Kiss The Cook

Chapter 10

Chris stopped at the bakery for cinnamon rolls on his way to Melanie's the next morning. The place was packed, as it always was on weekend mornings. He pulled a paper number from the machine and glanced at it. Forty-eight. A lighted sign indicated number thirty-two was being served. That was the problem with this bakery-they made the best doughnuts and pastries in Atlanta and everyone knew it.

Resigned to the lengthy wait, he snagged a copy of the morning newspaper from the stack by the door and skimmed the headlines. He was halfway through the sports page when a snippet of conversation from the people behind him caught his attention.

One of them said "Pampered Palate."

Discreetly turning his head, Chris saw two men about his own age, one dressed in running shorts and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt, the other wearing a ratty sweatsuit. Both sported sweat-flattened hair and the faint aroma of gym socks.

"My client is scheduled to close on the property early next month," Running Shorts said. "Mark my words, it's going to be the hottest eatery in Atlanta once it's up and running."

"What kind of food?" asked Ratty Sweatsuit.

"A combination of Italian and Mexican. Eclectic decor, live music, patio bar. They're calling it Spaghetti Loco and believe me, there's nothing else like it."

"Sounds great. When's it scheduled to open?" asked Ratty Sweatsuit.

"In about six months."

"Your client isn't worried about the established restaurant right across the street?"

Running Shorts chuckled. "The Pampered Palate? Hell no. That's not even a restaurant. They're a small takeout place. We'll put them out of business within a year."

"Hey, don't do that," Ratty Sweatsuit protested. "I order from there at least once a week. The food's good, and the owner's not bad either."

"Yeah?" Running Shorts dropped his voice, and Chris leaned back to catch his words. "Hot body?"

"Very."

"You gettin' any?"

"Not yet," Ratty said, "but she's definitely on my 'list of things to do.'" They both chuckled.

Chris fisted the newspaper into a tight ball and attempted to hold his temper in check. Hot jealousy and outrage slammed into him at the thought of that creep ogling Melanie. It was all he could do not to drag the bastard outside and firmly disabuse him of his amorous plans, then shove his "things to do list" down his throat.

If Ratty Sweatsuit thinks he'll get within fifty feet of my woman, he's in for a big surprise. Turning fully around, Chris glared at the two men, memorizing their faces. If he ever saw either one of them anywhere near Melanie, he'd have to hurt them. And Ratty was just going to have to start ordering lunch from Taco Bell.

Running Shorts jerked his head toward the counter. "You're next," he said to Chris, clearly oblivious to the fact that he was on the receiving end of a dark, angry stare.

After one last killer look, Chris placed his order, paid, and left before he gave into the temptation to do bodily harm and ended up in jail on assault charges.

Seated in the parking lot in the Mercedes, he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. God damn it! He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so unsettled and frustrated.

The idea of Ratty Sweats, or any guy, dating Melanie-touching her, kissing her, making love to her, tied his insides into hard knots and made him want to break things. He'd never experienced such hot, pulsing, jealous anger before, and he didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

This caring about a woman business was a major pain in the ass. He'd be much better off sticking to his carefree bachelor plan and dating a string of beauties. And that's exactly what he was going to do.

As soon as he got Melanie out of his system.

A couple of weeks of no-strings-attached fun and games, and they'd amiably part company. His inner voice yelled that that might not be as easy as it sounded, but Chris ruthlessly squashed the pesky voice.

After several minutes, he regained his composure and started the car. Muttering to himself about kicking some sweatsuit ass, he was halfway to Melanie's house before the other part of Ratty and Running's conversation worked its way back into his mind.

A new restaurant was scheduled to open right across the street from the Pampered Palate.

The ramifications of that information hit him like a bucket of cold water. Did Melanie know about this?

But more important, did the bank know? The fact that a competitor was opening so close by could and probably would influence the bank's decision on granting Melanie her loan. It was definitely information that should be disclosed in his company's independent review.

If the bank didn't already know… Chris groaned at the thought. If they didn't know, he'd have to tell them. Or at least inform Glenn so he could tell the loan officer.

Damn it! Technically, he supposed he could keep quiet about it. Who would ever know what he'd overheard? But his conscience would chew at him, even though it was a gray area.

Maybe the bank already knew. Was it possible Glenn or Bob Harris had found out and were already going to include the info about the new restaurant in their review? Or perhaps Melanie knew and had told Glenn and the bank. Maybe Chris's firm or the bank would investigate the empty stores to find out what kind of businesses were planning to rent them.

He wouldn't know all the facts until he spoke to Glenn on Monday. He briefly considered calling him at home but recalled that Glenn was away for the weekend. In the meantime, he'd ask Melanie a few discreet questions. If she already knew and had disclosed the info, there was no problem. If she didn't know… he pushed the disturbing thought aside.

And prayed he wasn't going to ruin her chances of getting her loan.

Chris rang Melanie's doorbell at exactly eleven o'clock, and Nana threw open the door.

"Well! If it isn't the hunk!" she said, her face wreathed in smiles. "And you brought those yummy doughnuts again." She looked him up and down over her bifocals. "Jiminy Cricket. You're a looker for sure."

Chris laughed. "Same goes, Nana."

She patted her bright red hair and blushed. "Now don't you go flirtin' with me, young man. I've got a beau of my own."

"Bernie's a lucky man."

"You're darn tootin'," Nana agreed with a wink. "Come on in. There's coffee brewing, and I just took a batch of double chocolate chunk cookies out of the oven."

Chris rubbed his hand over his stomach. "I love you, Nana."

Following Nana into the kitchen, Chris made himself at home in one of the chintz-covered chairs. He really liked this house, he decided, accepting a yellow ceramic mug filled with aromatic coffee. And he especially liked the women who lived in it.

He scooped a cookie from the serving tray. "Where's Melanie?"

"She'll be along. I heard the shower running earlier. Did you have fun last night?"

Chris bit into the cookie and moaned in ecstasy. He felt like an eight-year-old, sitting at the table after school, munching on home-baked cookies for an afternoon snack. "Last night was great. Melanie loved the motorcycle."

Nana raised her brows. "Motorcycle?"

"Didn't she tell you?"

"No. I, er, only arrived home two hours ago."

The bright pink blush creeping over Nana's cheeks amused him. So did the wicked gleam in her eye. "Nana! You devil."

She chuckled. "Ain't it the truth? Now, what's this about a motorcycle?"

Chris told Nana about Melanie's inaugural bike ride-leaving out the part where her granddaughter had all but seduced him in the parking lot. He'd just finished when Melanie walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning," Nana said, eyeing her granddaughter up and down.

Melanie mumbled something unintelligible and headed straight for the coffeepot.

Nana raised her brows and picked up her mug. "I'm outta here, kids. I'm gonna take me a nice long, hot bath. Bernie's taking me to Chili's for the early-bird special, then we're heading back to his place to watch the Braves game and drink martinis."

"Take my advice, Nana," Melanie said, easing herself into a chair. "Don't drink martinis. Ever."

"So that's why you're looking so peaked." Nana fixed her gaze on Chris. "Did you get my granddaughter drunk, young man?"

Chris lifted his palms in surrender. "No, ma'am. She did it all by herself."

She eyed him with interest. "You take advantage of her weakened condition?"

"Nope." A smile tugged at his lips. "She tried her darnedest to seduce me, but I wouldn't let her. I did the honorable thing and hauled her tipsy butt back home. The effort almost killed me."

Melanie glared at both of them, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug like it was a lifeline. "Would you two stop talking about me as if I'm not here?"

Nana hooted out a laugh. "Oohh, she's a prickly one this morning." She patted Chris's shoulder. "Good luck, young man. You're gonna need it." Waving her fingers at them, she left.

Chris stretched out his legs, helped himself to another cookie, and watched Melanie sip her coffee with her eyes closed. Damned if she wasn't adorable, even if she was kinda grumpy.

He wanted to ask her about the vacant store across from the Pampered Palate but decided to wait until he could casually toss his questions into the conversation. He wasn't about to spoil their day when there might not be anything to worry about.

She didn't speak until she'd poured herself a second cup of coffee. Then she cleared her throat.

"Ah… about last night." She looked at him with those big brown eyes and his insides squeezed together. "I think I may have had one too many martinis."

He watched, fascinated, as a peachy blush suffused her entire face. "How do you feel?"

She huffed out a breath. "Actually, I feel pretty good. Good grief, I slept like someone hit me on the head with a hammer. I woke up with a headache, but I took some aspirin and it's almost gone." She twisted her fingers together, then raised her gaze to his. "What I'm really feeling is embarrassed."

"Why?"

She stared at him as if he was nuts. "Why? How can you even ask? I threw myself at you. And if that's not bad enough, you turned me down. How humiliating is that?"

If she hadn't looked so distraught, Chris would have laughed. She thought he'd turned her down? Crazy woman. He stood and drew her to her feet. Tipping up her chin, he forced her to look at him.

"You have it all wrong, Melanie. I didn't turn you down. All I did was postpone the inevitable." He lowered his head and kissed her softly. She tasted like cookies.

She drew back, her eyes as round as saucers. "You mean you think we're going to…" Her voice trailed off.

"Absolutely. Don't you?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's a great idea. But even if it wasn't, it's still going to happen."

"How do you know?"

He looked down into her warm, chocolatey, confused eyes and fell a little farther into the black abyss of emotional commitment yawning in front of him. "Because I can't seem to stop it. There's something between us, and I can't walk away from it. Much as I'd like to, I can't."

"I can."

He searched her eyes and knew she wasn't telling the truth. "Liar," he said softly.

A small smile lifted her lips. "Well, I can try."

"Forget it. It won't work. Believe me, I know." He dropped a quick kiss on her nose. "Now, I suggest we enjoy one more cup of coffee before heading out on our canoeing expedition."

She groaned. "In other words, let's put this embarrassing episode behind us so we can move on to other, more potentially embarrassing episodes."

"You nailed it."

"Great. I guess I'd better tell you I know diddly-squat about canoeing."

"Don't worry. You're in good hands. We'll have a lot of fun."

She eyed him with clear suspicion. "Define fun."

He laughed. "Trust me on this."

An hour later, Melanie was fervently wishing she hadn't trusted him on this.

She stood at the end of the floating dock and pointed down, a sinking feeling in her stomach. "What is that?"

"That," Chris said, his voice filled with suppressed laughter, "is a canoe."

"Canoe, my ass. It's nothing but a carved-out, six-foot cigar." She planted her hands on her hips. "If you think I'm getting in that skinny excuse for a boat, you're out of your mind."

Chris cocked a brow at her. "You said canoeing was something you wanted to do. So here we are, at beautiful Lake Lanier, a canoe rented and at our disposal for the next hour." He crossed his arms over his chest. "So what's the problem?"

Melanie could tell he was trying not to laugh at her. Raising her chin, she said, "When I said canoeing I was speaking strictly metaphorically."

His lips quirked. "Oh, really?"

"Of course. When I said I wanted to go canoeing I meant I wanted to go on a Caribbean cruise." She nodded vigorously, knowing she was beat but willing to try one last, desperate attempt to save herself. "Clearly you're much too literal-minded to appreciate the finer points of symbolism. Canoe. Cruise. Both boat words that start with c. It's really rather interesting how-"

"Yeah, it's fascinating. We'll talk about a cruise some other time. Right now we're going canoeing."

Drat. The guy had a one-track mind. Melanie looked out at the sparking lake. More than a dozen canoes dotted the calm waters nearby. Farther out she could see speedboats and wave runners racing over the small waves. A shaded picnic area stood off to the left, and several families were taking advantage of the facilities, setting out their coolers, lighting the charcoal grills.

She glanced down at the pencil-thin craft tied to the end of the dock and sighed. Next time she rattled off a list of things she wanted to do before she died, she was going to make damn sure she replaced "canoeing" with "three months in Tahiti."

Drawing a resolute breath, she said, "All right. Hoist the anchor, el capitán."

"Atta girl," Chris said with a big grin. "Just sit still and you'll do great. You're gonna love this."

Melanie somehow doubted that, but she was willing to give it a go.

Besides, how hard could it be to drive a canoe?

Ten minutes later, Melanie knew exactly how hard it was.

Pretty damn hard.

Holding Chris's hand, she gingerly stepped into the canoe. Using extreme caution, she sat down while Chris, who still stood on the dock, untied the craft from the aluminum cleat.

Once her butt was settled on the hard wooden seat, Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't so bad, she decided, clutching the sides of the craft. In fact, it was sorta fun.

Until she sneezed.

One minute she was sitting in the canoe, the next she was underwater.

She came up, sputtering, pushing her hair from her eyes. "What the hell did you do that for?" she yelled at Chris, who stood on the dock clutching his sides and roaring with laughter.

"I didn't do anything," he said, shaking his head. "I told you to sit still. Canoes are very tippy."

"Tippy? All I did was sneeze!"

"You must have sneezed too hard. Don't worry. You'll get used to it. It just takes practice."

"Yeah. Practice," she muttered, swimming to the dock. "That's just what I want to do."

Disgruntled, Melanie climbed the wooden ladder and stomped to the end of the dock. Water dripped from her body and squished from her Nikes. While Chris pulled the rope attached to the canoe and righted the craft, she squeezed water from her clothes.

He shot her a grin. "Wanna give it another try?"

"Might as well. I'm certainly not worried about getting wet." She sizzled a baleful glare at the offending canoe. "Anyway, I refuse to let this excuse for kindling beat me. I am woman. Hear me roar."

"That's my girl." Once again he handed her down into the canoe.

The instant he let go of her, she felt the damn canoe slipping out from under her feet. It was like trying to stand on wet ice. At least this time she was ready when she hit the water. She surfaced and, ignoring the fact that he stood on the dock laughing his ass off, swam to the ladder, pulled herself up, and squished over to him.

"Wanna quit?" he asked, an infuriating grin on his face. His dry face.

"Absolutely not," Melanie said between gritted teeth. "This has become a quest."

He reached out and touched the skin under her eye. "I think you need to invest in waterproof mascara. You look like a pirate."

Melanie planted her hands on her wet hips, tapped her soggy Nike, and glared at him.

Holding his hands up in surrender, he said, "Whoa! A cute pirate. A very, very cute pirate. The cutest. Really."

"Pirate, huh? Ask me where my buccaneers are."

"Okay. Where are your buccaneers?"

She waggled her brows at him. "Under my buccan' hat."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Ready to try it again, matey?"

"Sure." She eyed him up and down. "But this time you get in first."

Chris paddled the canoe and covertly observed Melanie through the dark lenses of his Ray-Bans. She was nearly dry and sat with her eyes closed, her face turned up to the sun. He noted with amusement that she sat perfectly still, clutching the edges of the canoe with a white-knuckled grip.

His gaze slid over her and his stomach tightened. Her hair curled in wild profusion around her face, the sun shooting the brown locks with shafts of reddish fire. Her skin glowed with the sheen of some kind of sunscreen that made her smell like a delicious combination of coconut and pineapple. She reminded him of one of those tropical drinks with the paper umbrellas-sweet, cool, and scrumptious.

His gaze drifted downward, taking in her long, slim legs. She'd left her soggy Nikes on the dock to dry, and now her pink-tipped toes peeked at him. Even her feet were cute. Chris shook his head. Damn, he had it bad.

And the fact that she was such a good sport about getting dunked in the lake made him like her even more. Every other woman he knew would have pitched a hissy fit in a similar situation.

But not Melanie. Nope, she'd just taken it in stride, wrung the water out of her clothes, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and grown determined to beat the canoe at its own game.

That unassuming, unfussy side of her appealed to him more than any perfectly made-up, exquisitely groomed woman ever had. A mental image of her, disheveled from a bout of frantic lovemaking, flashed in his mind and he had to stifle a groan. He decided to get a conversation going before he melted into a sweaty puddle.

"Has Glenn called you about your review?" he asked in a casual tone, gliding the craft slowly through the calm water.

"No, but Bob Harris said it would take about two or three weeks. I'm praying it goes well. This loan means everything to me."

I know. "I noticed two vacant storefronts across the street from the Pampered Palate. Any idea what's going in them?"

"One is going to be a liquor store. I don't know about the other one."

Chris's stomach clenched. She didn't know.

He considered telling her but decided to wait until after he'd talked things through with Glenn. There was no point in destroying her weekend, and he knew the news would do just that. And he refused to ruin their time together with speculation over something that might not be a problem at all. At least he hoped it wouldn't, although his pesky inner voice told him differently. Firmly pushing his concerns away, he asked, "So what do you think of canoeing?"

She pursed her lips. "It's fun. I like the ride, the breeze, being out on the lake. Of course, being in the lake was not quite so much fun." She eyed his dry shorts with a pointed glare.

"Have you noticed," she continued in a reflective tone, "that every time we see each other we end up wet? We met in the rain, swam in the pool at the cookout, and now this." She glanced down at her wrinkled shorts and shirt. "And between your suits and my shorts, one of us always seems to end up with ruined clothes."

Chris nodded slowly. "Now that you mention it, yes. We've definitely developed a pattern."

"Seems so." Her gaze drifted down to his dry socks and sneakers before returning to his face. "Of course, you missed out on today's water portion of the entertainment. You being on the dock and all."

"I know better than to get into a canoe with a novice."

"Ah. So you set me up. You knew I would end up in the lake the minute I stepped into this dug-out log."

"I had a pretty good idea, yeah."

"Hmmm."

He caught the impish grin spreading over her face. He knew trouble when he saw it.

"You realize," she said in a casual tone, "that no matter how fast you paddle this tub you'll never make it back to the dock dry."

He dug the paddle in, trying not to laugh. "I can try."

Her smile widened, deepening her dimples, and Chris's heart thumped. She looked so damned adorable, challenging him, her eyes filled with laughter, a piece of seaweed stuck to her shirt.

I'm falling in love with her. God help me, I'm falling in love with her.

Stunned by the enormity of the revelation, he barely noticed when she yelled, "Banzai!" and tipped the canoe, dumping them both into the lake.

Melanie surfaced and shook her hair out of her eyes. Chris came up next to her, sputtering. He pushed his hair back with his hands and Melanie gulped. Good grief. How the heck did he manage to look so sexy? She was sure she looked like two miles of bad road.

He settled his dripping sunglasses on top of his head. "You dunked me," he said, standing up. The water lapped at his chest. Sunlight bounced off his tanned, bare shoulders, and droplets glistened on the thatch of dark chest hair visible above the water.

Why, oh why, had the blasted man taken off his shirt? To torture her? Those firm muscles under golden skin had bunched and flexed every time he dug the oar into the water. Jeez. The guy was more tempting than chocolate. Than double, triple chocolate with whipped cream and a cherry on top. What am I? Made of stone?

She forced her hands to remain at her sides-not an easy task when her fingers literally itched to reach out and touch him. "Dunk you? Damn straight. You put me back in that tippy little sucker and I'll do it again. I've decided I'm not canoe-inclined. I'm definitely a cruise ship sort of girl."

He grabbed her arms and hauled her up against him. Melanie caught her breath as she bumped into the hard wall of his bare chest, and her pulse speeded up to triple time when she looked at his face. His eyelashes were spiky from the water, and his eyes darkened with that look she was not only coming to know, but to anticipate with bated breath. That look he got just before he destroyed her with his kiss.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and waited to be wrecked.

He lowered his head and kissed her with such slow, long, deep perfection, she could practically feel steam rising from her skin. The stunning contrast of the cool lake water, the hot sun, and the hard man pressing against her soft curves did her in. She knew exactly where this was leading, and it had nothing to do with martinis.

Running his fingers through her wet hair, he whispered her name against her mouth. "Melanie…"

Lost in a passionate haze, she answered, "Chris…"

"The canoe is sneaking away."

It took a moment for his words to sink in. She finally lifted her head and looked behind her. The upside-down canoe floated a good hundred yards away. The paddle was nowhere to be seen.

He walked her the short distance to the dock and helped her climb up. "I'll be right back," he promised, pushing off with a splash.

While he was rescuing the canoe and returning it to the rental booth, Melanie busied herself setting up their picnic lunch. She needed an activity, any activity, to keep her mind occupied and off that. Because it was so hot, she opted for a blanket under a shady willow rather than one of the redwood tables in the sun. The last thing she needed was more heat.

When Chris joined her, she handed him a frosty lemonade and watched him polish it off in a series of long swallows. Good grief. Even drinking lemonade, he was beautiful.

He flopped down on the blanket and helped himself to a sandwich. Melanie nibbled on her turkey club, trying to define the fluttering in her stomach. That same half-thrilling, half-terrifying sensation she experienced every time she looked at him. Every time she thought of him. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying it wasn't what she suspected but knowing it was.

"What's up, Mel Gibson?" he asked in a teasing tone. "You look so serious."

Melanie opened her eyes. He was sprawled on his side on the blanket, propped up on one elbow, studying her.

Serious. Yes. That's what I am. Seriously crazy about you. She stared at him, at his handsome face, the lock of dark hair falling across his brow, and knew she was more than crazy about him.

She was falling in love with him.

Good grief, how had that happened?

Okay, maybe it was because he was the most gorgeous man on earth. But Melanie shook her head and took an absent bite of her sandwich. His looks might have attracted her at first, but it was so much more than that.

He was kind. And thoughtful. He bought Barbie dolls for his niece and was sweet to his mother. He chatted with Nana and was going out of his way to do the crazy things she'd said she wanted to do before she kicked off.

Feeling a tingling warmth on her leg, she looked down and saw his hand resting on her knee.

"Is something wrong, Melanie?" he asked, sitting up, his voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

No. And it's all your fault, you gorgeous, sexy man, you. You have me all tied up in knots. I've got knots on my knots.

"I'm fine. Just sleepy, I guess. Too much sun, too much lake, too much food." Too much man. "All those dunks in the water left me kinda sore."

"I know just what you need. Lie down on your stomach."

Uh-oh. Being in a prone position while Chris was in the vicinity had "bad idea" written all over it. She glanced around. While the picnic crowds had thinned out, they weren't exactly alone. She was safe enough. Probably. "Lie down? Why?"

"Back rub. Guaranteed to cure what ails you." When she hesitated, he made a tsking sound. "Come on. This won't hurt. Just relax."

Relax? Fat chance. But before she could protest, Melanie found herself lying face down on the blanket, with Chris's palms skimming lightly over her back.

He increased the pressure, massaging her muscles with an expertise that left her purring like a kitten within seconds. He worked his way from her shoulders to the small of her back, kneading until she felt as loose and relaxed as a pile of watery Jell-o. When he finally stopped, she heaved out a loud, blissful sigh.

"Incredible," she moaned, rolling over onto her back. "Absolutely incredi-"

His mouth descended on hers, cutting off her tribute to his massage skills. He deepened the kiss, dancing his tongue with hers, and every relaxed part of her jumped back to life with a screaming roar. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she arched up against him, breathing his name.

He slanted his mouth over hers again and again, his fingers tangling in her hair, his upper body pressing her into the blanket. Just when she thought she was going to liquefy into mush, he abruptly sat up.

Prone and breathless, Melanie watched him scrub unsteady hands down his face. Then he stood and hauled her to her feet. Yanking up the blanket and the picnic basket, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

"Where are we going?" she panted, half from passion, half from the exertion of keeping up with his long-legged strides.

"Home."

Disappointment flooded her. Darn him for being so noble. "Oh."

When they reached the Mercedes, he tossed the blanket and basket into the trunk, then regarded her with dead-serious dark blue eyes.

"My home. Right now. As fast as I can get us there. We're going to finish this, and here is not the place. If you have any objections to that plan, I suggest you speak now or forever hold your peace."

Melanie's insides turned to goo. Objections? To making love with this incredible man? Did she have STUPID stamped on her face? Her previous hesitation and reluctance had turned into impatient need and anticipation.

But there was something she had to tell him first-something he needed to know up front.

Taking a deep breath, she blurted out, "I don't have any objections, but I have to warn you, I'm no good at… well, at that."

A frown appeared between his brows. "That?"

"Sex." A shaky laugh escaped her. "I just thought you should know. If you want to change your mind, I completely understand." Please God, don't let him change his mind.

He stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. "What the hell are you talking about? Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's true. My ex-fiancé, Todd, was not impressed with my… er, performance." She ticked off items on her fingers. "He said I was too uptight, too unimaginative, and basically kind of cold. Oh, and I almost forgot-boring. At least that was his justification for sleeping with my best friend."

Something flashed in his eyes. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Several seconds passed before he replied in a low voice, "We've already established that your ex-fiancé was a jerk. Surely no one else has ever said something like that to you."

Melanie studied the scuffed toes of her Nikes. She might have experienced a more humiliating conversation in her life, but she couldn't recall it right now.

He touched his fingers under her chin and forced her to look up at him. His eyes were dark and a frown bunched his brow. "Melanie?"

To her utter consternation, hot tears filled her eyes. A look of amazed understanding dawned on his face. Uttering a groan, he pulled her against him.

"Are you telling me there hasn't been anyone else?" he asked, stroking her hair.

Melanie nodded, completely mortified. She never should have started this. Could humiliation be a cause of death? She hoped not, or she'd be buried in the ground in no time.

"Todd was the only one," she whispered. Oh, well. She'd told him. Let the chips fall where they may.

He leaned back. "Look at me."

When she did, she saw that his eyes were serious, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Do you know what you need?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"A psychiatric consultation?"

"Nope." A sexy, devastating smile eased over his face. "You need a second opinion."

Melanie looked up at him, at that devilish yet tender expression, and her heart nearly flew out of her chest.

When she remained silent he continued, "Important matters always require a second opinion." He dropped a kiss on her nose. "Just call me Dr. Chris."

Melanie bit her bottom lip. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you-"

"Don't," he said, his voice suddenly harsh, his eyes flashing. "I don't want to hear you say that." He cupped her face in his hands. "You and I are going to make beautiful love together. The only worry I have is that the waiting may kill me."

Whatever lingering doubts Melanie might have had vanished in a heartbeat when he kissed her-a long, slow kiss filled with unmistakable passion, desire, and longing.

Resting his brow against hers, he said in a husky voice, "I want you so badly I can barely think straight." He leaned back and searched her eyes. "Do you want me?"

Melanie knew if she said no, her nose would grow three feet à la Pinocchio.

"Yes," she whispered, her heart pounding, praying she wasn't making a mistake. "I want you."

"Thank God," he breathed against her lips. "Let's go."