Kiss The Cook

was a cross between Julia Child and Richard Simmons. She stared at Chris. 'Jiminy Cricket. Who's the babe magnet?'

Melanie coughed to cover up a laugh. 'Nana, this is Christopher Bishop. I had some car trouble and he gave me a ride.'

'Sylvia Gibson,' Nana said, sticking out a flour-encrusted hand.

Chris shook her hand and said, 'You make the best fried chicken in Atlanta, ma'am.'

Nana blushed and patted her short, frizzy, bright red hair. 'Call me Nana. So, you after my granddaughter or what?'

'Nana!'

'She's a great cook and she's single,' her grandmother continued, unrepentant. 'Drives a piece of crap for a car, but she won't give it up. She's stubborn but good-hearted, and loves kids and pets.' She peered at him over her bifocals. 'What do you think?'

Melanie groaned and covered her eyes with her hands, but Chris just smiled. He leaned close to Nana's fire- engine red hair and said, 'I think I'm going to charm her out of some more chicken, then see if I can talk her into parting with some cheesecake.'

Nana laughed and slapped her knee, sending her knee-high stocking down to her ankle. 'Well, good luck, son. Mel hasn't parted with any cheesecake in quite a while. I keep telling her to loosen up a little, but does she listen to me? No. All she does is work, work, work.'

She turned to Melanie, who felt as if the fires of hell were burning in her cheeks. 'I'd hold onto this one if I were you. He's cute, smart, and he's got a great butt. Needs some new pants, though. I don't care for this fashion of lettin' your drawers hang out of holes in your pants. At least the hole's in the back, otherwise his-'

'Thank you, Nana,' Melanie broke in hastily. 'Why don't you head back to the kitchen? I'll be right there.'

Nana fixed Chris with a stern glare. 'You fix up those britches, young man, before you call on my granddaughter.'

Chris gave a smart salute. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'And clean that barbecue sauce off your ass,' Nana said over her shoulder.

Melanie smothered a chuckle, not sure what amused her more-Nana's remark or the look on Christopher Bishop's face.

He cleared his throat. 'Your nana is…'

'Outspoken? Irrepressible?' Melanie supplied.

'Actually, I was thinking she was pretty great.' He smiled, and it did odd things to Melanie's knees. 'She reminds me of my mom. Keeps forgetting I'm not six years old.'

Melanie laughed, but her laughter slowly faded as she looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in the bright light. His good looks were no illusion caused by darkness or rain. He was a veritable DNA masterpiece.

Whatever gene pool he swam out of deserved its own display at the Smithsonian. Thick, wavy mahogany brown hair beckoned her fingers to ruffle through it. His dark blue eyes reminded Melanie of her favorite color from her childhood Crayola crayons, midnight blue. His mouth was sensuous, his lips full and firm. An unbidden image of him kissing her flashed through her mind. Full-blown lust slammed into her so hard she gasped.

'What's wrong?' he asked. 'Do I have chicken stuck between my teeth?'

An embarrassed laugh escaped her. 'No. I was, er, just…'

'Staring.' He took a step closer to her, and Melanie's heart shifted into overdrive. 'You were staring at me.'

Melanie averted her eyes, ready to deny his words when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. Her short, curly hair stuck up from her head at all angles-like hundreds of tiny vacuum cleaner hoses had sucked it up. No shoes, torn stockings, wrinkled shirt. And her face. Good grief, her face.

Just her luck. Here she stood, looking like the creature from the black lagoon, with the winner of the GQ 'Man of the Year' contest. Story of my life. I've got permanent when- my-ship-comes-in-I'll-be-at-the-airport syndrome, while he looks like he'd never miss the boat.

'Are you okay?' he asked.

Melanie shook her head. 'I just caught a glimpse of myself. Yikes. I'm surprised you didn't run screaming from the store the moment we arrived.'

He stepped closer and tilted his head, studying her like an art patron assessing a Picasso. 'You look like a raccoon,' he pronounced.

She pasted a sticky-sweet smile on her face. 'Thanks. I guess I won't take offense, since the source of that opinion is a guy whose ass is hanging out of his pants.'

'Touche.' Laughing, he touched a finger to the black smudge under her right eye. 'I have three sisters. I'm used to this look.' He smiled at her. 'Besides, I bet you clean up pretty good.'

Melanie tried to swallow and couldn't. The moment he touched her with that single gentle finger, all the spit in her mouth dried up and left her tongue feeling like dust.

He glanced at his watch and frowned. 'Listen, it's late and I need to go before I fall asleep on my feet.' He picked up the two boxed dinners she'd set aside. 'Thanks for the chicken.'

Melanie cleared her throat. He was the most gorgeous man she'd ever met, and he was leaving. She'd never see him again. Good. Fine. She didn't have time for men anyway. Men were nothing but pains in the tush. She knew that all too well. Yes, indeed. She could thank her ex-fiance for that lesson. Todd Jenkins had taught her all she needed to know about men. And the better-looking they were, the worse they were. This guy probably had more notches on his bedpost than Mick Jagger. Yup, it was a good thing he was leaving. She wanted nothing to do with-

He touched her arm. 'Okay?'

She stared at him. Clearly he'd been talking to her while her thoughts ran away. 'Huh? Okay what?'

'You must be more tired than I am. I said I have to go.' He held out his hand. 'It was, er, interesting meeting you. Thanks again for the dinner.'

'Thanks for the ride.'

Melanie thought she sensed a momentary hesitation in him, almost as if he was reluctant to leave. She discovered she was holding her breath. Was he going to ask her out? Oh, sure. I look like something the cats dragged in that the kittens wouldn't eat. Not that it mattered. She didn't want a guy cluttering up her life.

'Good luck with your car.' He flashed her a smile. 'Brush your hair, okay?'

Smart aleck. 'Change your pants, okay?'

He laughed. 'Deal.' Balancing the boxes in one hand like a professional waiter, he walked out the door. Melanie stood rooted to the spot for a good two minutes.

'Jiminy Cricket,' said Nana from behind her. 'He's a real hunk.'

Turning around to face her grandmother's knowing eyes, Melanie adopted what she hoped was a casual air. 'I suppose a certain type would find him attractive.'

'What type is that?'

Melanie sighed. 'The female type.'

'So why'd you let him get away?' Nana smacked her lips. 'I woulda hog-tied that sucker and made him my love slave.'

Melanie couldn't help but smile. 'I'm not looking for a love slave. I'm not looking, period. A man is the last thing I need.'

'Phooey. A man is exactly what you need. A little passion, a little lust, they're great for the soul.'

Maybe. But Melanie had a sinking feeling that a little passion and a little lust would not be the problem where Christopher Bishop was concerned.

Thank goodness she would never see him again.

Chapter 2