Kiss The Cook

Chapter 4

Chris lounged in a plastic chaise by the pool and struggled to keep his eyes off Melanie.

Talk about mission impossible.

From the moment he'd seen her in her bathing suit, all the blood had drained from his head and settled in his groin, a fact that made standing up without holding a towel or a newspaper in front of him a bit of a problem. For now he lounged, knees strategically bent, cradling an ice-cold can of Coke between his hands, and tried to carry on a conversation with his brother.

Mark was talking a mile a minute, but Chris had no idea about what. "Blah, blah, blah," Mark said. Chris nodded absently and made a few noncommittal noises in response, but he was too busy feasting his eyes on Melanie to follow Mark's story.

She was in the pool, playing in the shallow end with his five-year-old niece, Amanda. Water glistened on Melanie's honey-gold skin, her mop of curls sleeked back to seal-like slickness from the water. Amanda squealed with delight as Melanie tossed her a colorful beach ball.

Chris couldn't understand why Melanie's simple, black one-piece suit had sent his libido into such a frenzy, but it had. Probably because it showcased her long, lean legs, accentuated her slim waist, and hinted at cleavage, leaving him all but panting to see more.

He raked his hands through his hair and sighed. Good grief, the woman had him behaving like a testosterone-inflated fourteen-year-old. He hadn't suffered such a bad case of tongue-tying, palm-sweating, boner-inducing lust since the seventh grade, when Marisa Guacamora had let him feel her Kleenex-enhanced breasts through her cheerleading sweater. If Melanie had worn a bikini, he'd probably have suffered an aneurism.

But worse, and much more frightening than the lust, he genuinely liked her. Hell, he liked her a lot. She was warm, intelligent, funny, a great cook, and if his laughing niece was any indication, she was also great with kids. Not to mention a fabulous kisser.

The woman had threat to bachelorhood written all over her. He knew he should run-not walk-away from her and her big brown eyes to protect his long-anticipated freedom, but he felt disinclined to move so much as an inch. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him that being a "swinging bachelor" was not all it was cracked up to be. His date last night with Claire was proof of the pitfalls of singledom.

Was it possible that after spending only two months as a carefree man-about-town he was ready to call it quits? Give up the ship, throw in the towel, and involve himself in a meaningful relationship?

No! He wanted to live it up-have all kinds of guy fun. Sow some oats. Date a hundred women. Yeah. That's what he wanted.

Wasn't it?

He'd certainly thought so.

Until two days ago.

He sneaked a peek at Melanie and stifled a groan at the arousing sight of her, wet and sun-kissed, her swimsuit molded to her like a second skin.

All right, so maybe he only wanted one woman. The sexy brunette in the pool. Wanted her so much he thought he was going to explode.

He blew out a breath. This did not bode well for his bachelor lifestyle, but somehow the realization didn't panic him. If anything, it filled him with a sense of relief. No more empty, awkward dates. He could spend all his time and energy pursuing one woman… one particular woman.

One particular woman? Whoa! The enormity of that slapped him with the force of a brick to the head. He could practically feel his long-awaited freedom evaporating like smoke in a windstorm. No way was he giving up the ship. Damn it, he was going to be a bachelor if it killed him!

Clearly he was suffering from a case of too-much-work, not-enough-play syndrome. And if Melanie was the one his annoyingly particular libido wanted, so be it. Surely if they slept together, she'd be purged from his system along with everything about her that threatened his lifestyle.

As long as he was up-front that he wasn't looking for a long-term relationship, he wouldn't feel guilty when they parted ways. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain by pursuing her. What was the worst that could happen?

She could say no.

His heart thunked in protest. No was not an option he cared to contemplate, especially when yes was so much better.

Hmmm. Sleeping with Melanie. Melanie in his bed, tousled from a bout of hot sex. That was definitely something to consider.

And where better to consider it than in the pool? Glugging down the rest of his Coke, he debated how best to slip into the water without anyone noticing his condition. He'd just decided to make a run for it when Mark jabbed him in the ribs.

"She's really something, Chris," Mark said in an undertone. "Every time I look at her, my bathing suit gets tight. I'm so horny I can barely think straight."

Chris slowly lowered the Coke can from his lips. "What?" He must have heard Mark wrong. He didn't just say horny. His brother couldn't be lusting after Melanie.

"I said she's something. A totally bitchin' babe. Cripes, what a bod." A wolfish grin lit Mark's handsome face. "I'm not sure what office she's running for, but she definitely has my vote."

Great. His twenty-one-year-old brother had the hots for Melanie. This had to be nipped right in the bud. Melanie was his. Well, she wasn't his. Yet. But he meant to change that. ASAP.

God, what am I thinking? He raked his fingers through his hair again in frustration. She wasn't his. He didn't want her. Mark was welcome to her.

Okay, he wanted her. But he didn't want to want her. And he definitely did not want Mark to want her. If Mark so much as touched her, Chris would have to hurt him.

"Back off, bro," he drawled in as casual a tone as he could manage. "Melanie's mine."

Mark lowered his sunglasses and peered at him over the rim. "Huh?"

Chris lowered his sunglasses and stared right back. "Mine," he repeated. "Hands off."

A crooked smile slashed across Mark's face. "Whoa, big brother. Not that Melanie's not terrific, but I was talking about Zoë." He practically smacked his lips. "She's the one who has my trunks in an uproar."

Chris gave him a blank stare. "Zoë? The florist with the unpronounceable last name?" Chris's mom had introduced them at the house. They'd exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, then Chris had promptly forgotten her.

"Hell, Chris, are you freakin' blind? Look at her." Mark jerked his head toward the other end of the pool. Zoë lounged on a chaise, her curvy body on display in a hot-pink bikini that barely covered the essentials. Her long, curly blond hair was piled on top of her head, and she was flipping through the pages of a magazine.

"That's the florist?" Chris couldn't help but stare for several seconds. The woman was this close to getting arrested for indecent exposure.

"That's the florist," Mark confirmed. "I talked to her for a while back at the house. She only works at the flower shop one day a week." He leaned closer. "She's a model for Stacy's Armoire."

"The lingerie company?"

"Can you believe it? Who would have thought that Cousin Margie's second cousin's neighbor's sister would turn out to be a lingerie model. I can just picture her in a satin teddy. Holy hell. Somebody throw cold water on me." Mark sat up and faced Chris. "Look, I know Mom invited her for you, and I know how you're into the bachelor thing, but… ah… is there any chance you'd consider…" His voice trailed off.

Chris smiled and gave Mark a playful punch on the arm. "Knock yourself out."

"You sure? I wouldn't want to step on your toes."

Chris looked over at Zoë. Her hot-pink bikini top resembled two postage stamps connected by a wisp of dental floss. His gaze shifted to Melanie. For some inexplicable reason, her modest black one-piece sent a shivering tingle through him that Zoë's blatantly sexy attire did not. Damn. I've got it bad.

"No toes stepped on," Chris assured his brother. "Why don't you mosey on over there? Zoë probably needs someone to rub oil on her back."

Mark clutched his heart. "A dreary job, deserving combat pay, but someone's gotta do it. Can't have all that luscious female flesh getting sunburned." He saluted Chris and made his way over to Zoë. Within twenty seconds he was smoothing oil on her back with one hand and giving Chris a thumbs-up with the other.

Good. Now at least Chris didn't have to worry about his mother shoving Zoë at him the rest of the night.

Of course Mom had changed her tune when he'd arrived with Melanie and Nana. He suspected that his mother hadn't really believed he would show up with a date. She'd taken charge, eagerly greeting and introducing Mel and Nana to the other guests, then settling them in lawn chairs with cold drinks.

Melanie had immediately hit it off with his three sisters, and while his mom and Nana yakked like they'd known each other for years, Chris, Mark, and the brothers-in-law sat at the picnic table, talking sports, cars, and power tools, and drinking beer. Real macho, he-man stuff.

After an hour of chit-chat, everyone except his mother and Nana had wandered down to the pool. They'd settled their belongings on lounge chairs, and Chris had opened his mouth to ask Melanie if she needed sunscreen, but the words froze on his lips.

She was shimmying herself out of her denim shorts. He'd stood, transfixed, watching her pull her T-shirt over her head. He realized she wasn't trying to be provocative or sexy, and that just made her all the more so.

He'd felt himself stirring against his trunks and quickly sat down. That was forty minutes ago. He was still throbbing, but it was time to get up and jump into the pool. He wanted to be next to her, feel her wet skin sliding against his. Touch her slicked-back hair. Kiss her luscious lips.

He hoped the pool water was chilly because he definitely needed some cooling off. Walking to the edge as quickly as he could, he made a shallow dive.

He surfaced several yards from Melanie and his niece and swam over to them. He stood and was relieved that the water reached his waist. Whew. At least he didn't have to kneel. "Uncle Chris!" five-year-old Amanda squealed. "Toss me high like you did last time!" She turned to her new best friend. "Watch this, Mel. It's way cool!"

Chris obligingly tossed Amanda up, catching her before she went under the water. After the fifteenth toss, he pleaded exhaustion.

"Gotta rest," he said, huffing and puffing in an exaggerated way. "I'm an old man." He tousled her hair. "Tell you what. I have a present for my favorite girl in my bag." He pointed to the gym bag under his lounge chair. "Why don't you go check it out?"

Amanda needed no second urging. She hopped out of the pool, ran across the cement, and pounced on the gym bag like a starving dog on a bone. "A new Barbie! And it's the one I wanted! Thanks, Uncle Chris!" Returning to the side of the pool, she planted a wet kiss on Chris's upturned cheek, then scampered over to her mother. "Mom, look!"

Chris walked over to Melanie. "Alone at last."

"Did you actually buy that Barbie doll yourself?" she asked.

Chris ran his gaze over her. He wanted to touch her. Had to touch her. He slid a single fingertip down her wet arm, encouraged by the shiver he felt run through her. "I not only picked out Barbie all by myself, I bought her a teeny-weeny party dress."

"I'm impressed. I would have thought most guys would be too intimidated to buy doll stuff."

"Not me. I love toy stores."

She stood next to him at the side of the pool and stared down at the water. She seemed as tongue-tied as he was. Chris reached over and took her hand, entwining their fingers. He wondered how she would react if he kissed her, if she would mind, with his family all around. He was just about to find out when she spoke.

"Listen, Chris," she said, her words coming out in a rush, "this is kind of embarrassing for me, and I'm sure it is for you, too. I mean, obviously you didn't know she was going to be the way she is, so it's probably best if you just take me home as soon as we get back to the house."

He stared at her, unkissed and clueless. "What?"

She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. "I understand. Really. No hard feelings."

"Okay. No hard feelings. What the hell are you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes and shot him a look that clearly indicated that men were nothing but dunderheads. "Zoë. I'm talking about Zoë."

"Zoë? What about her?"

She made a fist and gently knocked on his forehead with her knuckles. "Hello? Are you home? I know you invited me today to save you from her, but she's obviously not the blind date from hell. In fact, she looks like she just wandered over from the Playboy Mansion." She pushed her hair back. "I don't want you to feel obligated to be with me. Really. Hey, if I was a guy, I know who I'd rather be with."

"Are you finished?"

She nodded. "Uh, yeah. I guess so."

"Good." He imprisoned her with his arms, pushing her back until she was trapped against the side of the pool. He pressed his body into hers, leaving no doubt as to his aroused state. Her eyes widened to saucers. "Since you're not a guy, thank God, I'm going to have to set you straight here." He rubbed himself against her, very slowly and very deliberately. "That's for you. Because of you," he murmured, staring into her brown depths, not even attempting to hide the desire he knew she'd read in his expression. "Just you. I've been hard and aching for you since the moment we got here. Jesus, it's embarrassing." He lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers. "No matter how hard I try, I can't make it go away. You're driving me crazy."

"But what about Zoë?" she asked, slowly sliding her arms around his waist.

"Not my type," he murmured against her lips. "I talked to her for about five minutes and we ran out of things to say. To be blunt, she's dumber than dirt."

Melanie smiled against his lips. "I'm surprised you noticed. I talked to her also. She didn't strike me as the brightest bulb on the marquee."

He nipped at her dimples. "Yeah. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer."

"Couple of sandwiches short of a picnic."

Chris laughed. "I think we've made our point."

"Well, I wasn't thinking you'd necessarily want to spend your time talking to her."

Chris raised his head. He could see some emotion in her eyes, but he wasn't sure what it was. Jealousy? He hoped so. Hurt? He hoped not. He framed her face in his hands.

"Listen: Big-breasted lingerie models are not my type." He made a gagging sound. "Really. I feel breakfast coming up."

She shot him a clearly skeptical look. "Oh, sure."

Drawing a cross on his chest, he said, "Cross my heart. I prefer brunettes with short curly hair and big brown eyes." He paused for a moment, realizing that that sentence would not have passed his lips even three days ago. What the hell was happening to him? Since the moment he'd met Melanie, it was as if aliens had abducted his bachelor self.

He cleared his throat. "Now Mark, on the other hand, is as happy as a pig in mud talking to Zoë."

"Hmmm. I hope he isn't using any big words."

A grin spread over Chris's face. "You're jealous."

"Damn right. What woman wouldn't want a body like that? I've always dreamed of buying a thirty-eight triple D. And if I looked like that in a bikini, I'd wear one everywhere. Even to the supermarket. I'm pea green with envy."

His grin faded. "That's not what I meant."

She looked away and bit her lip. "I know. I'm sorry. But she's the kind of woman who makes every other woman feel frumpy, lumpy, flat-chested, and suicidal." She shrugged. "It's a girl thing."

"Ah. I see a bit of reassurance is in order." Wrapping his arms around her, he walked backward toward the deep end, pulling her along. His family, he noted, was busy gathering up their wet towels, preparing to leave.

When the water reached his neck he leaned back against the side of the pool and dragged Melanie toward him like he was reeling in a fish. When she was flush against him, he covered her mouth with his.

She hesitated for a second, then wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered his name in a breathy sigh that undid him. He hauled her up tighter against him with one hand while his other hand fisted in her short curls. He slipped his tongue past her lips and groaned when she opened her mouth wide to give him access. His senses reeled and he completely forgot where he was. He felt like a starving man who'd been given a feast; a man dying of thirst who'd been presented with a cool drink.

He slanted his mouth over hers again and again, his hand slipping down to stroke the curve of her buttocks. God only knew where his hand might have wandered next if a loud ahem hadn't sounded next to his ear. His brother's amused voice penetrated his passionate haze.

"Sorry to interrupt," Mark said, "but it's time to head back to the house."

Chris lifted his head and glared up at his brother. Zoë stood beside him.

Mark backed up a step and held out his hands, palms up. "Hey! Don't blast me with that look. I'm just saving you the embarrassment of Mom coming down here to get you. The sisters left a few minutes ago." A wide grin split his face. "They were all a-twitter over the goings-on down here in the deep end. I told them you were just doing your bachelor thing…" His gaze shifted to Melanie and he shot her a sheepish grin. "Oops. Sorry, Mel. Just kidding. Anyway, expect the third degree sometime tonight. See you back at the house." He wrapped an arm around Zoë's waist and they sauntered off.

"Jeez," Melanie moaned. "How embarrassing was that?" She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. "I know I'm blushing. How can I face them? What will they think of me? I was ready to strip you bare right here in the pool. What on earth is wrong with me? I never behave like this!"

A slow grin curved his lips. "You were ready to strip me bare?"

She sent him a sizzling scowl. "That is not a good thing."

It was as far as he was concerned. On his list of things he wanted most, having Melanie strip him bare was firmly set in the number-one position. He looked at the hectic color blooming on her face and was completely charmed. He didn't know women still blushed.

Something inside him squeezed tight and he knew he was in big trouble. Actually, he'd known he was in deep doo-doo the minute he met her. No woman had ever affected him this way before. She appealed to him on every level-mental and physical. It was as if she'd reached inside his chest and grabbed his heart and soul with her fist.

And the fact that he preferred the woman in his arms to the genetically perfect and bodacious Zoë was just further proof of his problem.

He had a strong suspicion that an emotional minefield hovered just around the corner. He should run, not walk, in the opposite direction to avoid being blown to bits, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Damn. This woman was putting a real crick in his swinging bachelor plans.

In fact, his swinging bachelor plans were looking more and more unappealing with each passing minute.

Damn, damn, double damn.