Blind Date Disasters & Eat Your Heart Out

Not to mention as hard as a rock.

6

“YOU HAVE TO wash them first.” Demonstrating for both the camera and the enraptured crew, Dimi ignored Mitch and turned on the faucet.

Mitch said nothing, which made her nervous. He always had something to say. In fact, he’d had plenty to say just before they’d started, reminding her to smile once in awhile, reminding her to banter with him-as if she needed reminding!-and also to wear her new clothes, not let them wear her.

Yeah, yeah, she’d responded. Sex kitten. I know.

God, she knew. He didn’t need to say it, she felt it. It wasn’t the sexy clothes, either, or her new smiles, or the way she walked.

It was him. He made her feel it, and everything she did in the kitchen became languid, sensual. By the end of every day she was one big trembling, frustrated mass.

But she was on the air now, live, and she couldn’t lose her concentration, not when they’d been doing so well.

She dumped the vegetables in the sink. Luckily her sleeves wouldn’t get in the way. How could they when she was wearing a cropped sweater with short sleeves and not nearly enough material to suit her?

And let’s not get into the skirt she had on. It had to be illegal to show this much leg during the family hour.

She reached for the zucchini, running her fingers over the long, thick length to clean it. Mitch made a low, unintelligible sound, too quiet for the camera but not too quiet for her ears.

Her heart picked up speed. Her breathing quickened.

Hands still running over the zucchini, she looked up and found her gaze locked with hot, hot, hot eyes.

“You have a way with that thing,” he murmured.

She froze, instantly realizing her mistake, but it was too late. Mitch had found his humor and was daring her with a lifted brow to continue.

So she lifted her chin, set the zucchini aside and reached for…a yellow squash. A deformed yellow squash that looked even more like a phallic symbol than the zucchini had. She stared at it, wondering how on earth she’d chosen these pieces just that morning without realizing how…naughty they looked.

Mitch let out a laugh. “You going to stare at that all day, or cook with it?”

“Cook with it,” she said between her teeth. “It’s got terrific flavor this time of year, sliced a certain way and set over the open flame of a barbecue.”

“I was thinking,” Mitch said conversationally.

“Oh, really?”

Mitch grinned.

The camera ate them up. Dimi knew it and tried not to think about it because it had been so much easier when it had been just her, alone on the set, doing as she pleased without this big, confident hulk of testosterone standing around making her lose her train of thought every time he so much as looked at her.

Which he did disconcertingly often.

“I was thinking,” he repeated, still amused. “That the show should be called ‘Now We’re Cooking…With Heat.”’

She was absolutely not going to let him bait her on the air. “That sounds a little-”

“Risque?” His grin widened. Under the bright lights, his eyes glittered and his earring sparkled. Every inch of him oozed a sexiness that left her with little or no ability to resist him. “Honey, what you’re doing with those vegetables should be R-rated.”

She couldn’t help it, she blushed. Her body tightened in a funny way that made her want to rub her thighs together. “Why is it a man has to make everything dirty?”

“It’s a male genetic flaw.”

She made a sound of disgust and grabbed the next vegetable. A red pepper. A round red pepper that in no way could be construed as anything sexual. Her eyes dared him, waiting for some comment.

He was at her side, his dark hair falling over his forehead as he leaned forward and seriously examined what she was doing. Silently, thank God.

She used the opportunity to describe her tried and true method for slicing the vegetables in order to get the most flavor out of them. When she’d finished, and Mitch was handing her a bowl of oil and the paintbrush she used to coat the veggies over the flame, she gave him a sidelong look and went for broke. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated your help the past few weeks.”

Mitch looked at her.

“But I think I could take it from here.” When he merely raised a brow, she said, “You know, handle the show by myself. The way I used to. Without an assistant.”

“Is that right?” He poured more oil into her bowl, making sure that their fingers touched.

“Yes.” She hated the little spark of awareness that stunned her even now. Why hadn’t she gotten used to him and all his blatant sexuality? Why hadn’t he realized she was pathetic, that she wasn’t suited for this hot sexy siren stuff? “Tomorrow we’re cooking shrimp and littleneck oysters with wild rice. A one-person job, really.”

“Oysters. Hmm.”

She supposed that secret little grin he shot her would be considered irresistible. Not to her. “What does hmm mean?”

“Nothing.”

She relaxed and kept slicing.

“It’s just that you said oysters.”

“Yes.”

“You having problems with your libido, Dimi?”

Too late she remembered the myth following the poor oyster. Dammit.

He merely grinned. “Hey, are the veggies supposed to be on fire like that, do you think?”

She tore her gaze away from his and wanted to groan. Live television didn’t make that possible, so she held an even expression while quickly turning down the barbecue. The flames leapt until she grabbed the water spritzer hanging from the side of the barbecue and sprayed water over the coals.

Smoke filled the kitchen set. Managing not to cough, she smiled into the camera and said, “Whatever you do, watch the oil.” She watched as Mitch rescued her vegetables before they got charred. “As you can see, it can easily get out of control if you let it.”

“And whatever you do,” Mitch added, leaning close to Dimi in a familiar way, also smiling into the camera, “don’t get sidetracked by your partner.”

“I did not get sidetracked by you.”

“Ah, so you admit it. We’re partners.”

They were close enough to kiss, she realized inanely. “I admit no such thing.”

“Sure? Cuz it would appear I’ve saved your veggies. Sure would be a shame to lose me, wouldn’t it?” He blinked innocently into the camera. “Seeing how much she needs me and all, right?” His smile was cozy, easy and entirely addictive.

“Break!” the director called. “Commercial, everyone. Three minutes.”

Dimi hightailed it off the set, leaving Gracie and Leo leaping up to clear the smoke. She assumed Mitch stayed to help, as well, but she had a whole three minutes to herself, and she desperately needed it. Racing to her dressing room to take one deep breath in peace, she opened the door.

As she entered, Cami jerked away from her closet and looked guilty.

“What are you doing here?” Dimi knew she sounded petulant, but darn it, she wanted to be alone to clear her head of the lusty haze Mitch always managed to put her in.

Cami shoved her hands, full of something chartreuse and gauzy, behind her back. “Nothing. I’m not doing anything.”