Kiss the Cook

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  "So it was a gray area," Nana broke in. "Big deal. It obviously wasn't a gray area to him. Clearly it would have compromised his integrity to remain silent. Seems to me that's a man worth having." She glared at Melanie over her bifocals. "And you're a horse's patoot."

  "But Nana, he… made love to me, knowing that he was going to place my loan in jeopardy. He didn't tell me. He knew for two weeks and never said a word."

  "You make it sound like he knew for two years. No doubt he planned to tell you after the bank made its decision."

  "That's what he said-- "

  "And you honestly don't believe him?" Nana blew out a breath. "Honey, he made a mistake. He tried to do the right thing and he screwed up. He can't help screwing things up-- he's a male and it comes with the territory. Believe me, if a man like your Chris told me something, I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. Did you?"

  Melanie sat stock-still, realization dawning in her. A sick, queasy feeling settled in her midsection. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He'd tried to help her. She'd just been so shocked and disappointed, she'd lashed out.

  And lost him.

  Clapping her hand to her forehead, she wailed, "Oh, Nana! What have I done?"

  Nana hrumphed. "Now that's better. Shame on you for blaming that sweet boy. Appears you have a lot to make up for."

  "I was pretty harsh on him." She recalled their phone conversation and cringed. "He might not forgive me.”

  "You won't know unless you try. Chances are he's feeling as bad as you. Why don't you call him? Tell him you’re sorry.”

  Melanie nodded. “I’ll call him now. At the very least I owe him an apology.”

  Just then Pampered Palate’s phone rang. It was after closing, but she reached for the instrument, hoping it might be Chris.

  "Pampered Palate, Gourmet to Go."

  "Is Miss Gibson there, please?" asked a vaguely familiar male voice.

  "Speaking. Who's calling?"

  "This is Vince Peters from Guardian Savings and Loan. I'm glad I caught you before you left for the evening."

  The loan officer. The one who'd turned down her loan. Not exactly her favorite guy, but Melanie suppressed an urge to hang up on him.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Peters?"

  "I'm calling with good news, Miss Gibson. In light of the additional information provided to me by Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge, and after carefully reevaluating your application, we've decided to approve your loan."

  Melanie felt her jaw drop open and her eyes pop wide. They probably made a boing sound.

  "I beg your pardon? I thought the additional information caused you to turn down the loan."

  Mr. Peters chuckled. "I mean the additional additional information. The loan has been approved."

  Melanie was glad she was sitting. Otherwise she would have fallen down with an unladylike splat.

  "What information is that?" she asked in a weak voice.

  "Why, the information about the dozens of private catering jobs you have scheduled over the next twelve months. I must say, Miss Gibson, when Mr. Waxman emailed me the spread sheet with these job orders, it changed the entire complexion of your loan application. Obviously, the Pampered Palate is doing very well and growing fast in the private catering arena. Under those circumstances, Guardian Savings and Loan is happy to assist you. If you'll stop by the bank tomorrow morning, we'll sign the necessary papers. Is that satisfactory?"

  Melanie jarred herself out of her stupor. "Yes, Mr. Peters. That's fine."

  "Excellent. See you tomorrow. Good-bye."

  "'Bye." Melanie slowly replaced the receiver.

  Apparently she looked as dazed as she felt because Nana said, "By the look on your face, I'm guessing that was the lottery office and you’re a winner."

  Melanie blew out a long, slow, calming breath. "Even better. That was Mr. Peters from the bank. The loan was approved."

  Nana's eyes bugged out. "I thought you said-- "

  "I did. But he changed his mind." She jumped up and twirled around. "He changed his mind!"

  Nana scratched her head and frowned. "That's great, honey. But did he say why?"

  Melanie stopped spinning. "He said something about the dozens of catering jobs we have scheduled for the next twelve months."

  "What catering jobs?"

  Melanie dropped back to earth with a thump. “Good question, and one I obviously should have asked him. But I was so stunned, I sort of lost my mind.” She pressed her hands to her face. “Oh, God, what if there’s been some horrible mistake? One that would make Mr. Peters take away the loan?” She snatched up the phone. “I'm calling Glenn Waxman. He's the one who told the bank about the catering jobs."

  She dialed Glenn's number, praying he'd be working late so she wouldn't have to wait until morning for the answers she needed.

  "Glenn Waxman," came a masculine voice.

  "Glenn, Melanie Gibson here. I just heard from Mr. Peters at the bank. He said my loan was approved."

  "Hey! Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

  "He said he changed his mind based on additional information you gave him. Something about future catering jobs?"

  "Well, yes. I simply told him about them and emailed him the spreadsheet of the work orders."

  As much as she wanted to remain silent, take her loan, and slink away, Melanie couldn't. Even if it meant losing the loan, she couldn't accept it under false pretenses.

  "Glenn, I have to be honest with you. I have no idea what you're talking about. What catering jobs?"

  She heard him tapping on a keyboard. "Let me see," he said. "There's the anniversary party for Mr. Walter Rich and his wife the first weekend in September, a birthday party for Mrs. Lorna Bishop the second weekend in September, a baby shower-- "

  "Did you say Lorna Bishop?"

  "Yes. That's Chris's mother. There're twenty-seven orders in all. Chris emailed them to me from LA this morning."

  Once again, Melanie gave thanks that she was sitting. What on earth had Chris done? Guilt hit her like a brick to the back of the head. Good grief. Clearly he felt so bad that she'd lost the loan, he'd made up some elaborate story about her having catering jobs lined up.

  She felt awful. Horrible. He'd compromised himself to save her. She loved him for it, but she couldn't let him do it.

  "Glenn, there's been a mistake. I don’t know-- "

  "There's no mistake, Melanie. I spoke to half the people on these job orders-- hell, I know half the people on these orders. In fact, I am one. You're booked up the first Saturday in December for my daughter's sweet sixteen. These are legitimate catering jobs. You should start receiving deposit checks within the next couple of days. Didn’t you receive the email attachment of the spreadsheet? Chris sent it to both of us.”

  “Um, no. I haven’t checked my email.”

  “Go take a look. Feel free to call if you have any other questions.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  Melanie hung up and stared at Nana. "You're not going to believe this."

  "Sure I will. I'm a gullible old lady. I'll believe anything."

  Melanie repeated her conversation with Glenn.

  "Well," said Nana, a smug look on her face. "How do you like that? Your Chris is not only a hunk, he's a hero, too. Swooped right in and saved his damsel in distress. What do you say about that?"

  "What can I possibly say? That I'm a dunce and completely misjudged the most wonderful man I've ever met?"

  "That's a pretty good start," Nana said with brutal frankness.

  "Do you think he'll forgive me?"

  Nana thought for a few seconds, then answered, "Seems to me a man who would go to all the trouble of booking two-dozen catering gigs is a man truly in love. I'd say chances are he'll forgive you." A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Of course, if he's as smart as I think he is, he'll make you suffer a bit first, so you'd better be prepared."

  A shiver of anticipation zinged through Melanie at the thought of "suffering" at Chris'
s hands. "Hmm. Got any suggestions?"

  "The best defense is always-- "

  "A great offense?"

  "That's right. And take it from someone who's been around long enough to have learned a few tricks-- a woman's best offense is sexy lingerie. Those sweatpants you wear to bed don't qualify."

  A plan-- a fiendish plan-- took root in Melanie's mind. "I have an idea, Nana."

  "I knew you would, honey."

  "Wanna help?"

  "Does it involve hog-tyin' that handsome sucker?"

  Melanie chuckled. "Something like that."

  "Count me in, babe. Count me in."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Chris unlocked his condo door Friday night and rolled his suitcase into the foyer. Closing the door, he leaned his back against the wood panel and closed his eyes.

  God, he was tired.

  And miserable.

  But at least he was home, even if, thanks to his delayed flight, it was after midnight.

  Pushing off from the door, he walked into the kitchen and checked his home answering machine. No messages-- just like his cell phone voicemail. Everybody's worried sick about me.

  He'd hoped Melanie might have left him a message. Of course, he'd hoped she would call him while he was in LA, but she hadn't. Then he'd hoped she might meet him at the Atlanta airport, but again, she hadn't.

  He knew her loan had been approved. He'd spoken to Glenn Waxman, who'd filled him in on his conversation with Melanie.

  So even though she'd gotten her loan, she still hadn't called. Obviously she was still angry with him.

  Well, damn it, she was just going to have to get over it. He loved her too much to lose her. Now that there weren't three thousand miles between them, they would talk face to face and straighten things out. If she refused to forgive him, well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Maybe just Velcro her stubborn ass to the sofa until she changed her mind.

  That settled, he headed toward his bedroom, loosening his tie on the way. He opened the bedroom door and halted.

  Dozens of candles covered his furniture, bathing the room with soft, flickering light. A trail of fragrant flower petals led from the doorway toward the adjoining master bath.

  As if in a trance, he followed the trail to the bathroom then pushed the slightly ajar door open.

  More candles adorned the counter and surrounded the bathtub. Melanie reclined in the tub, surrounded by a mountain of fluffy bubbles. Her hair was piled on her head with several corkscrew tendrils trailing along her neck. A bottle of champagne rested in an ice bucket on the floor with two crystal glasses next to it.

  "It's about time you got home," she murmured in a low, sexy voice.

  Heart pounding with love and hope, he said, “My flight was delayed."

  "I know. I checked the airline’s website."

  He might have seen something in his life more beautiful than Melanie sitting in his bath tub, but he couldn’t think of what that thing might be. "Not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing here?"

  A slow, wicked smile touched her lips. She lifted one long, soapy leg from the water. "I'm taking a bath."

  Chris's gaze riveted on her shapely upraised leg. "I see that. Does this mean you're not angry with me anymore?"

  "You could say that. I spoke to your brother today. He still had his key and he let me in." She ran a sudsy hand up her leg. "I hope you don't mind."

  "Ah, no. I don't mind." Chris made a mental vow to give Mark everything he owned in thanks.

  He watched, transfixed, as she slowly stood up. Silky trails of white bubbles meandered down her body. Okay, he officially had seen something more beautiful than Melanie sitting in his tub-- Melanie standing in his tub.

  "Come here," she whispered, crooking her finger at him.

  He supposed his feet must have moved, because the next thing he knew, he was standing next to the tub.

  "We're having a party," she said, reaching out her wet hands to unknot his loosened tie, "and you're waaaaay overdressed."

  Chris stood perfectly still while she pulled his tie free and dropped it on the floor. Then she pushed his jacket off his shoulders to join his tie. She then set to work unbuttoning his shirt.

  Slipping the top button free, she said, "It occurred to me that we never went skinny-dipping." The second and third buttons opened. "While I realize this isn't a pool, it was the best I could do. We have all the skinny-dipping essentials-- you, me, naked, water. And it does keep with our getting-wet tradition."

  She raised her gaze, and regarded him through serious eyes that held a hint of questioning doubt. “If you have any objections, I suggest you speak now or forever hold your peace."

  He recalled saying those exact words to her before he'd made love to her the first time. "No objections. The tub works for me."

  "Good." She slipped the last button free. Placing her bath-warmed hands on his abdomen, she ran her palms up his chest.

  With a groan, Chris tried to pull her to him, but she held him off, shaking her head.

  "Not yet. There are a few things I need to say first."

  Chris swallowed and fisted his hands to keep them off her. "I'm listening."

  Cupping his face between her hands, she kissed him gently. "I'm sorry," she whispered against his mouth.

  "No. I'm sorry. I should have told you right away. I tried-- "

  "I know," she said, stopping his words by touching her fingers against his lips. "And I want you to know I was sorry before I found out that you'd booked twenty-seven parties for the Pampered Palate. I had a long talk with Nana and she made me realize how wrong I was. And how foolish."

  "I never meant to hurt you, Melanie."

  "Of course you didn't. And I know that. I was angry and hurt when I should have been proud of you for not compromising your principles and integrity, and grateful for your concern regarding my feelings." She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his palm. "I said some really hurtful things to you and I'm sorry."

  The hell with not holding her. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her up against him. Her body, warm and slippery from the bath, slid against his chest, forcing a groan from him.

  He was about to kiss her when he noticed a tear glide down her cheek. "Hey, don't cry."

  Another tear rolled down. "I'm not crying."

  "Are, too."

  "Am not."

  He brushed away the tears. "Okay. Why are you not crying?”

  "I'm… overcome. What you did for me. All those parties. It's what changed the loan officer's mind."

  "Glad to help." He ran his hands down her bare back and cupped her butt. "I'm not trying to rush you, sweetheart, but are you finished talking?"

  "Just one more thing."

  "What's that?"

  "I love you."

  Chris stilled. He briefly closed his eyes, savoring the relief and happiness washing through him. When he opened his eyes he saw that hers were swimming with more tears.

  "I want you to know," she whispered, "I'm not saying that because of what you did for me. I started falling for you the night we met. But I was so afraid. Afraid you'd turn out to be another Todd. Afraid I was falling too fast. But Nana straightened me out on that, too. She told me how long it takes to fell in love."

  "Yeah? How long?"

  "A moment. It only takes a moment."

  "Well, I have to agree with her ‘cause that's about how long it took me to fall in love with you." He gently touched her cheek. "You're not afraid anymore?"

  "Not unless you've changed your mind."

  "About what?"

  Her gaze searched his. "Loving me."

  "Not a chance," he assured her. "I love you. Completely. Totally."

  "I love you, too. So much."

  He huffed out a relieved breath then leaned down to nuzzle her fragrant neck. "Thank God. Now, are you going to finish what you started here, or am I going to have to jump in the tub with my shoes and pants on? Something about you and water bodes poorly for my clothes."
>
  She reached for his belt. "I'll finish."

  He toed off his shoes and peeled off his socks, kicking them aside to join the pile of his clothes. Then he stood in an agony of anticipation while she divested him of his trousers and boxers. The instant he was naked, he stepped into the steaming bath and lowered himself into the warm water and mountain of bubbles. Melanie joined him, settling her slippery body on top of his.

  He held her tight against him, absorbing the emotions swamping him from every direction. She loved him. He loved her. She was his. He was hers. And he wanted it to always be that way. Forever.

  Tunneling his fingers through her hair, he gently pushed her head back until their gazes met. He saw all the love in the world shining at him from her big brown eyes.

  "You're everything I never knew I always wanted," he said, then shook his head. "Does that make sense?"

  "Perfect sense. You're everything I always wanted but was afraid to ask for."

  "Seems like we're a good team."

  "A perfect match," she agreed.

  "So let's get married."

  She blinked. Twice. "Excuse me?"

  "Marry me."

  She stared at him, and he couldn't decide which word better described her expression-- amazed or horrified.

  He decided to hope for amazed.

  When she continued to stare at him, bug-eyed and silent, he observed, "It seems I've left you speechless."

  "You're serious," she finally said.

  "Dead serious. Marriage isn't something I'd joke about."

  "But you can't ask me to marry you in the bathtub!"

  Female logic. Go figure. "Why not?"

  "Because someday our kids will ask us to tell them about how Daddy proposed to Mommy. How can we tell them we were skinny-dipping in the bathtub? And how could we tell your mother and sisters? And Nana?"

  “You’re serious?” he asked, mimicking her question to him only seconds ago.

  “Dead serious-- a marriage proposal isn’t something I’d joke about,” she mimicked right back.

  "Oh, all right," he grumbled. He slid her off him, stood, then scooped her up into his arms. Unmindful of the trail of water and soapsuds dripping behind them, he padded across the floor into his bedroom.

  He was just about to lay her on the bed when she exclaimed, "Not here! You can't propose to me in bed."