Kiss The Cook

Chris entered his sparsely decorated Buckhead condo and breathed a sigh of relief. He plopped his briefcase in the ceramic-died foyer and was half undressed by the time he reached his bedroom. Leaving his ruined clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor, he stepped into the shower and allowed the stinging spray to massage away his stress-induced aches.

It didn't take long for his neck and shoulders to feel better, but there was one ache that he couldn't seem to wash away-the ache brought on by Mel Gibson's lush body pressed up against him. He shook his head. He was definitely going to have to call her Melanie. If anyone got wind of the fact that he was having erotic thoughts about Mel Gibson, he'd have some explaining to do.

He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. Rubbing his hair dry, he tried to recall the last time a woman had turned him on so much so fast, and couldn't think of one. Not one of the women he'd dated in the last several years had ignited more than a fleeting spark.

And neither had any of the women his determined-to-see-her-single-son-married mother constantly threw in his path. He shuddered, recalling the last 'perfect girl' Mom had introduced him to. Turned out Miss Perfect was looking for a candidate to father her child. She had a thing for accountants and was anxious to discuss 'loopholes.' He'd barely made it away from her alive.

He pushed away the unpleasant memory and pulled on a clean pair of sweats, then headed toward the kitchen. Popping the top on a beer, he settled in at the built-in snack bar with his Pampered Palate dinner.

Pampered Palate. He stared at the blue and red logo on the container and frowned. That name set off a chorus of bells in his mind, but he still couldn't pin down the source.

His gut told him it was work-related, but his memory refused to cooperate and tell him why the Pampered Palate and the name Melanie Gibson struck a familiar chord in him.

Melanie Gibson. Hmmm. Chris washed down a bite of cole slaw with a swig of beer and shook his head. By all accounts he should be furious with her. The woman and her dilapidated car had headache written all over them. The next stop for his new suit was the dumpster, and his shoes would probably suffer the same fate.

But something about her had prompted him to offer her a ride. Maybe it was her forlorn expression when her car died the second time. Or maybe it was because if one of his sisters had been in a similar fix, he'd want someone to give them a hand. Maybe it was simply her fabulous fried chicken.

He thought of her, in those wet, clinging clothes, sprawled across his lap, trying to unsnag his pants, and he blew out a breath.

Fried chicken. Yeah. Right.

He'd taken one look at her delectable curves, those big mascara-smudged eyes, and those moist, full lips and lost his mind. Lust had smacked him with the force of a two-by-four to the face. She was cute, funny, and unassuming-definitely very attractive in spite of her disheveled appearance. And he really liked the way she'd laughed off her raccoon eyes and Bride of Frankenstein hair. Something about her strummed a chord in him-a note no one had plucked in a long, long time.

But the timing stank.

His life was just beginning to be uncomplicated. He reflected on the difficulties he'd faced since becoming 'man of the house' after his father's sudden death twelve years ago. He'd struggled to put himself through school, then spent the last eight years helping his mother put his sisters and brother through college. The youngest, his brother Mark, had finally graduated two months ago. Chris made partner soon after that, and now his life, and his finances, were finally unencumbered.

And for the first time in two years he didn't have his brother for a roommate. Mark had moved out right after graduation. No more worrying about walking in on each other while a date was there. No fighting over the bathroom or the remote. And Mark was a neat freak. They got along fine, but Chris was secretly relieved that he could finally leave a dirty dish in the sink without receiving a lecture.

He loved his family, but he was thirty years old and he wanted to play. He wanted to leave his socks on the floor, let dust bunnies grow under the sofa, blast his stereo. He imagined popping off to the Caymans for a weekend, having a beach fling, hanging out with his buddies.

But it seemed that being partner at Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge left little time for jaunts to the Caribbean. Worse, the women interested in beach flings bored him, and his buddies were either married or shortly due to wander down the aisle. Still, he'd waited a long time to live the footloose, fancy-free bachelor life, and by damn he was going to!

Unfortunately Melanie Gibson didn't strike him as a one-night stand sort of girl. No, she was not at all the type of woman he wanted to meet now. Maybe in five years. She had long- term written all over her, and for now he wanted his long-term to be no more than two hours. Three hours tops.

Still, it hadn't been easy to walk away from her. He swallowed a mouthful of baked beans and found himself wondering what she was going to do about her car.

Shaking his head, he forced his thoughts into another direction. He wanted to date sleek, blond, model types. Why would he want a lunatic brunette who drove a rusted-out '77 Dodge?

An image of Melanie sprawled across his lap flashed in his mind and he groaned. Okay, he knew why he would want her, but he had to forget her. He'd never see her or her dilapidated car again. That was good. Definitely very good.

The phone interrupted his thoughts, and he snatched up the receiver. '’Lo.'

'Christopher, how are you, dear?'

'Hi, Mom.' He bit into a chicken thigh and prayed Lorna Bishop wasn't going to announce that she'd fixed him up with another of her friends' daughters.

He should have known better.

'Guess what?' she asked.

Chris's warning antennae immediately rose. He knew that innocent voice, that innocuous question all too well. He stifled a groan.

'Can't imagine, Mom.'

'Well, you know the family cookout we're havin on Sunday to celebrate Mark's new job?'

He'd completely forgotten, but he knew better than to say so. 'Yes. The cookout Sunday. What about it?'

'Well, Cousin Ralph called. He and Margie are bringing along Margie's second cousin's neighbor's sister for you to meet. Her name is Zoe Kozlowski. Ralph says she has a great personality. She's twenty-nine, looking to settle down, and-are you ready?-she's a florist. Isn't that exciting? I just love flowers. I'm sure you two will have so much to talk about.'

Uh-oh. The warning bells in Chris's head reached alarming proportions. He had to do something and quick, or Mom would be picking out china patterns with Zoe Kozlowski the florist within the week.

'Mom, I appreciate this, but I can get my own dates.'

'Of course you can,' Mom said, her voice cheery but determined, 'but you don't get them. All you do is work, work, work. If you got your own dates, I wouldn't try to fix you up.'

Promises, promises. 'Mom, I date. I've just been really busy at work.'

'Humph. When's the last time you met a nice girl?'

Chris closed his eyes and prayed for patience. An image of Melanie Gibson flashed in his mind, and his eyes popped open.

'Tonight,' he improvised in a jiffy. 'In fact, I had a date tonight.' Sort of. Kinda. Okay, I'm a big fat liar, but these are desperate circumstances. He imagined Zoe I'm-looking-to-settle-down Kozlowski, and the picture wasn't good. God help him. Besides, the story wasn't a total lie. The part about meeting a nice girl tonight was true enough.

'How wonderful! What's her name?'

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. Me and my big mouth. 'Her name is Melanie.'

Lorna chirped out a barrage of questions. 'Have you known her long? What's she like? What does she do? Where does she live?'

'I haven't known her long. She lives with her grandmother, and she owns the Pampered Palate.'