Kiss The Cook

fine, but in the few days since she'd seen him, she'd given him a second thought. And a third, fourth, and fifth thought. Okay, a six thousandth thought, but who was counting?

She removed a succulent pork roast from the oven and cut generous slices, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand and not think about their dinner date tomorrow night.

She failed miserably.

Anticipation curled through her, and a vivid image of Chris popped into her mind; him capturing her lips in a long, slow, drugging kiss. His hands drifting down her body, caressing her, insinuating his warm fingers under her skirt. Then, as in all good fantasies, they were suddenly naked, their clothes mysteriously dissolving into thin air. He leaned over her and…

'Are you all right, Melanie?'

Melanie blinked. 'Huh?'

Nana looked at her over her bifocals. 'I asked if you're okay.'

No, I'm losing my mind. I have sixty-three meals to prepare in the next seven minutes and I'm having a sex dream. 'I'm fine. Why do you ask?'

'You groaned. Did you hurt yourself?'

Groaned? Swell. The confounded man wasn't even here and he was causing problems. He'd awakened her libido from its long hibernation, and no matter how hard she tried to beat her hormones back into submission, those darn hormones were winning. Hands down.

'I'm fine, Nana. I just had a dry spot on my throat.' She cleared her throat several times for good measure and finished slicing the roast, praying her grandmother wouldn't notice the flush heating her face.

Nana noticed.

'You look flushed. Maybe you have a fever.'

Nana looked genuinely concerned and Melanie smiled at her. 'I'm not sick, Nana. Promise.'

A knowing gleam sparkled in Nana's wise eyes, and Melanie suspected that a sly comment was about to be launched with the accuracy of a SCUD missile. Wendy, God bless her, chose that moment to pop into the kitchen and wave a lunch order at Melanie.

'Prepare yourselves,' the perky redhead warned with a devilish grin. 'The Georgia Tech basketball team just called in this mega order.'

Melanie glanced at it and raised her brows. Holy cow! Basketball players ate even more than football players! She gave Wendy a thumbs up and wasted no time in starting to fill the orders.

Dinner proved no less hectic than lunch, and by the time Mike departed with the last batch of deliveries, Melanie's body ached with fatigue and her feet were ready to stage a mutiny.

But her weariness couldn't overshadow her exhilaration. If today was any indication, her business was on its way to succeeding, and if her loan was approved, she knew she could make the Pampered Palate a huge success. After growing up loving her father's restaurant, she'd always dreamed of owning her own eatery. And by God, she was determined to see her dream come true.

'Quite a day,' Nana said, easing herself into an oak hard-back chair.

Melanie noted the telltale weary lines around Nana's eyes and her heart squeezed. She couldn't name a more vital, energetic woman than her grandmother, but Melanie worried that she'd overtax herself.

'You must be exhausted, Nana,' Melanie said, pouring two frosty mugs of iced tea.

'More tired than a one-legged dog with a gaggle of fleas,' Nana agreed, 'but I enjoy every minute of it. Keeps me young and fit.'

Mike stuck his head into the kitchen. 'Last delivery is done,' he announced, his relief evident. 'Either of you ladies need a ride home?'

'I'm going to stay a while and get some things ready for tomorrow,' Melanie said. 'Nana, you go home.'

When Nana frowned and looked about to argue, Melanie added, 'Please. If you don't rest, you won't have the stamina to go out with Bernie the next time he calls.'

Standing so swiftly that she almost toppled her chair backwards, Nana said, 'Let's go, Mikey.'

After they left, Melanie locked the front and back doors and turned off the storefront lights. Alone in the kitchen, she breathed a contented sigh. She loved to spend time here after everyone had gone. While it was quiet, the kitchen had familiar noises all its own that she found soothing and comforting. The swish of the dishwasher, the gentle hum of the overhead fluorescent lights. The purr of the freezer. The occasional drip of the faucet.

She loved the gleaming copper pots, the shiny professional stainless-steel stove and ovens, the gleaming white countertops, the sparkling clean floor.

But most of all she loved the smells. The sweet scent of fresh apple pie, the lingering aroma of fried chicken. She breathed deeply and recognized the tang of lemon and the delicious fragrance of fresh basil. They brought back vivid, wonderful childhood memories of times spent baking at home with her mother, or helping at the restaurant, watching her dad flip juicy burgers and steaks while he entertained his workers with silly jokes.

Humming to herself, she methodically chopped dozens of onions, peppers, carrots, and celery stalks, sealing them in stay-fresh bags and storing them in the fridge. By doing these prep chores at night, her work the next day went much more smoothly. She then set about peeling another mountain of potatoes for tomorrow's vegetable of the day.

That task done, she decided to call it a night and clean up. She'd just shoved a handful of potato peels down the garbage disposal hole when she heard a knock at the back door.

Melanie looked at the clock. It was almost midnight. The knock sounded again, and a frisson of fear zipped down her spine. Was someone trying to break in? But what the heck kind of burglar knocked?

Not willing to take any chances, she reached for the phone, ready to call 911 and let the police figure out what kind of burglar knocked, but before she could even lift the receiver, a muffled but familiar male voice drifted through the door.

'Melanie? Are you in there? It's me, Chris.'

Her hormones mapped to attention and her heart jumped. Suspecting she would have been safer with the burglar, Melanie hurriedly unlocked the door and opened it.

Oh, boy. It was Chris all right.

Standing in a bright pool of light from the security lamp mounted above the door, looking tired, rumpled, and sexy as sin. Dressed in a conservative navy blue suit, he looked good enough to eat. The top button of his wrinkled white shirt was undone, his paisley silk tie loosened and askew, his double-breasted jacket unbuttoned. The hint of a five o'clock shadow darkened his square jaw, and his mouth-whoa! Better not even look there!

She wanted to ask him to remove all his clothes and submit to a thorough physical examination. Instead, she pulled herself together and cocked a brow. 'I appreciate punctuality as much as the next person, but according to my calculations'-she glanced over her shoulder at the clock-'you're about sixteen hours early for our date.'

A slow, sexy grin quirked his lips. 'I live by the rule that it's better to be sixteen hours early than one minute late.'

She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers in a warm, friendly kiss, effectively erasing every thought from her head.

'Nice to see you, Mel Gibson,' he said, tweaking one of her curls. 'Are you going to invite me in?'

Not on your life, her mind screamed.

'Of course,' her lips said. She held the door wide and fumbled with the lock after he walked in. A subtle whiff of his woodsy cologne teased her nostrils and she clamped her lips together to squelch the feminine sigh of pleasure threatening to escape. And clamping her lips together came with the added bonus that it kept her from drooling.

By the time she turned to face him, he was comfortably sprawled in a chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She scooted around him cautiously, not getting too close for fear she'd be tempted to jump onto his lap.

The guy probably had some sort of Star Wars force field surrounding him. If she ventured too close, he'd suck her in and she'd never escape. To be safe, she headed for the sink and nervously crammed several more handfuls of potato peelings down the disposal hole.

'I thought you were out of town,' she said, proud that her voice sounded so normal.

When he didn't reply, she looked over her shoulder at him and noticed his gaze was trained on her butt. Heat