Kiss The Cook

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 movies."

"Clearly that is a misconception."

"Clearly," she agreed. "Well, one of us is going to have to get up and find us something to eat and drink before we shrivel up and die of starvation and dehydration."

He still didn't move. "Yeah, I guess one of us is going to have to do that."

The husky note of utter exhaustion in his voice amused her. Summoning up what little energy she had left, Melanie rolled onto her side, propped her head up on her palm, and gazed down at her lover.

Her lover.

Those two simple words echoed over and over in her mind, inundating her with a kaleidoscope of feelings she'd never before experienced. She'd spent the night with Chris, her lover, doing things she'd never done before. Her previous experiences with what's-his-name had always left her feeling awkward and clumsy.

But not with Chris.

She'd lost count of how many times they'd made love, but the multitude of discarded foil packets scattered on the comforter let her know that it was quite a few. And each had proven more incredible than the last.

But they hadn't only made love. They'd talked and laughed, explored and discovered. Until last night she'd honestly thought sex consisted of thirty seconds of optional foreplay, several minutes of moaning, followed by eight hours of sleep. Chris had certainly disabused her of that notion.

By the time they'd reached "request number three," all Melanie's previous inhibitions had faded into oblivion. The words shy and retiring no longer resided in her vocabulary.

And Chris certainly didn't seem to mind. In fact, he'd encouraged her to take the initiative, and she had. Several times. Much to their mutual pleasure.

Her gaze drifted over him and she sighed with deep contentment. Christopher Bishop had to be the sexiest man on the planet. Lying next to her, gorgeous, naked, one arm flung over his eyes, the other upraised to pillow his head, he was the most incredible man she'd ever seen. And in the lover department-well, the man was definitely a ten. More like an eleven. Okay, he was a 2,435.

Now here was a candidate for cloning, she decided, her gaze drifting down, over his muscle-ridged abdomen, lingering momentarily on his relaxed but still impressive manhood, then continuing down over his long, strong legs. Why the hell waste time cloning sheep when there were guys like Chris around? What a waste of medical science.

Her emotions had bubbled to the surface several times during the night, but she'd ruthlessly beaten them back. This was an affair. A temporary arrangement with no regrets. Yet one emotion had refused to be bludgeoned into submission. This man, her lover, who was as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside, had made her feel something she'd never thought she'd feel again toward any man.

Trust.

She trusted him. Completely. When their affair ended, she could at least thank him for restoring her faith in the male species. He'd proven beyond all doubt that not all men were like Todd.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, but his deep, even breathing suggested that he'd dozed off. Besides, the mundane-mainly the need for food and drink-was intruding. Moving carefully so as not to wake him, Melanie scooted to the edge of the bed. She stood, stretched, and suppressed a groan.

Muscles she hadn't made use of in a long time tingled. A warm tenderness throbbed between her legs, and when she recalled the reason, a blush washed over her entire body. It amazed her that she still could blush. Heaven knew she didn't have any modesty left.

Instead of bothering with the wrinkled, lumpy mess that constituted her clothes, she opened Chris's closet and pulled out one of his dress shirts. Slipping it on, she made her way to the kitchen. The first thing she did was call home so Nana wouldn't worry. The answering machine picked up, which meant Nana was no doubt with Bernie. After leaving a message saying where she was and not to expect her anytime soon, Melanie opened the refrigerator.

True to bachelor form, there wasn't a whole lot on the shelves, but at least nothing appeared to fall into the science-experiment category. Humming softly, she set about preparing breakfast, her hands automatically chopping peppers and whisking eggs while her mind and her heart commenced a heated argument with each other.

Well, that was certainly a great evening, her mind commented. Great idea, using him for sex. Couldn't have picked a better lover. Hey, heart! You stayed in the other room, right?

Her heart pumped with indignation. No, I did not stay in the other room. I was right there, the whole time. Falling more and more in l-

Whoa! Hold it right there! mind interrupted. Don't even think of saying that. We had a deal. This is my gig. You're not supposed to be involved.

Too bad, said heart. I'm involved. Big time.

Mind rolled its eyes. Oh, that's just great. Well, I suggest you UN-involve yourself. Right now. Before you get hurt. Chris is a great guy, but you know he's not looking to settle down. He wants to lead the bachelor life. Besides, look what happened the last time you got all mushy. You broke into a thousand pieces. Why don't you just take a nice, relaxing vacation and leave Chris to me.

Heart shook its head. It's too late.

No! Mind yelled. It's never too late. You don't want a serious relationship anyway. I'm not going to let you ruin my fun! Go away!

I wish I could, said heart. Dear God, I wish I could.

Pull yourself together and just do it.

I'll try.

Atta girl.

Strong arms encircled her waist from behind, jerking her from her reverie.

"It sure smells good in here," Chris said, nuzzling the back of her neck with warm lips. "Whatcha' cookin'?"

A parade of tingles marched down her spine. "Your cupboard was sort of bare-"

"I am a bachelor, you know," he broke in, kissing the sensitive skin behind her ear.

Mind stuck out its tongue at heart and said, Nah, nah, told ya.

Melanie shook her head to shut mind up. "What we have here is my version of huevos rancheros."

"Wow. I love it when you talk French."

Melanie giggled. "That was Spanish."

He turned her around and laid one of those toe-curling, knee-weakening, slow, deep kisses on her.

"How long before breakfast is ready?" he asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Why?"

He rubbed himself against her and Melanie realized he was naked. And fully aroused.

"Why do you think?" he asked.

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. "You can't be serious."

He leaned back and looked pointedly downward. "Do I look like I'm joking?" He started unbuttoning her shirt.

Melanie peeked down and gulped. Holy smokes. He was serious. "I thought you were hungry."

The shirt hit the floor. He bent his head and fastened his lips on her nipple. "I'm starved," he murmured.

The spatula slipped from Melanie's fingers and clattered on the ceramic tile floor. She somehow had the presence of mind to reach behind her and turn down the stove before he scooped her up and carried her back to the bedroom and gently deposited her on the rumpled sheets.

"I woke up and you were gone," he said, kneeling between her splayed thighs. He ran a single finger between her breasts down to her navel. "I missed you."

Melanie watched him, her heart speeding up as his finger continued on its lazy journey and played with the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

"I thought you wanted breakfast," she murmured, hot desire pooling low in her body.

"I do. Later." He trailed his fingers up her thigh and tangled themselves in the curls at the apex. "Right now I want you."

"Oh, well, all right," Melanie managed to say, her eyes drifting closed when he caressed the moist, swollen flesh between her legs. "If you insist."

Thirty minutes later, once again clad in Chris's dress shirt, Melanie poked at the congealed mess in the frying pan.

"How do you like your eggs?" she called. "Black or brown?"

Chris walked into the kitchen, dressed in a clean T-shirt, a pair of navy shorts, and his Reeboks. He looked over her shoulder and whistled.

"Yuck," he said, shaking his head. "That looks like stuff you scrape off tires. Good thing I'm heading out to grab us some grub."

Melanie cocked a brow at him. "This would have been a perfectly respectable breakfast if certain people hadn't distracted the cook."

He patted her behind. "Couldn't help it. The cook was mighty distracting."

Melanie turned and found herself face to face with him. Dark stubble shaded his jaw, and his hair looked as if someone-namely her-had been running her fingers through it. He looked incredibly sexy and slightly rumpled, as if he'd just rolled out of bed, which, of course, was precisely the case.

"I think," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, "that you are just easily distracted."

"Funny thing is, I'm usually not."

"Could have fooled me. As far as I can tell, you get aroused by a strong breeze. Not that I'm complaining."

He cupped her face with his hands, his gaze long and searching. "I get the impression," he said, a frown forming between his brows, "that you think what happened between us last night is a normal and frequent occurrence for me."

"Isn't it?" Melanie shook her head in disbelief at her own question. She held up her hands. "No, never mind. I don't want to know. It's none of my business anyway."

"None of your business?" he repeated, an incredulous note in his tone. "Oh, boy. Listen, we are going to talk about this. But later. I'm in serious need of sustenance. Why don't you put on some coffee while I'm gone." He dropped a kiss on her nose. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here."

A slow smile curved his lips. "Then it seems I have you right where I want you." He grabbed his keys and left, whistling slightly off key.

Standing in his kitchen, Melanie heard the front door click shut.

He was gone.

But definitely not forgotten.

When Chris walked into his condo half an hour later, he was greeted by the heady aroma of fresh brewed coffee, the soft sounds of Elton John on the stereo, and the woman of his dreams wearing his favorite dress shirt, setting his table.

He stood in the doorway leading into his kitchen, feasting his eyes on the sight of Melanie giving his counter a swipe with a sponge. From the top of her curly head to her bare feet, she looked disheveled and well loved.

And by God, that's what she was.

Well loved.

She satisfied him more completely, fulfilled him more absolutely than any woman ever had.

The thing that surprised him was how calm he felt about loving her. He'd always thought he'd panic at the first sign of falling in love-find himself in a frenzy to escape and cling to his freedom.

But not with Melanie. He knew without a doubt that she was "the one." The one he wanted to spend his life with, wake up next to every morning, live with, love with, and share everything with. His plan hadn't been to find "the one" for another few years, but what the hell, he was flexible.

Now all he had to do was convince her.

She was understandably gun-shy of relationships, and he didn't want to scare her off. Yet, his pesky inner voice yelled that persuading her to continue their relationship would be damned hard to do if he screwed up her chances of getting her loan.

He firmly told his pesky inner voice to shut up.

"That was a great breakfast," Melanie said, leaning back and patting her full stomach. "Best cheese danish I've ever eaten."

Chris winked at her. "You should try my cinnamon buns."

She laughed. "I thought I already had."

"Are we still talking about breakfast?"

"Beats me." Melanie pointed to the unpacked grocery bag on the counter. "What's in there?"

Chris stretched out his legs and sipped his coffee. "Cake stuff."

"What do you mean, 'cake stuff'?"

"Stuff to make a cake. It's on your things-I-want-to-do-before-I-die list. Besides, you're a gourmet cook. You should know what cake stuff is."

Curious, Melanie peeked in the bag. There were three boxes inside. She reached in and pulled out a box of Duncan Hines chocolate cake mix. The next box yielded a mix for fluffy fudge frosting. She pulled out the last box and choked back a laugh.

"Condoms?" she asked, raising her brows. "What do condoms have to do with making cakes?"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap. "We have to do something while the cake is in the oven," he said, nuzzling her neck.

"The cake only has to bake for thirty-five minutes. This is a package of thirty-six condoms."

"So we'll have one left over," he said against her lips.

Melanie laughed. "Maybe we should try to pace ourselves."

"No can do. In case you can't tell, I want you again."

"I can tell, and I must say I'm amazed. And flattered." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his stubbly jaw. "Don't you ever get tired?"

"If you'd asked me that question last week, I would have said yes. Today, the answer is no. It appears that you are to me what spinach is to Popeye." He nibbled on her neck. "One taste of you and I have the strength of a thousand men."

"A thousand men? I think you're gonna need some more condoms, Popeye."

"Now you're talkin'," he said, chuckling. "But first we shower. Then we bake. Then… well, we'll have to see." He shot her an exaggerated leer. "I have a feeling we'll find something to do."

Melanie laughed at his expression and tried to ignore her racing pulse. Again she had to force herself to remember that this was an interlude. An affair. No commitments, no promises. She had to enjoy it while it lasted, then let it go. No more relationships for her. No way. Just fun and games.

Now all she had to do was convince her heart.

In an effort to control the emotions simmering on the surface, she asked, "Shower? Us? You mean like, together?"

"Absolutely." He wrapped his arms around her and stood. "Never let it be said that I haven't done my part in the global water conservation effort." He walked toward the bathroom, kissing her all the while.

"Besides," he added when they reached their destination, "we have to do something to keep up with our tradition of getting wet every time we're together."

"I've never done anything like this," Melanie murmured, watching him turn on the water spray.

The intense, burning look he sent her melted her insides to the consistency of maple syrup. He unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that." Opening the shower door, he held out his hand to her. "Come with me."

"Hmmm. Now there's a phrase that's ripe with possibilities," Melanie said, managing to keep her tone light in spite of the ever growing tightness in her throat. Her heart and mind were battling it out again in the Olympic love-versus-lust war. She had a sinking feeling that heart was going to win.

She slipped her hand into his and stepped into the shower.

Oh, well. Let the Games begin.