Kiss The Cook

Chapter 3

Ten minutes into his date with Claire Morrison the marketing executive, Chris realized she was not cookout material. By the time their dinner was served, he'd summed Claire Morrison up as a self-centered bore, and by the time dessert rolled around, he was ready to stuff his napkin in her mouth just to shut her up.

Tuning out her plaintive complaints about her last boyfriend, Chris studied her from across the table with an objective eye. The woman was undeniably gorgeous. Her tall, slim physique, combined with her shoulder-length blond hair and startling aqua eyes guaranteed she'd attract male attention wherever she went. She was savvy, successful, and had made it plain that sex was in his immediate future-just the sort of woman with whom he envisioned whiling away his bachelor hours.

He couldn't wait to get rid of her.

The woman hated everything-her mother, her sister, her job, her apartment, her six ex-boyfriends, and the key lime pie she'd ordered for dessert. Unable to stand much more of her, he quickly paid the check and drove her home. The instant he shifted the Mercedes into park, she slid across the seat. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth.

Chris knew he should be thinking yippee.

Instead he was thinking yuck.

He let the kiss go on for nearly a minute, hoping she'd ignite some sort of response in him, but she left him totally cold. It was as if his hormones had suddenly packed themselves up in little suitcases and left the country.

She lifted her head and stared at him briefly before scooting back to her seat. After checking her makeup in the mirror, she turned to him. "Dinner was nice, but I don't think we should see each other again."

Thank you, God. "All right." He suspected his male ego should feel deflated, but all he felt was relief. Profound relief.

"You're a nice guy," she added, apparently thinking he needed an explanation, "but there's really no spark here, you know?"

Chris just nodded, happy that she'd said it first.

She exited the car and he drove away, inhaling his first easy breath in hours.

When Chris arrived home twenty minutes later, he had two messages on his machine. Snagging a beer from the fridge, he slipped off his shoes, plopped on the sofa, and pushed the playback button.

The first message was from his mother. "Hi! It's Mom. Just calling to tell you to bring your bathing suit tomorrow. We're all looking forward to meeting your friend Melanie. And don't forget, Zoë the florist will be there, too. Looks like you'll be busy!, Bye!"

The second message kicked in. "It's Mom again. Don't forget to bring dessert!, Bye!"

Groaning, Chris stretched out his legs, laid back his head, and closed his eyes. For reasons he didn't understand, he felt irritable and out of sorts. Of course, spending the last two hours listening to Claire Morrison piss and moan about everything under the sun didn't help, but it was more than that.

It was her.

Her and her darn cookies. And those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes.

Melanie Gibson.

He couldn't seem to get the damn woman off his mind. Her, and the fact that the name Pampered Palate was so familiar. While Claire had incessantly blathered on, his thoughts had wandered to Melanie dozens of times. But what good did that do him? What was the point of thinking about a woman who was all wrong for him, and whom he'd probably never see again?

He recalled his mother's messages and puffed out a breath. Mom expected him to bring a date to the cookout tomorrow. Claire was out of the question, and being fixed up with Zoë the florist held no appeal.

Chris suddenly sat up straight. Actually, his mother didn't expect him to bring a date-she expected him to bring Melanie. If he could convince Melanie to go, he'd be saved from Zoë and satisfy his mother's matchmaking tendencies in one fell swoop. He looked at his watch. It was past eleven-too late to call Melanie. He'd have to phone her in the morning. Or even better, maybe he'd stop by her house. Offer to take a look at her car.

Yeah, that's the ticket. Fix her car, and she'll come to the cookout. Bishop, you're a genius. Everybody wins. Melanie gets her car repaired, I'm saved from the horrors of a fix-up, and Mom will get off my back about not dating.

Of course, his plan meant having to spend the day with Melanie. A slow smile spread across his face.

Oh, well. He'd suffer through it. Somehow.

At 7:45 the next morning, Melanie looked at the thermometer just outside her bedroom window and groaned. It was already eighty-six degrees. Another pizza-oven day.

She dressed in a bright lime-colored sleeveless shirt and neon tangerine shorts. She checked herself in the mirror and gave her mop of curls one last swipe with the comb. A slash of peach lipstick, scrunchy lime socks, and her beat-up Nikes, and she was ready to face the day.

Since she had an appointment with the bank tomorrow, she planned to spend this morning making sure all her business documents were in order. If all went well with the loan officer, she'd soon be buying her new catering truck. Expanding the Pampered Palate into private catering was something she desperately wanted and needed for the future of her business. In order to succeed, she had to grow.

But first, she needed caffeine. She brewed herself a cup of tea in the bright, sunny kitchen and spread the newspaper on the large, round oak table. She'd barely tasted her chamomile when the doorbell rang.

Mug in hand, she walked to the door, fully expecting to see one of her neighbors. All the neighbors knew Melanie kept a well-stocked kitchen, and someone was always stopping by to borrow a cup of this or a pinch of that. Melanie didn't mind-in fact, she enjoyed the easy camaraderie she shared with the people who lived nearby.

When she opened the door, however, it wasn't a neighbor but Christopher Bishop, a.k.a. the most beautiful man on earth, who stood on her porch.

His hair was just-out-of-the-shower damp. He wore a pale yellow Polo shirt, Docker shorts, bright white socks, and Reebok tennis shoes. A dusting of dark hair was sprinkled on the most gorgeous legs she'd ever seen on any man. And he smelled good enough to eat.

"Good morning," he said with a lopsided grin.

Melanie knew he was talking to her because she saw his lips moving, but she had no idea what he was saying. Her hormones, however, were apparently very aware that Christopher Bishop was in the area. After hibernating for more than a year, those little suckers were suddenly wide awake and anxious to be entertained.

Yesterday, the sight of Christopher Bishop had jump-started them like they'd been shot in the ass. They had started a veritable hormone-cheerleader kickline. Rah rah rah, sis-boom-bah, they yelled at the top of their tiny hormone lungs. Some action. At last.

Melanie rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. So he was gorgeous. So he smelled great. So he was nice. So what? He was a man, and therefore not to be trusted. A man who'd had a date last night, probably with some woman who'd jetted into town between modeling assignments.

She had no time, no space, and no inclination to start something with anyone. Besides, he was holding a bakery bag. Wasn't there some dire warning about men bearing gifts?

He waved his hand in front of her face. "Hello? You okay?"

Melanie mentally shook herself. "I'm fine. Just surprised to see you. Here. So early."

"I figured you were up because there was no newspaper out front." He peered around her. "Is this a bad time?"

"A bad time for what?"

He held up the bakery bag. "Breakfast."

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah. You know, that meal in the morning that starts off your day." He paused. "Can I come in?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Oh boy. I'm in trouble. Big, gigantic, whopper-sized trouble. Six feet, two inches of the most delectable-looking male she'd ever clapped eyes on stood on her porch, wanting to come in. Her hormones let out a cheer and did the wave.

"Who's at the door?" came Nana's gravelly voice. She peered around Melanie. "Why, if it isn't the hunk!" Nana conducted a thorough inspection of their guest. "Wow, Mel, he's got great legs." She sniffed the air. "Do I smell doughnuts?"

Chris nodded. " Boston crème. Fresh from the oven."

Nana elbowed Melanie out of the way. "Well, come on in, honey, and bring your doughnuts. I'll put on some coffee."

He walked into the pale green tiled foyer. "I hope you don't mind me dropping by like this, but I thought you might need some help with your car."

Melanie's common sense suddenly kicked in. He'd brought breakfast and he wanted to fix her car? She narrowed her eyes and told her hormones to pipe down. Something was definitely fishy here. "Why would you want to fix my car?"

A slow, devastating smile touched his lips. "I admit I have an ulterior motive."

"Don't all men?"

He laughed. "More like a proposition."

Uh-oh. This guy probably dated supermodels-hell, be probably broke up with supermodels-and he had a proposition for her? Holy smokes. What if it was one of those propositions like Robert Redford made in Indecent Proposal-a million dollars for one night of naked splendor and unbridled lust?

Near panic set in. A million dollars? She'd never raise that kind of cash. But wait-no, she'd get the money. And get to sleep with him, too. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hormones switched to the Macarena.

"So what do you think?"

I think I've lost my marbles. You showed up and all my brain cells morphed into liquid and drained out of my body. She licked her dust-dry lips. "What do I think about what?"

His dark blue gaze skimmed over her, lingering on her mouth. "My proposition," he said in a deep, velvety voice that reminded Melanie of candlelight, champagne, and bubble baths. "I think it would work out well for both of us."

Her hormones abandoned the Macarena and started dancing the Peppermint Twist.

He stepped closer to her, until only a few inches separated them, his gaze fixed on her mouth. Heat radiated from his muscled body, warming her skin, and she squelched the urge to fan herself with her hand. Jeez, it's hot in here. His woodsy scent wrapped around her like a velvet cloak and it suddenly felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

"You're staring at me," he murmured, "in a very distracting way."

Ohmigod. He was going to kiss her. Right here in the foyer. He lowered his head. She was going to run. She was going to faint. She was going to-

"Coffee's ready!" Nana yelled.

Melanie jumped back with a gasp. Her hormones groaned in protest.

"Coffee's ready," she repeated in a shaky voice.

"Coffee. Right. That's exactly what I wanted. Coffee."

Melanie led him into the kitchen, mentally berating herself the whole way. This guy was dan-ger-ous. Yipes. Another second and he would have kissed her. If not for Nana's announcement, Melanie knew she would, at this very moment, be on the receiving end of what she had no doubt would have been a mind-blowing kiss. She could almost feel the warm caress of his sensuous mouth. Drat! I mean, good thing Nana spoke when she did. Her lips still tingled at the thought.

"Nice place," he said, settling his tall frame into one of the chintz-patterned chairs. "Very homey and cozy."

Melanie arranged the doughnuts on a serving plate while Nana poured the coffee into thick blue and yellow mugs.

"Mel was kind enough to let me move in with her a couple years back," Nana said. "I used to live in one of those retirement places in Florida, but I hated it. Nothin' but a bunch of hypochondriac old fogeys down there." She bit into a chocolate-iced doughnut and hummed her appreciation.

Sipping her coffee, Melanie stole glimpses of Chris over the edge of her mug. He carried on an easy banter with Nana, telling her about his three married sisters and his younger brother. He genuinely seemed to enjoy her company.

Melanie hadn't dated much since breaking off her engagement to her philandering ex-fiancé over a year ago. In fact she'd gone on exactly three dates, all of them disasters, all forced on her by well-meaning friends. Aside from the fact that she hadn't wanted to date those men in the first place, her biggest problem with them was that they all objected to Nana.

None of them, including Todd, her ex-fiancé, would spare Nana more than a quick hello. Todd considered her a troublesome old lady, and the three dates had grumbled that Nana cramped their style. Well, Nana was not only Melanie's roommate, she was Melanie's best friend. And if you didn't like Nana, then the heck with ya.

But that didn't seem to be the case with Chris. He and Nana were yakking like they'd known each other for years. His warm, easygoing manner and teasing smile were a true surprise to Melanie. He couldn't really be a nice guy, could he? All that male pulchritude and nice? Nah. Impossible.

He threw back his head and laughed at something Nana said, and Melanie shook her head in wonder. If he wasn't nice, he was doing a damn good imitation of it. Darn it! He had to be a creep. She wanted him to be a creep. She needed a reason to tell him to get lost so her hormones would sit down and shut up.

He and Nana burst out laughing again, and Melanie's heart squeezed. Her common sense told her this was bad. Exceedingly bad. Her hormones broke out into a rousing chorus of "Our Day Will Come."

"Did you say something, dear?" Nana asked.

Melanie started out of her reverie. "Huh?"

"You were mumbling. Something about hormones." Nana peered at her over her bifocals. "Are you okay? You look flushed."

Melanie grabbed a doughnut. "I'm fine. The coffee's making me hot." Yup. The coffee's making me hot. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

They polished off the doughnuts in record time. Chris helped load the dishwasher, a gesture that sent Nana into a near swoon. When they finished cleaning up, Nana enfolded Chris in one of her famous bone-crushing hugs. "Any man who brings doughnuts and loads the dishwasher is okay in my book." She clapped him on the back with such enthusiasm that he almost fell down. "You're welcome at Casa Gibson anytime, young man." In a loud aside to Melanie, she added, "Don't let this one get away. He's a real honey. Great legs, too." She patted her frizzy hair. "Well, I'd better go fix myself up and set my hair. See you young folks later."

Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. Ten more minutes and Nana would be hinting about something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Chris leaned his hips against the gleaming white countertop and smiled. "Your nana is quite a character."

Melanie's hackles rose. No one insulted Nana and got away with it. "Character? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey! Relax. I meant she's great. Very funny. I like her a lot."

Drat. He liked Nana. Didn't think she was a pest. And Nana obviously liked him. Why couldn't he have said what her last date said? Something to the effect that Nana was a crazy old bag. Then she could have sizzled him with a withering glance and told her hormones to take a hike. She glanced over at him. His profile was awesome. She needed a cold shower.

"So, do you want to observe while I look at your car," Chris asked, "or are you going to whip up some dessert?"

"Dessert? We just ate breakfast!"

"I meant for the cookout."

She stared at him. "What cookout?"

He stared back at her. "The cookout at my mother's house. Today. At two o'clock."

She shook her head. "I'm drawing a blank. Am I supposed to know about this?"

He laid his hand on her forehead. "Hmmm. No fever, but your short-term memory is shot."

Melanie stepped back from his disturbing touch. No fever? Coulda fooled her. She felt like she was melting from the inside out. "Refresh my memory."

"My proposition. I fix your car, and you come with me to the family cookout. I need a date so my mother doesn't try to fix me up with every single woman within a fifty-mile radius." He paused. "And we need to bring dessert."

Melanie cocked a brow at him. "Wow. What a romantic invitation. Be still my heart."

A devilish gleam sparkled in his eyes. He took her hand, entwined their fingers, and placed a warm kiss on the palm of her hand. "You want romance?"

"Yes. I mean No! I mean stop kissing my hand." She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held on tight, his eyes glittering with unmistakable mischief.

"Nana seemed to like the idea," he said. "She can't wait to go."

"Nana?" Melanie croaked. "My Nana? When did she agree to this?"

Chris shook his head. "It's terrible how the heat affects some people," he said, his expression filled with pity. "I told you in the foyer. Before breakfast. Nana and I discussed the plans while we were eating. Where were you?"

"I was, er, preoccupied, I guess."

"Well, you seem lucid now. So what do you say?" He dipped his head and looked up at her, a look no breathing woman could possibly be immune to. "C'mon. Nana already said yes. And you'd really be doing me a favor."

"Favor? Well, I guess so. I'd say I owe you one. Probably two, if you're the scorekeeping sort."

He ran his index finger down the bridge of her nose, causing a legion of chills to skitter down her spine. "I'm the scorekeeping sort, and you owe me three," he said softly.

"Three! How do you figure that?"

"One for blocking in my car, one for my ruined suit, and one for jump-starting your car. That's three."

"I gave you chicken, so you're down to two."

"I gave you a ride home. Three."

"I invited you in for breakfast. Two."

"I brought Boston crème doughnuts. Three."

Melanie shook her head. "Oh, all right. Three. Sheesh. You sound more like a lawyer than an accountant."

He shot her a woebegone look that reminded Melanie of a sad puppy.

"Hey!" she protested, suppressing a grin. "Quit looking at me like that. I bet you practice that look in front of the mirror. No fair."

"I'm desperate. My mother wants to fix me up with some woman who has got two heads, breathes fire, and could eat me in one gulp." He chucked her under her chin. "Come on," he coaxed. "It'll be fun. And you'll get your car fixed for your trouble."

Melanie narrowed her eyes. "If, and I do mean if I save your sorry butt from the 'dragon lady,' then you have to call us even on the favor thing."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mel Gibson."

"Damn straight. And I have to be home early. I need to gather some papers for an appointment tomorrow morning."

He held out his hand. "Deal."

Melanie shook his hand, trying to ignore the zing of pleasure that zoomed up her arm at his touch. "Deal. Now haul it outside and fix my car."

He clicked his heels together and saluted her. "Aye, aye, Captain." He brushed past her, then paused in the doorway. "About dessert-Nana said she'd bake a cheesecake, so anything chocolate would be great." Flashing her a deadly grin and a big wink, he left. The front door closed several seconds later.

Melanie collapsed in a chair and waved her hand in front of her face in a hopeless effort to cool off.

Yup. She was in trouble for sure.

An hour later, Melanie stepped outside into the oppressive heat carrying a frosted mug of lemonade. Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the sight that greeted her eyes. The only part of Chris that was visible were his legs. The rest of him was under her car. As much as she didn't want to, Melanie couldn't help but admire those muscular, tanned male legs.

Walking up to him, she tapped his Reebok with her Nike. "I brought you something to drink."

She watched him scoot out, moving sideways like a sand crab. When his head was clear, he stood up and wiped his dirty hands with an equally dirty rag. He was sweaty, rumpled, and sported a smudge of something black on his jaw. How could he possibly look so incredibly sexy?

He took the proffered lemonade and drained it in a series of nonstop gulps that drew Melanie's attention to the strong column of his tanned throat. When he finished, he touched the cold mug to his forehead. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Want some more?"

He shook his head. "Not now, thanks."

The proximity of his glistening skin was having a strange effect on her stomach. Stepping away from him, she asked, "How's it going?"

"Good. I just finished changing the oil. I gave you a complete tune-up and your battery is hooked up to my recharger. All that's left is changing the spark plugs." He indicated the opened hood with a jerk of his head. "Wanna watch?"

"Sure, but I have to warn you: I know diddly squat about cars."

"That's okay. I know diddly squat about making dessert."

Melanie followed him to the front of the car, watching him open a package of what she assumed were spark plugs. She wasn't sure what fascinated her more-the ease with which he selected foreign-looking items from his toolbox, or the way his muscles bunched and flexed while he worked. Whatever it was, she was soon thoroughly engrossed, and surprisingly curious.

She leaned over the engine with him, watching his every move, and asked a hundred questions.

"What's that little do-flickit?"

"That's the air filter," he said, screwing a spark plug into place.

"How about that thingamabob there?"

"The carburetor."

"I've heard of that. What's it do?"

"It vaporizes liquid fuel and controls its mixing with air for combustion in the engine."

"Uh-huh. And the English translation of that is…?"

"It makes the car go vroooomm."

"Ah."

She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Whew. It sure is hot out here."

Chris snuck a glance at her and nodded in mental agreement. Hot as hell. And every time he looked at her, in her neon shorts and bright green top, it got a little hotter.

Her skin was the color of warm honey, and his fingers itched to sample its soft smoothness. Her reddish-brown hair was a riotous cap of untamed curls that begged to be touched. Her eyes reminded him of sweet, gooey, yummy chocolate, and her mouth… whoa! Her mouth made him think of carnal things that made sweat pool in his socks.

Her finger bounced back and forth and he answered all her questions, falling more and more in lust with each passing minute. His mind tried to convince his hormones that this was not the woman they were looking for-this woman was more than a one-nighter and represented a serious threat to his bachelor freedom-but his hormones were having none of it.

This is the one we want, his hormones said. This one right here, who doesn't know an oil filter from a brake pad. The one who smells like fresh-baked brownies and stares at you with those big chocolatey-brown eyes. Now do something about it before we get nasty.

She pointed to something else, asking what it was. When he turned his head to explain the intricacies of the wiper-fluid dispenser, they bumped noses. Chris froze and stared into her startled eyes.

She was so close-so heart-stoppingly close.

Before she could back away, and before he could change his mind, he did what he'd wanted to do since almost the first moment he saw her. He angled his head and brushed his mouth lightly over hers.

He should have expected the electric sizzle that crackled through him, but it was so strong, he nearly groaned. All thoughts of spark plugs, do-flickits, and thingamabobs drained from his head. He reached for her, pulling them both to their feet. Their heads smacked into the raised hood at the same time.

"Ouch!" Melanie yelped, rubbing the top of her head. "Wow. I feel dizzy. I bet I have a concussion."

Chris wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her close, and ran gentle fingers over the small lump forming on her head. "Me, too."

She gazed up at him. "You think you have a concussion?"

"No. I feel dizzy. And it has nothing to do with hitting my head."

"The heat getting to you?"

His gaze settled on her mouth. "You could say that."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, my. You're going to kiss me again."

"That okay?"

"I'm not sure. The first one almost knocked me unconscious."

He took her face between his hands and lowered his head. "Yeah," he breathed against her mouth. "I know exactly what you mean."

Melanie decided that if their first kiss almost knocked her unconscious, their second kiss-which just sort of melted into their third, fourth, and fifth kisses-blew her socks right off the soles of her steaming feet.

He kissed her gently at first, almost an experimental tasting of lips. When he glided his mouth over hers more insistently, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. Good thing, too, because a few seconds later he slid his tongue into her mouth and her knees fell off.

She groaned and leaned into him, opening her mouth, eager for the warm invasion of his silky tongue brushing against hers. She hadn't been kissed in so long. And never this well. Never by someone who made her want to crawl into the same clothes with him and never come out. His bare legs brushed against hers and all the blood drained from her head and settled in a hot, bubbling pool in her belly.

His lips trailed a path of heat down the side of her neck while his hands slid down to her butt and hauled her up tight against him. She plunged her fingers into his thick hair and pressed herself closer. Either he was in the habit of carrying a cucumber around in his pocket, or he was as shaken by their kiss as she was.

When they finally came up for air, they stared at each other. "Holy smokes," she said when she could find her voice. "What was that?"

He looked as dazed as she felt. "I think," he said in a velvety rasp that brought to mind satin sheets and hot sex, "that was spontaneous combustion." He buried his face in her neck and breathed in. "You smell incredible. Like fresh-baked brownies and Ivory soap."

"Yup. That's one of my specialties. Ivory brownies. You eat and wash up at the same time. It's a real time-saver."

He touched his tongue to the side of her neck. "Sounds great."

"Glad you think so," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "I baked them just for you."

He lifted his head. "Brownies? For me?"

"Well, for the cookout. You said chocolate, and you look like the brownie type."

"What's the brownie type?"

The yummy, delicious, drool-inspiring, want-to-scarf-you-down in two bites and then go back for seconds type. "You're a male. That makes you the brownie type."

He leaned forward and gently bit the sensitive skin behind her ear. "If they taste half as good as you do, I'll be in heaven."

Melanie inhaled a deep breath and tried to calm her frazzled nerves, but it was hard to do with her hormones jumping up and down, giving each other high fives. "My toes feel like they're being barbecued over a slow flame."

He straightened, a sheepish, lopsided grin touching his lips. "I don't even want to mention what part of my anatomy feels like it's roasting over a flame," he said in that same velvety, goose-bump-inducing voice.

Melanie clearly read the desire and passion in his darkened eyes. "I think I have a pretty good idea. It's kinda hard to miss, seeing how it's poking me in the belly and all." She knew she should step back, away from him, away from his obvious arousal, but her feet refused to cooperate. Her feet were very happy right where they were. In fact, her whole body was perfectly content plastered smack up against his.

He cleared his throat and stepped back. "I, ah, think I'm done with the car."

"Oh?" What car? She managed to drag her gaze from his face and saw her Dodge. Memory returned. Ah. That car.

"Give me your keys and I'll try it out."

Melanie handed him the keys. "Watch the broken springs. I wouldn't want you to open an artery."

"Thanks," he said, his tone unmistakably dry.

Gingerly sitting on the seat, he slid the key in the ignition. The engine turned over on the third try.

He disconnected the battery recharger and slammed the hood of her car. "That should hold you for a while, but you need to have a mechanic look it over." He glanced at the crack in the windshield and the missing radio antenna. "Actually, what you need is a new car."

"Sorry, but a new car isn't in the budget. I'll just feed this baby a couple quarts of motor oil and she'll be fine." A hot wave of embarrassment washed over her, and Melanie looked down at her Nikes. Two minutes ago they were kissing like they couldn't get enough of each other, and now she didn't know what to say. She was scared to death that he was going to kiss her again.

She was scared to death that he wasn't.

He reached out and entwined their fingers. Lifting her hand to his mouth, he asked, "What's the matter, Mel Gibson? You look nervous." He took a step closer to her, until their bare legs brushed. "Am I making you nervous?"

"Certainly not," she lied in her haughtiest tone. Nervous? He made her more nervous than a dog on its way to the vet. And if he brushed the palm of her hand with his tongue once more, she was going to break out in hives. And probably rip off his clothes.

"You make me nervous," he said against her palm, his breath beating warmly on her skin.

"I do?"

"Big time. Every time I look at you my stomach feels weird."

"Probably ate some bad Boston crème," she suggested with a shaky laugh.

"I don't think so. But we can argue about it later."

"Later?"

"Yeah. I'll pick you and Nana up around one-thirty."

He neatly replaced his tools. Melanie tried not to notice how tanned and strong his arms looked, or how incredible they'd felt wrapped around her. She failed completely. She noticed and she remembered.

"There's a pool at my mom's subdivision," he said when he finished, "so bring your bathing suit. And don't forget dessert."

"Umm… dessert, Nana, bathing suit. Got it. Anything else?"

He brushed his mouth over hers in a quick kiss, then tousled her hair. "Nope. See ya, Mel." He ambled off to his car, whistling, like he hadn't a care in the world. Infuriating man. First he kissed her into oblivion, then he rumpled her hair like she was a dog.

After watching him drive away, Melanie walked into the house in a daze. She should have told him that she didn't want to see him again. When he'd offered his proposition, she should have said, "Sorry Chris, but I have no time for you and I don't want a relationship." Somehow that had turned into "Sure, I'll go to the cookout and bring dessert."

And now he'd kissed her. Kissed her until she'd all but melted into a steaming puddle on the driveway. She should have given him and his doughnuts a cheery adios and wished him a nice life. She should have slammed the door on his beautiful face. She should have-

Nana tapped her on the shoulder. "You've been standing here in the foyer for a good five minutes, staring off into space. You okay?"

Melanie snapped out of her fog. Okay? Not exactly. She felt like she'd been sucker punched in the heart. "I'm fine."

A sly grin eased over Nana's wrinkled face and she nudged Melanie in the ribs. "Great kisser, huh?"

Fire burned in Melanie's cheeks, but there was no point in denying it. Nana could read her like a book. "Actually, great is an understatement."

Nana slapped her knee and let out a whoop of laughter. "Well, it's about time! But I do have one piece of advice."

Good. Advice is what she needed. Levelheaded adult advice from her wise grandma. "I'm listening."

"Better change your shorts before you meet his mama." Nana cast a pointed glance at Melanie's rear. "Mr. Great Kisser left a motor oil handprint on your butt." With that, Nana walked into the kitchen, chuckling.

Melanie twisted around and groaned. The seat of her shorts bore the black imprint of Chris's large hand. She didn't know much about motor oil, but she suspected it would be nearly impossible to wash it out of cloth. Now they were even on the ruined clothes thing, although she was only out a pair of shorts. He'd lost a suit.

She glanced again at the handprint and heat shimmered through her at the memory of him pulling her close, letting her feel his desire.

She needed to stay away from him.

In fact, she never wanted to see him again.

Damn it, she couldn't wait until 1:30.