Kiss The Cook

Melanie didn't know whether she was relieved or irritated.

Nana ambled off to bed with a hot toddy 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. Ahhh. Just what the doctor ordered. Her tense muscles loosened and a small smile touched her lips. Now if she could just banish the image of Christopher Bishop from her mind, all would be right with the world.

No sooner had the thought entered her mind than the phone rang. Drat. It was one of the basic laws of physics: the moment a body is submerged in water, the telephone rings. I'll let the answering machine get it. The ringing stopped and she closed her eyes. Seconds later she heard a knock 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, his voice sounding distinctly annoyed, 'Who the hell did you think this was?'

Melanie was tempted to make up a name, any name, but she couldn't. There was no sense pretending. 'I knew it was you.'

'Good.' He waited several heartbeats before continuing. 'I have several things to say to you.'

Melanie gripped the phone with her soapy fingers, half terrified, half delirious with 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, confused.

'It matters. Glenn can do it. I can't. Conflict of interest.'

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

He blew out a breath. '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 were looking 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?'

'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.'

She heard him take a deep breath, then exhale a groan, and she couldn't squelch the momentary zing of feminine satisfaction that washed over her.

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

He cut loose with a growl. 'Listen, I only called to tell you that my strictly businesslike behavior today was to avoid any conflict of interest. And if you think we're not involved, you're nuts. Maybe you don't want it, and I certainly don't want it, but it's there, and it's not going away.'

'It will if we ignore it.'

'Not an option,' he stated firmly. 'I've been trying that since we met, and it doesn't work.'

'This is ridiculous,' Melanie said, pushing her damp hair out of her eyes. 'If you hadn't taken Mr. Waxman's place tonight, we never would have seen each other again.'

'Do you really believe that?' The soft, husky question raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Before she could even think of a reply, he continued, 'We absolutely would have seen each other again, Melanie. I would have made sure of it.'

It was a good thing she was sitting down, because the sexy undertone in his deep voice melted her insides like a flame to wax. If she wasn't careful she'd slip under the water and drown, a boneless, quivering mass of feminine flesh.

'You're not saying much,' he said, 'so I'll take that as a good sign. At least you're not arguing. So, on to the next thing. What are you doing Friday evening?'

'Friday evening? Why?' Good grief. Was that squeaky noise her voice? She coughed to clear her dust-dry throat.

'I'd like to have dinner with you.'

'Dinner? You mean like a date?'

'That note of horror I hear in your voice is pretty deflating to my ego.'

'We've been through this. I don't date. And even if I did, I don't want to date you.'

'I don't want to date you either. Something we have in common. And since you don't date, I guess that means you don't have plans Friday night. I'll swing by and pick you up at eight.'

'But-'

'I'll be out of town for the rest of the week, so you won't be able to reach me-just in case you're considering backing out.'

'There's nothing to back out of. Listen, you can't fool me. I know your type. Smooth. Good-looking. Good- looking guys are nothing but trouble, and that makes you trouble with a capital T.'

'So you don't want to have dinner with me because-'

'You're too handsome. That's right.'

'I have to say, I've never been turned down for that reason before.'

A snort escaped her. 'Ha. I bet you've never been turned down, period.'

'Have, too.'

'Really? When? Second grade?'

He chuckled. 'No. Third grade.'

'Any turndowns prior to puberty are null and void. Besides, if-what was her name? The one in third grade?'

'Betty Waterhouse.'

'If Betty Waterhouse could see you now, she'd kick her own ass black and blue.'

'I had a blind date a few months back who hated me,' he said in a low, sexy, confiding tone that prickled her