biker chick." She spread her hands, palms up. "So you see? As tempting as you are, we'd never work this out. You're all actuary tables and balance sheets, and I long for the open road, the wind in my hair, the asphalt beneath me. My motto is: it's motorcycle guys or no guys."

  He nodded his head slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "I see."

  He saw. Good. Now all she had to do was escape. Before her resolve crumbled to ashes. Holding out her hand, she said, "Thanks for everything. I had fun."

  His warm, strong fingers wrapped around hers. When he tried to pull her closer, Melanie snatched her hand away. "Good-bye."

  "'Til we meet again," he corrected with the hint of a smile.

  Not if I can help it. Melanie hurried into the house, closed the door, and leaned back against it. She heard his car door slam then listened to the Mercedes drive away.

  Thank goodness he was gone. She should be thrilled. The man was a hazard to the female population. Yup. She was happy as a clam at high tide. Happy as a flea on a hound dog.

  She felt like crying.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "The only thing all that pacing is gonna give you is varicose veins," Nana said the next afternoon at the Pampered Palate, peering over her bifocals at Melanie. "Back and forth. Back and forth. It's like watchin' a dang tennis match. If you don't knock it off, I'm gonna need a chiropractor."

  Melanie raked her hands through her hair. "I can't help it, Nana. The accountants will be here in an hour. There's so much riding on this independent review-- the loan, the truck, Pampered Palate's future." She stopped pacing and pressed her palms to her flopping stomach. "Do you realize that if all goes well, we could have our catering truck within two months?"

  "A whole lot of good it'll do us if you worry yourself sick," Nana stated. "Calm down. You said everything went fine at the bank this morning."

  "It did," Melanie agreed, taking a deep breath." The loan officer was very impressed by the Pampered Palate and our plans for the future."

  Noticing Nana's scowl when she began pacing again, Melanie forced herself to sit down. And immediately started shredding a paper napkin emblazoned with the red and blue Pampered Palate logo.

  "It's really happening, Nana," she said, elated and terrified at the same time. "It looks like our hard work is finally going to pay off." Nerves cramped her stomach and she groaned. "Jeez. I hope success isn't going to make me barf."

  "Listen, honey, you've got to relax. Look how well you've done in less than a year." She patted Melanie's hand. "Those bankers will give you the loan."

  "Only if we get a favorable review from the accountants."

  Nana huffed out a breath. "If those accountants give us any trouble, I'll swat them upside their heads with a skillet."

  For the first time in hours, Melanie managed a smile. "I appreciate it, Nana, but it probably won't help our cause if we're in the slammer for assault with a deadly skillet."

  "Hmmm. You're right. I guess we'd better settle for Plan B."

  "Plan B?"

  "Fresh-baked apple pie. With homemade vanilla ice cream." A big smile creased Nana's wrinkled face. "Like I always say, if you can't beat 'em, bribe 'em."

  Melanie laughed. Everything was going to be okay. As always, Nana managed to talk her off the ledge. “Sounds good to me."

  "You're darn tootin'," Nana said. "As we're so fond of saying here at the Pampered Palate, let's get cookin'!"

  ~~~

  Chris sat in his corner office and reached for the stack of financial statements piled on his mahogany desk. His non-stop morning had consisted of writing a proposal for a new client, a series of budget meetings, and lunch with a prospective new hire.

  Turning his attention to the massive amount of work awaiting him, he opened his laptop and pored over balance sheets and income and cash flow statements, but he found it difficult to concentrate on the endless columns of figures.

  The numbers blurred and ran together as images of Melanie flashed through his mind, distracting him, disrupting his train of thought. Her bright smile and infectious laugh. Those chocolaty-brown eyes and full, kissable lips.

  The incredible taste of those full, kissable lips.

  Remembering their steamy kisses killed whatever small bit of concentration he had left. Time for a strong cup of coffee. Actually, a cold shower probably would have been more helpful, but since that wasn’t an option, coffee would have to do. He was about to head for the break room when Glenn Waxman, the senior partner, walked into his office and closed the door behind him.

  Chris immediately noticed two things. One, Glenn held a manila folder in one hand. And two, Glenn had his other hand clapped over his mouth.

  "What's up, Glenn?"

  "Hmmphttpshm," replied Glenn through his fingers.

  Chris laughed. "I might understand you better if you moved your hand."

  "Hmmphttspm." Glenn removed his hand and curled back his upper lip.

  His two front teeth were gone.

  "What the hell happened to you?" Chris asked, staring at the gaping black hole. The always perfectly groomed Glenn Waxman looked like a full-grown second-grader.

  "I lotht my crownth biting into a thupid apple," Glenn said, his face puckered in a grimace. "I've got an emergenthy dentith appointment." He thrust the manila folder into Chris's hands. "Can you handle thith for me? The appointment ith at four o’clock-- you’ll need to leave thoon. Shouldn't take you more than an hour."

  "Sure. No problem."

  "Thankth. I owe ya one."

  "How could I say no to a guy who sounds like Daffy Duck?"

  "Ha, ha, ha. You're hythterical. Thee you tomorrow." Glenn clapped his hand over his mouth and left.

  Postponing his coffee break for the moment, Chris opened the folder Glenn had given him. And froze when he saw the name at the top of the first page.

  Melanie Gibson.

  He quickly scanned Glenn's notes. Melanie was applying for a fifty-thousand-dollar loan to purchase a catering truck and had hired Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge to conduct the independent review required by the bank. Chris noted that the bank was one of his firm's clients.

  So that's why the name Pampered Palate had seemed so familiar to him. He must have heard Glenn or one of the other partners talking about the upcoming review. As it wasn't his client, he wouldn't have paid particular attention.

  Until now.

  According to Glenn's notes, he needed to conduct an on-site inspection of the facilities and pick up the client's paperwork and books. Bob Harris, a junior accountant, would be handling the actual review.

  Chris glanced at his watch. Ten past three. A slow smile eased over his face. He'd known he would see Melanie again-- he'd had every intention of making sure that happened.

  He just hadn't realized it would happen quite so soon.

  ~~~

  At five minutes to four, Melanie once again paced around the Pampered Palate's kitchen. She tried taking deep breaths, but feared she’d hyperventilate.

  Nana laid a comforting hand on Melanie's arm. "There's no reason to be nervous, honey.”

  “Of course not. It's not like this is important or anything.”

  “Calm yourself,” Nana insisted. “The apple pie is cooling, the ice cream is made, and the dinner rush won't start for another hour. It's not going to help if you faint."

  Melanie smiled and laid her hand over Nana's. "I know. I just want everything to be perfect."


  "Everything is perfect. Stop worrying. You'll get pimples."

  "God knows I don't need… " Her voice trailed off as the bell on the front door jingled. "Oh, boy. It's them." Squaring her shoulders, she sucked in a deep breath, beat back her panic, and left the kitchen. When she entered the front of the store she saw two tall men, both dressed in dark suits.

  One was handsome and unfamiliar.

  The other one smiled at her and she all but swallowed her tongue.

  Good grief, what was he doing here? She couldn't talk to him now. The accountants were coming!

  And darn him for casually dropping by and reminding her how beautiful he was. It had been at least three minutes since she'd thought of him. How was she supposed to forget him if he kept on showing up?

  Forcing a calm she definitely didn't feel, Melanie walked toward them. Before she could utter a word, the unfamiliar man asked, "Are you Miss Gibson?"

  At her nod he extended his hand. "I'm Bob Harris. From Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge. Chris tells me the two of you have already met."

  Melanie wasn't sure what kind of expression she had on her face, but whatever it was, it prompted Bob Harris from Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge to add, "We're the accountants. I, er, believe you were expecting us? We have a four o’clock appointment.”

  Melanie gave herself a mental slap and shook his hand. "My appointment is with Glenn Waxman."

  When Chris extended his hand, Melanie shook it and tried to ignore the sizzle that snaked up her arm at his touch.

  "Glenn had an emergency," Chris said, holding her hand several seconds longer than necessary. "He asked me to fill in for him today. Bob here will be doing the bulk of the work, and Glenn will review it."

  "So the accounting firm you work for is-- "

  "Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge," Chris confirmed. "Guardian Savings and Loan is our client."

  "I see." Perfect. Just when she needed all her wits about her, she was faced with the one man who made her forget her own name.

  Melanie decided her only defense was to not look at him. If she didn't see him, she wouldn't think about him. If she didn't think about him, she could concentrate on the task at hand. She therefore focused her attention on Bob Harris with the zeal of a scientist peering at brain cells through a microscope. "What do we do first?"

  "Let's start with a tour of the facilities," Bob suggested with a friendly smile. He sniffed. "It sure smells great in here. Like apple pie."

  "We just took one out of the oven," Melanie said, mentally blessing Nana as she led the way toward the kitchen. "Maybe you'd like a piece with some homemade vanilla ice cream before you leave?"

  "Sounds great," said Bob.

  The instant they entered the kitchen, Nana descended on them. "Well, if it isn't the hunk," she said, her face wreathed in a huge smile. She enveloped Chris in a big hug, leaving floury hand prints on the back of his navy suit jacket.

  "Nice to see you, Nana," Chris said, grinning.

  "You, too, handsome." She jerked her head toward Bob. "You bring him along for me for a double date? He's kinda young, but that's okay. He's real cute. Great butt." She turned to Bob. "Want some pie, honey?"

  Bob’s expression reminded Melanie of a driver's license photo-- bewildered and dumbstruck. Choking back a laugh she said, "Nana, Chris and Bob are the accountants we've been expecting."

  Nana looked crestfallen. "You mean no double date?"

  Melanie shook her head. "'Fraid not."

  "Dang it." Nana shrugged in a philosophical manner. "Oh, well, I'd best get back to work prepping the chicken. Let me know when you're ready for that pie."

  Melanie led Chris and Bob on a complete tour of the spacious professional kitchen, explaining the daily operations.

  "Each day starts off with our morning deliveries," she said. "Fresh produce arrives daily; meat and fish usually twice a week. In addition to our regular menu, we offer two daily specials."

  Indicating the huge freezer, she continued, "Some items, such as tomato sauce and soup stocks, are prepared ahead of time and frozen, but the bulk of our fare is made fresh every day. The morning is spent preparing for the lunch rush, and during the late-afternoon lull we get ready for dinner. We do a decent walk-in business, but corporate lunches and dinners are our specialty."

  While she spoke, she noticed that Bob scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad, occasionally asking questions. Chris paid rapt attention but said nothing.

  She dared a peek at him once, and her cheeks flamed when she discovered his gaze resting on her mouth. Although he stood a dozen feet away from her, it felt as if he'd caressed her. He glanced up and their gazes met. The long, intense, heated look he gave her stopped her in midsentence.

  Her mind emptied and a tremor sizzled through her. She couldn't have felt more scorched if she'd backed up into a 450-degree oven. Completely flustered, she turned away from him and focused her attention back on Bob.

  Forty-five minutes later, Melanie said, "Well, that's it, gentlemen. Do you have any other questions?"

  Bob shook his head. "No, I think I have everything I need. If you'll just give me your books and business records, I'll be finished.”

  Melanie pointed to a shopping bag bearing the Pampered Palate logo. "Everything's in there. Books, bills, receipts, corporate records, bank statements, the works."

  Bob shot her a smile. "Great. You'll hear from us in two to three weeks. Now how about that pie and ice cream?"

  ~~~

  By the time Melanie arrived home that evening, she was exhausted. Her unexpected meeting with Chris had thrown her for a loop. She'd been nervous the entire time he was at the Pampered Palate, but at least Bob had done most of the talking. After barely surviving that sexy look Chris had thrown at her, she'd avoided looking at him.

  He must have taken the hint because when they left, Chris had merely shaken her hand and given her a brief smile. Very businesslike, impersonal, and polite. Which was exactly what she wanted. So why did she feel this prickle of irrational irritation?

  Nana ambled off to bed with a cup of tea and a steamy romance novel, but Melanie's nerves were too frazzled for reading. She decided to indulge in a relaxing bubble bath.

  Five minutes later, she sank up to her neck in a hot, gardenia-scented tub and heaved a blissful sigh as her tense muscles loosened. Ahhh. Just what the doctor ordered. Now if she could just banish the image of Chris from her mind, all would be right with the world.

  Just then the house phone rang. Of course. It was one of the basic laws of physics: the moment a body is submerged in water, the telephone rings. Well, that’s what answering machines were for. The ringing stopped and she closed her eyes. Seconds later a knock sounded on the bathroom door.

  "What is it, Nana?" Melanie asked.

  Nana opened the door and walked in carrying the portable phone. Setting the instrument on the edge of the tub, she said, "It's for you." Before Melanie could utter a word, Nana left, closing the door behind her.

  Great. Figures. Probably someone wanting to sell her insurance or a cemetery plot. She grabbed the receiver. "Hello?" she all but barked into the phone.

  "I can't stop thinking about you," said a low, sexy voice.

  Uh-oh. If this was someone selling cemetery plots, she could be in trouble. It's not good to have people looking for cadavers say they can't stop thinking about you.

  But she knew it wasn't someone wanting to measure her for a crypt. It was him, and damn it, he was just as deadly.

  The sudden heat engulfing her had nothing to do with her bathwater. Annoyed that he could affect her like this over the phone, she asked in a bored drawl, "Who is this?"

  "It's Chris. I can't stop thinking about you," he repeated in a husky whisper that caused a jillion and one goose bumps to pop out on her overheated flesh. After a pause he asked, “Who did you think this was?"

  Melanie was tempted to make up a name, any name, but she couldn't. "I knew it was you."

  "Good. I have several things to s
ay to you."

  Melanie gripped the phone with her soapy fingers. Surely those butterflies flapping around in her stomach were from anxiety and not anticipation. "I'm listening."

  "First, I want you to know that the reason I didn't say much to you today was because I was only there as a favor to Glenn Waxman. He's the partner on your account. He'll be signing off on your review. I was just observing, making sure Bob got everything he needed."

  "What difference does it make which partner does my review?" Melanie asked.

  "Glenn can do it. I can't. Conflict of interest"

  "Conflict of interest? I don't understand."

  "It would compromise my firm and your chances of getting your loan if I signed off on a review for someone I'm involved with. So you'll be dealing with Bob and Glenn from now on."

  Melanie sat up so quickly, water sloshed over the side of the tub. "What do you mean involved? You and I are not involved."

  "Wanna bet? I am most definitely involved. And if you're honest with yourself, you'll admit you are, too."

  "Am not."

  "Are, too. I saw the way you looked at me today."

  "I wasn't looking at you!"

  "Like hell. I caught you staring at me like you wanted to stick me between two slices of rye bread and have me for lunch."

  Melanie's temper kicked in. Conceited dope. And boy, was he wrong. In truth, she'd been staring at him like she wanted to stick him between two slices of sourdough bread and have him for lunch. Shows what he knew.

  "Well?" he asked when the silence stretched on. "What do you have to say?"

  “That’s some ego you have.”

  “It’s not ego. I’m just calling it like I saw it. Are you telling me I saw wrong?”

  "I'm taking the fifth."

  "If you won't talk to me over the phone, I'm coming over."

  "No!" Melanie gripped the receiver so tight her knuckles turned white. "Don't come over."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm in the bathtub."

  He groaned. “You're killing me, Melanie. You really are. In the bathtub. Jesus. Now I've got that picture in my head. How the hell am I supposed to sleep tonight?"