Besides, what was the best way to tell her? Just open his mouth and let the words flop out? Or plan something elaborate? He’d have to think on it. Which was fine because he wanted the moment to be right and he needed to wait until she was ready. He'd give her another week. Nodding to himself, he decided that was fair. She could have one more week to realize they were meant to be together, and he’d have a week to figure out the best way to tell her he was ass over backwards, crazy in love with her. Then he'd tell her, she'd say she loved him back, and that would be that. Perfect.
A sobering thought burst through his reverie to dump all over his perfect mental scenario. What if she doesn't love me? A shudder ran through him, and he swatted the disturbing idea aside.
She does. She has to. And if she doesn't yet, she will. Right. ‘Cause he certainly wasn’t going to marry someone who didn’t love him. And since he was going to marry her, she just had to love him. Period. Bottom line. End of discussion.
He was about to dip his finger into the frosting again when his hand froze. Holy crap. Did I just think what I think I thought?
Sure did, buddy, his inner voice replied. You just thought the dreaded M word.
Marriage.
Lifelong commitment. House in the suburbs. Kids.
He sat perfectly still, waiting for panic to seize him.
Only panic never came.
Instead, a warmth unlike anything he'd ever felt suffused him. Like bachelors everywhere, he'd always avoided the M word like it harbored E. coli.
But not anymore. Not since he'd met Melanie. In fact--
"Are you okay?" Her voice penetrated his musings.
He looked at her, feeling dazed. "Huh?"
She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "I asked if you're okay. You look like a piano just fell on your head."
He laughed and wondered just what his expression looked like. "Squashed and half an inch high?"
"No. Kinda shocked, surprised, and… “ she peered at him, "green around the gills." She grabbed the container of frosting from him and set it on the night-stand. "You've eaten enough of that. You're obviously suffering from sugar-induced dementia."
No. Actually he wasn’t suffering at all. In fact, he was happier than he’d ever been. He leaned over her and licked her bottom lip. "On the contrary, I haven't had nearly enough."
She leaned back and sighed. "You'll get a tummy ache."
"It's not my tummy that's aching."
"Think of all those cavities."
"I have a great dental plan," he whispered against her lips. "Any more arguments?"
She arched against him. "Would there be any point?"
"Nope."
"Very well. Carry on."
He settled himself between her thighs. "Okay. If you insist."
~~~
At ten o'clock Sunday evening, Melanie sat in the Mercedes, her thoughts in turmoil. They would arrive at her house in less than five minutes, and she had no idea what to say to the man with whom she'd just spent the last thirty-six hours. Naked.
An offhand "Thanks, it's been great" didn't really seem appropriate, but neither did "I think I love you madly, please don't make me go home."
And unfortunately, now more than before, she stood in mortal danger of falling in love with him. Everything about him appealed to her. His smile. His laugh. The way he really listened when she talked. The way he made her feel in bed. Out of bed. They’d talked about everything from finance to politics to religion to books and movies. They agreed on all the important points, and on the lesser important ones where their opinions differed, their debates had been lively and respectful. She’d never enjoyed conversing with a man more. He was intelligent, thoughtful, and made her feel like the most beautiful, desirable woman on the planet. Yup, it would be ridiculously easy to fall madly in love with him.
He had asked her to stay, but she’d somehow found the strength to say no. After spending only one night in his arms, she was addicted to the feel of him. The taste of him. If she stayed another night, her heart would suffer a fatal attack of the love-sickies.
Oh, who was she kidding? She already had the love-sickies so bad she was ready for the intensive care unit.
Which was really bad. If she had to fall for someone-- not that she wanted to-- but if she had to, a confirmed bachelor was most definitely not the smartest choice. In fact, it would win the gold medal for Most Idiotic.
She looked out the window and cursed her stupid hormones for getting her into this mess. It was entirely their fault. She should have shot those suckers dead the minute they started acting up. Bang! Death, followed by a hormone funeral and a brief period of mourning. Then back to her orderly life.
But nooooo. She had to meet Mr. Gorgeous. One look at him and all her plans had jumped out the window and plunged forty stories to their demise.
She sneaked a peek at him from the corner of her eyes. There he sat, calm, cool, collected, humming off-key to the radio, while she was suffering. Mr. Confirmed Bachelor had probably already forgotten about their time together. No doubt the minute he left her, he'd forget her name. She bet he'd come up with some excuse to not see her for the rest of the week, then conveniently "forget" to ever call her again. She’d become another statistic to be filed away in the dreaded Slept With The Dude Who Will Never Call You folder.
Well, that was fine. Who needed him anyway? They'd spent their time together, now it was finished. She'd go on with her life, he with his. Two ships that pass in the night, make love several times-- okay, more like several dozen times-- then say adios.
She needed to nip this now. She knew firsthand where falling in love left a person-- in a big, dark, painful hole with your skin ripped off. It had taken her a long time to climb out of that dungeon once before, and she didn't ever want to do it again.
She'd had her fun; now it was time to end it.
Before it was really too late.
“You're a million miles away, Mel Gibson."
She blinked at the sound of his voice and realized they were parked in front of her house. The porch lamps blazed cheerfully and the kitchen light glowed, announcing Nana's presence.
Melanie stared at him, unable to look away. She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't force any sound past the lump lodged in her throat. God help her, she didn't want to go inside and leave him. But she needed to end this before he did and left her in tatters.
He touched her cheek with a single, gentle finger. "I'm sort of at a loss for words.”
Melanie swallowed. "Yeah. Me, too." Say good-bye. Say have a nice life. Get out of the car. Her mouth and feet refused to cooperate with her brain. She remained silent and motionless.
Taking her hands, he entwined their fingers. "This was the most incredible weekend of my life," he said in a soft, husky voice.
Not trusting her voice, she simply nodded. Tears were on their way, and it took all her concentration to hold them at bay.
"I'm leaving on a business trip tomorrow afternoon," he said, "and unfortunately I won't get back until late Friday night. How about I pick you up Saturday morning and take you out for breakfast?"
"Chris, I-- "
"I want you to spend the night again. The whole weekend." A sexy half grin touched his lips. "We still have some skinny-dipping to do."
'I can't." There. She'd said it. Whew!
"Why not?"
Good question. "I, ah, can't sleep over."
"Sleeping wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
The tears hovering close to the surface threatened to spill over. Sure, that was fine. He had nothing to lose. A few weeks of sexual fun and games, then he'd move on to the next woman.
And that was the way it was supposed to be for her, but her heart was involved, damn it. Even though she'd firmly ordered it not to, her stupid heart had jumped into love faster than ice melted in July.
"Listen," she said, "last night was fun, but-- "
"No buts. As I recall, you owe me a cooking lesson. You'r
e not trying to welsh on your promise, are you?"
"I never promised-- "
"Because I deal with promise-welshers very harshly." His tongue traced a warm path up her palm, and a legion of pleasurable tingles skittered up her arm. "You'd find yourself on the receiving end of a severe tongue-lashing."
Oh, my. Clearly his definition of a tongue-lashing was not the one that appeared in Webster's Dictionary. The mere thought evaporated her concentration like a puddle in the Sahara.
"And then there's the matter of the tennis match you want to play," he murmured against her palm. "How's your game?"
"Ah, pretty good. Why?"
"There's a guy at work I wouldn't mind trouncing on the court. You up for the challenge?"
She looked into his beautiful dark blue eyes and knew she couldn't refuse. Not when her hormones and every bone in her traitorous body had joined forces and ganged up on her. She didn't stand a chance. So she’d spend one more weekend with him. And guard her heart the entire time. And then end it.
“Okay, you've got yourself a tennis match. And since I'd never let it be said that I'm a promise-welsher, I'll teach you how to cook something. Any requests?"
A half smile curved his lips. "Lots of them."
"I meant for our cooking lesson."
"Oh. Anything, as long as it's not complicated. You have a very bad effect on my ability to concentrate." Cupping her face between his palms, he kissed her long and deep, until she could barely recall what planet she lived on. "See what I mean?" he whispered against her lips. "I can't remember what we were just talking about"
"Tennis lesson. Cooking match," she whispered back. Whew. What a relief. He didn't affect her concentration at all.
Not one little bit.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On Monday afternoon, Chris sat on a Chicago-bound jet and tried to focus on the spreadsheet illuminated on his laptop screen. But his mind refused to cooperate.
All he could think about was his early morning conversation with Glenn Waxman about the vacant store across from Pampered Palate, and how that conversation would ultimately affect Melanie's loan.
Glenn hadn't known about the proposed restaurant. Chris squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a groan. Well, he knows now, thanks to me. In fact, Glenn had been very grateful for the information, explaining that if the review had gone to the bank missing such a pertinent fact, the firm would have looked extremely foolish.
Chris had pointed out that since he'd merely overheard the conversation, there was always the chance the info was incorrect. Glenn had promised to verify the fact before adding it to the review.
It won't matter, he told himself for what had to be the hundredth time. She'll still get the loan.
Yet no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, a sick ball of dread cramped his stomach and refused to budge. Glenn had said the review should be finished by the end of the week, which meant Melanie would hear from the bank by the middle of next week.
Since she'd only worry, he’d decided there was no point in telling her what he'd done until Glenn had verified the information and she knew the bank's decision. It was only a matter of a few days, and he reasoned that by remaining quiet he’d save her from getting an ulcer. After she heard from the bank, he'd tell her. If the loan was approved, he had nothing to worry to about.
If it wasn't, he'd simply explain why he'd done what he had.
And pray he didn't lose her in the process.
~~~
When the doorbell rang at nine A.M. Saturday morning, Melanie inhaled a calming breath and forced herself to walk slowly down the stairs. She knew Chris stood on the other side of the door, and she didn't want to appear overly anxious.
Not that she was overly anxious to see him. Not a bit. After all, she'd just seen him five days ago. She huffed out a breath. Had it only been five days? It had felt like five years. Five long, dreary years in solitary confinement.
Get a grip, Melanie. He’d called and texted while he was away, but every communication had only left her aching for him. For his touch, his arms around her, his kiss--
Tossing in the towel, she ran down the last few steps and threw open the door.
Before she could so much as say hello, he’d snatched her against him, and covered her mouth with his in a deep, tongue mating kiss. Every cell in her body melted and sighed, welcome home.
Nipping tiny kisses along her jaw, he said, "Boy, I'm sure glad it wasn't Nana who opened the door."
A breathless laugh escaped Melanie. "A kiss like that and poor Nana would pass out. I'm feeling a bit faint myself."
The sexy half grin she loved eased over his face. "As promising as that sounds, it’ll have to keep. We’re due on the tennis court in forty-five minutes."
"Forty-five minutes! I thought we had a breakfast date. I'm starving." I want to stay here and kiss you. All day.
"Change of plans. We can grab a bagel and coffee on the way to the courts." His gaze roamed over her cherry red sundress and wedge sandals. "You look great, but you should change into your tennis gear." He glanced at his watch. "Not to rush you, but you have about three minutes. We're playing that guy at my firm I mentioned I’d like to beat-- Dave Webber-- and his girlfriend-of-the-moment, whose name escapes me. Dave's bested me the last three times we've played and he's pretty insufferable about it. I really want to wump him today."
“Three minutes? Are you serious?”
“Yup.” He grinned and gently tugged one on her curls. “And you’re down to two minutes and fifty seconds.”
Muttering under her breath about aggravating men, she walked-- okay, more like stomped-- up the stairs. Darn man. Who did he think he was, kissing her like that then calmly announcing tennis plans as if he hadn't just rocked her world and gotten her all hot and bothered? And how the heck was she supposed to "wump" anybody at tennis if she didn't eat breakfast first? And three minutes to change her clothes? Who could change clothes that fast? She had half a mind to tell him to get lost and--
"Melanie?"
She turned and gazed down at him, standing at the bottom of the stairs, his expression serious, looking more beautiful than any man had a right to, which only served to aggravate her more. "Yes?"
"I missed you."
And just like that her annoyance evaporated-- which probably should have annoyed her, but didn’t. He’d missed her. Well, good. Because she’d missed him, too. Constantly. Of course, it wasn't necessary that he know that. Mimicking his earlier words, she said, "That sounds promising, but I need to buck up. There's a tennis match to play, you know."
~~~
It took Melanie all of two minutes to agree with Chris that Dave Webber was indeed insufferable about his previous victories on the tennis court. Dave's girlfriend, Jenni, sported an innocent smile and a killer forehand. Not good indications for a wumping.
The match began with Chris serving first. His first serve landed in the net, as did his second one, resulting in a double fault. He switched court sides, and promptly double faulted away another point
Melanie switched courts again and looked back at him from her position near the net. "You okay?"
He frowned and nodded. And promptly double faulted again.
Melanie walked back to the baseline. "What's wrong?" she asked in an undertone. "Are you nervous? You served beautifully in the warm-up."
"I'm not nervous," he said in a distinctly annoyed voice.
She raised her brows at his tone. "Then what's with you? You said you wanted to beat this guy, and I don't blame you. He's totally obnoxious. May I remind you that the idea is to hit the ball over the net? That expression 'nothing but net' is for basketball, not tennis."
"I know that."
"Could have fooled me. If you're not nervous, then what's wrong?"
"Your ass."
She stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"Your ass. That damn short tennis skirt. Those long legs staring me right in the face. You look incredible. I can't concentrate. Every time I tr
y to serve, I see you up at the net, half bent over, and I lose it."
"As much as I appreciate the compliment about my, er, ass, we have a whole match to play here. If you can pull yourself together, we can hand this guy the thrashing he deserves."
"Okay." He eyed her legs. "Would you consider slipping on a pair of sweatpants?"
"Have you lost your mind? It's ninety-five degrees out here!"
"Are we playing tennis or chatting?" Dave called from the other side of the net.
"We're strategizing,” Chris called back. “Give us a minute." He turned back to Melanie. "All right. No sweatpants. But I need some kind of incentive."
Melanie narrowed her eyes. "Like what?"
A wolfish grin curved his lips. "What do I get if I win?"
"What do you want?"
He leaned forward and whispered one word in her ear. “You.”
Her nipples tightened and a blush scorched her skin. She tightened her grip on her tennis racket to keep it from slipping from her boneless fingers. “You know, talking about that isn’t going to help my tennis game any,” she whispered back.
His gaze flicked to her nipples. “Do we have a deal?”
“Based on your game so far, wild monkey sex isn’t in your immediate future, so if that’s the incentive you need, fine.” Yeah-- she’d somehow muster up the courage to get naked with him. “You're on."
Walking back to her position at the net, Melanie prepared for Chris's next serve. Seconds later the ball zoomed by her ear with gale-force strength for an ace. He went on to serve another ace, then another, and then one more to even the score at deuce. She and Chris won the next two points to take the game.
Tossing her a wink, he said, "See? I just needed a little incentive."
They battled it out for another two hours, but finally Melanie and Chris won in three close sets. The instant after everyone shook hands, Chris scooped up the tennis gear, grabbed Melanie's hand, shouted good-bye, and strode off the courts.
"Whoa!" Melanie said, breaking into a jog to keep up with him. "Where's the fire?"
He stopped abruptly and kissed her with an intensity that blew the bottoms off her Nikes."Feel the fire?"
Kiss the Cook Page 17