Kiss The Cook

Without taking his eyes off her, he slipped inside her with one long, heartfelt stroke. He remained perfectly still for several heartbeats, his weight braced on his forearms, his hands tangled in her hair.

And then he began to move, slowly at first, then more powerfully, watching her face, his expression intense. Melanie arched against him, running her hands over his back, down to his buttocks, urging him deeper. The force built inside her again, growing, growing, until she felt as if she were dynamite and he'd lit the match to detonate her.

When the explosion came, she moaned his name, falling over the edge into a previously unknown sensual oblivion that for an endless moment erased everything from her mind but the liquid throbbing of her body and the man inside her.

She was still quivering when Chris groaned and plunged into her one last time, pulsing inside her, his face buried in her hair. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on tight, listening to him whisper her name over and over like a prayer.

* * *

A good five minutes passed before Chris finally gathered the strength to lift his head. When he did, he found himself looking down into languid, dreamy, chocolate eyes. A spurt of masculine satisfaction washed over him as he noted her tangled hair and the satisfied smile lurking around the corners of her kiss-swollen lips.

Mine, a deep, primitive inner-man voice claimed. This woman is mine. He half expected to feel panic at the thought, but only deep contentment washed through him.

And I am hers, continued his inner voice. Chris braced himself for bachelor panic, but none came. Again, only warmth and happiness flowed through him at the thought. I am hers, she is mine.

God, that felt good. He wasn't quite sure how love had managed to sneak up on him, but it had. There was no point denying that he'd fallen, and fallen hard. Fallen? Hell, he was splattered all over the sidewalk. His bachelor days were sinking below the horizon like the setting sun.

He shook his head in amazement. Done in by a set of big brown eyes, a tangle of curls, and the sweetest smile ever created. Not to mention the gentlest hands, and the kindest heart.

Just then, one of those gentle hands brushed his cheek. He turned his face and kissed her palm.

'You were right,' she said in a breathy voice that sparked interest in his recovering private parts.

'Of course I was,' he replied with exaggerated male smugness. 'What was I right about?'

'You said we'd have great sex.' She closed her eyes and stretched like a contented cat. 'We did.'

A frown tugged between his brows. Sex? Like hell. Irritation bubbled up inside him. He said nothing, just waited until she opened her eyes. When she did, he watched her expression grow wary as she read the discontent he knew showed on his face.

'Oh,' she said in a small voice. 'Maybe the sex wasn't as good as I thought.'

'We need to get something straight right now, Melanie. I never said we would have great sex. I said we would make beautiful love together. And we did. What we just shared was not sex,' he said, enunciating his words very carefully, so she would not misunderstand. 'We just made love. Believe me, there's a big difference.'

Her eyes grew round; then to his chagrin, they filled with tears. His annoyance instantly evaporated, replaced by that panicky sensation only female tears could induce. Rolling them onto their sides, he gathered her into his arms and held her close.

'Hey, don't cry. Really. Please don't cry.'

She sniffled against his chest. 'I'm not crying.'

Wet tears hit his chest and he groaned. 'Don't do that, Melanie. Stop. I mean it. Tears kill me.' He tried to pry her chin up, but she just burrowed deeper into his chest, soaking his skin with her tears. Giving up, he patted her back, praying she'd turn off the waterworks soon. He didn't know what the hell he'd said or done to bring on the flood, but he was damn sorry about it.

Ten torturous minutes passed before her sobs tapered off into juicy hiccups. He spent those ten minutes alternately stroking her hair and cursing himself for hurting her. When she finally lifted her tear-streaked face, he cupped her face in his hands.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'Whatever I said or did to make you feel so bad, I'm sorry. I swear I didn't mean it.'

Her damp eyes widened, and to his amazement, she laughed.

He shook his head. 'Now you're laughing? Women! If I live to be a hundred, I'll never understand them. Groaning in passion one minute, crying their eyes out the next, then laughing.' He watched her, wary, wondering what was next.

'I think,' he said carefully, 'I know what made you groan. Would you care to fill me in on what made you cry and why you're laughing now?'

She reached out and stroked his face, her eyes filled with tenderness. 'You,' she whispered. 'You made me groan by the incredible ways you touched me-ways no one else ever has. You made me cry-but they were happy tears. Emotional tears. Because of how you made me feel.

'And you,' she continued, 'made me laugh because you were so sweet and concerned that you'd done something wrong, when you'd done everything so right.' She gently kissed him. 'So wonderfully, totally, completely right.'

Relief swept through him. He brushed back her tangled hair. 'I have one request, okay?'

She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. 'Only one?'

He chuckled. 'All right, maybe two. Hmmm. Maybe two dozen. But definitely one.'

Running her hand down his chest, she tickled his navel and whispered, 'Your wish is my command.'

Chris sucked in a breath. 'No more tears,' he said, his concentration deteriorating at an alarming rate. 'Next time you're happy, please smile. Don't cry.'

She leaned forward and nibbled on his earlobe. 'That sounds simple enough.' She breathed into his ear and a chill raced down his spine, snapping his arousal to immediate attention.

Leaning back in the circle of his arms, she looked at him, her eyes filled with mischief.

'Is that your only request?' she asked, arching a single brow.

'Absolutely not.' He rolled them until she sat astride him. Looking up at her, her beautiful, flushed face and soft, warm eyes, his heart clenched. Fisting his hand in her hair, he dragged her head down and kissed her hard.

'Are you ready for request number two?' he asked against her lips.

'Are you kidding?' She moved against him and his eyes glazed over. 'I can't wait for request number two. Or three or four.'

A slow smile lifted his lips.

He couldn't wait to see what she thought of requests five and six.

Chapter 12

Melanie lay back on the rumpled sheets and covered her eyes with a limp forearm. Chris lay next to her, equally breathless.

'I read somewhere,' she said when she could speak again, 'that every time you make love, you burn about a hundred and fifty calories.' Turning her head, she looked at him, sprawled out in satiated, naked male glory. 'There's about three thousand calories in a pound. You're the math whiz. How much weight have we lost?'

He didn't move. 'About forty-two pounds each.' Melanie would have laughed if she'd had the strength. She peeked at the clock. Seven forty-five A.M. They'd been at it the entire night.

'Good grief,' she said. 'I thought making love all night long was something that only happened in the