Kiss The Cook

Chapter 5

Back at the Bishop house, Melanie used Chris's old room to change into her clothes. Once she was dressed, she spent a few minutes looking around.

Framed certificates and sports posters hung on the walls. Basketball and baseball trophies stood proudly on the bookshelf alongside pictures. One photo showed Chris in a basketball uniform, posing with his high school team. Melanie picked it up and studied it.

Yikes. He was handsome even in high school. A devilish smile lit his teenage face, and Melanie imagined a corp of cheerleaders fighting over him.

Another picture showed him in a black tux, his arm around a pretty girl in a pink formal. Obviously a prom. Again he looked incredible. Lucky girl. Melanie recalled her senior prom date and grimaced. She'd gone with John Klingerhammer, a boy she'd known since fourth grade who went by the unfortunate nickname of Itchy. He'd panted and pawed her all night until she'd finally jabbed him in the eye with her corsage. She hadn't spoken to Itchy since. He was probably doing time for assault.

She picked up another framed picture and smiled. It showed a teenage Chris and an adolescent Mark in their swim trunks, suntanned, soaking wet, and laughing. Mark's fingers made devil horns behind Chris's back, and Chris was giving Mark a head noogie.

Melanie replaced the photo, trying to banish the vivid image of Chris in his bathing trunks at the pool this afternoon, but it was impossible. The moment she'd laid eyes on him, she'd had to jump in the water to cool off.

His shoulders were strong and lightly tanned, and his chest was sprinkled with an intriguing patch of dark hair that arrowed down and disappeared into his trunks. She'd had an incredible urge to pull the waistband of his trunks out a few inches and see where that enticing line led. He was lean, muscular, and sent everything that was female in her into an immediate frenzied rampage.

And then there was that kiss. Whooooeee. She waved her hand in front of her face in an effort to cool the blush heating her cheeks. Being kissed by Christopher Bishop when he was fully clothed had left her breathless. Being kissed by him in the pool, his skin warm and wet, with nothing between them but their swimsuits, had practically killed her. God help her if she ever saw him naked. She'd have a stroke for sure.

Not that she was thinking along those lines. Oh, no. The thought of seeing Chris naked was the absolute farthest thing from her mind. Anyway, she knew what a naked man looked like. Seen one, you've seen 'em all. Nope. The words naked and Chris would never be in a sentence that passed her lips. Starting right now.

Besides, after tonight she had no intention of seeing him again. What would be the point? They'd be even on their favors, and although she found him attractive-okay, desperately attractive-she wasn't about to get involved. She'd have to make that plain when he drove her home tonight.

And she had no doubt Chris would resume his-what had his brother called it? His bachelor thing-as soon as he dropped her off. Clearly, getting rid of him would be easy. And that was good. Yup. Very good.

That resolved, she wandered toward the kitchen, admiring the Bishop home, a cozy brick colonial on a shady, tree-lined street. Children's bikes littered carefully tended lawns, and mothers pushed baby carriages down the sidewalks. Very much like the middle-class neighborhood where she'd grown up.

"There you are," came Chris's deep voice behind her. Before she could turn around, his fingers brushed the nape of her neck. "Hmmmm," he murmured against her ear, "you always smell so good. What is that?"

A shiver twittered down her spine. "Chlorine, I would imagine."

He laughed softly, and his warm breath tickled her ear, pulsing her nerve endings into red alert. She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The man was going to make her lose her mind. This called for drastic action. Immediate retreat. She drew a deep breath and pulled away from him.

"I think I'll see if your mother needs any help with the food," she said, proud that her voice sounded so steady.

"Good idea. I'm starved." He took her hand and led her to the kitchen. She spent the next twenty minutes helping Chris's mom, who insisted on being called Lorna, with the final dinner preparations. Lorna was very impressed with Melanie's culinary expertise, and before long they were exchanging cooking tips. The kitchen was lively and fun, with Chris's sisters joining in and teasing her about her name.

"We almost fainted when Chris said Mel Gibson was coming over," they reported with a laugh.

Their banter carried on all through dinner. After consuming a veritable wagonload of hamburgers, hot dogs, and salads, everyone sat in lawn chairs under the shade of a huge weeping willow. They were just finishing dessert when Nana leaned over and poked Melanie in the ribs.

"Who's the hunk?" she whispered out of the side of her mouth, jerking her head in the direction of a distinguished gentleman walking toward them.

Melanie shook her head. "Don't know."

The "hunk" turned out to be Bernie Sinclair, the Bishops' next-door neighbor. He pulled up a chair, and Melanie was amused to notice how adroitly Nana maneuvered her chair around until she and Bernie sat next to each other. Within ten minutes they were chatting like old buddies. Within an hour, Nana and Bernie rose, announcing that they were leaving.

"Bernie knows a great little place that plays forties tunes and serves two-for-one margaritas," Nana declared. She thanked Chris and his family for their hospitality and said her good-byes. When she hugged Melanie, she whispered, "Don't wait up!"

"Actually, I should be going, too," Melanie said to Chris after Nana left.

She thought she detected disappointment in his eyes, but he said, "Okay."

After gathering her things, Melanie said good-bye to Chris's family. His sisters hugged her, and little Amanda attached herself to Melanie's leg like a burr. Lorna kissed both her cheeks and enveloped her in a Chanel-scented bear hug. When Lorna invited her to come back anytime, Melanie blinked back the tears pricking her eyes. They were all so nice and had made her feel so welcome.

But her one date with Christopher Bishop was over.

And she knew she'd never see any of them again.

Twenty minutes later, after a car ride filled with awkward silences, Melanie breathed a sigh of relief when Chris parked the Mercedes in front of her house. Now all she had to do was say good-bye to him. That was the plan. No problem. Piece of cake. She turned to bid him a fond adieu, but before she could open her mouth he said, "Looks like Nana's found herself a boyfriend."

Diverted from her plan, Melanie asked, "Bernie isn't married, is he?"

Chris shook his head. "Widower. His wife passed away three years ago after a long illness. He's a great guy. He's lived next door for as long as I can remember. Since his wife's death, he's been very lonely."

"My Grandpa Will, Nana's husband, died eight years ago. Nana's so lively and vibrant. And alone. It would be great if she could find a nice man to spend some time with."

"And what about her granddaughter?" Chris asked, his eyes dark and probing. "Is she looking for a nice man to spend some time with?"

Melanie looked at her lap. This was her opportunity to tell him. Tell him that she had no room in her life for him. She raised her gaze and forced herself to say the words.

"Look, Chris-"

"Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good."

"You're a great guy, and I had a lot of fun today, but-"

"I don't think I'm gonna like what comes next. Stuff that comes after 'but' is generally not good."

She raked her hands through her hair. "I just don't have time for this. For you. For anyone. The Pampered Palate already takes all my time and energy, and I'm planning to expand. I'm determined to see my business succeed. All my money, all Nana's money is tied up in it. I can't afford to fail.

"To be perfectly blunt," she continued in a rush, "I don't want my attention diverted by a relationship that will eventually die from lack of attention. Then I'll not only have a failed business, but a broken heart on my hands. I've already had my heart broken once. Believe me, once is enough."

"I can understand that," he said in a quiet voice. "My schedule is bad, too. I have to travel a lot, and I've been putting in twelve-, fourteen-hour days for so long, it seems normal. And since I made partner, it's even worse." He reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. "But I'm willing to make time for something important." His eyes probed hers in a way that sent her pulse skittering. "I'm willing to make time for you."

Her heart flipped over in her chest. He wasn't supposed to say these things. He was supposed to say fine, great, gotta do my bachelor thing, see ya, have a nice life.

"There are only so many hours in a day, Chris."

"I know. And since I met you, you've been on my mind every single one of them. I didn't want it, I can't explain it, but there it is." He squeezed her hand and smiled at her. "Hey, relax. All I'm suggesting is that we get to know each other better. Go out. Have some laughs. Nothing serious. No strings."

Aha! Nothing serious. No strings. That was his male bachelor reflex kicking in, no doubt. She shook her head to clear it. "There are a hundred reasons why we shouldn't pursue this… this whatever-it-is."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? I'd love to hear them, 'cause I've been trying to convince myself of that very thing and I'm coming up blank. Name one."

Okay. One should be easy. There were easily a hundred. Or at least a dozen. So why the heck couldn't she think of one? Probably because of the way he was looking at her, his handsome face serious, a lock of midnight hair falling across his brow. It lulled her brain into a completely dormant state.

Her thought processes suddenly kicked in and relief washed over her. "Okay. Here's one. We have absolutely nothing in common."

"That's not true. We have a lot in common."

"Such as?"

His gaze roamed slowly over her from head to toe, igniting small bonfires all over her skin. When their eyes met again, his gleamed with mischief. "We both have belly buttons."

A breath she hadn't realized she held whooshed from her lungs. "Belly buttons? Oh, Brother."

His lips curved in a sexy half grin. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"I'll bet. Are we still talking about belly buttons?"

"Of course."

Her gaze unconsciously drifted down to his abdomen. She nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw the unmistakable bulging evidence of his arousal.

Clearing her throat, she said, "It would appear you have an 'outie.'"

"Constantly. Ever since I met you."

Good grief. Now she knew they weren't talking about belly buttons anymore. She somehow managed to force her gaze away from his fascinating "outie." Gazing into his amused eyes, she tried to recall what on earth they'd been talking about. Oh, yes. The hundred reasons why they shouldn't pursue a relationship.

"Okay," she said. "Here's another one. I know all about guys like you." Ha. So there.

A frown appeared between his brows. He looked puzzled. "Guys like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know. Good looking, er, accountant types. Oh, you might appear harmless, but you're all philanderers."

"I'm a lot of things, but I am not a stamp collector."

"Not a philatelist. A philanderer. Someone who engages in casual affairs."

"Excuse me?"

"Fickle-hearted. Love 'em and leave 'em. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am…" her words trailed off as she noted his expression. All signs of amusement had vanished. In fact, he looked genuinely hurt.

He grew still, his eyes serious and unflinching. "That's what you think of me? What have I done to make you think so badly of me?"

Nothing. Damn it, he'd been nothing but kind. And he scared her to death. He rekindled desires and needs she'd ruthlessly buried when her fiancé had dumped her. Worse, this man made her feel things she'd never felt before, and that was reason enough to run and hide.

She pushed her hair behind her ears and realized her hands were shaking. "I don't think badly of you. You're just too… too everything. Too handsome. Too nice. Too sexy." She clasped her sweaty palms together and shook her head. "A boyfriend is the last thing I need. Relationships and I don't get along."

"I'm not him," he said in a quiet voice.

"Who?"

"The guy who hurt you." He laid his hands on her shoulders and gently shook her. "Melanie, I'm not him."

"I know." To her chagrin, hot tears pushed at the back of her eyes. Drat. She refused to cry. It was out of the question.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked. "It might make you feel better-clear the air."

She shrugged and forced away the tears. "There's not much to tell. I was engaged. The day before the wedding I stopped in at my fiancé Todd's apartment to surprise him with a gift." She paused and took a deep breath. "I surprised him all right. Him and Missy, my maid of honor. Doing the wild thing right on the kitchen floor."

A pained expression creased his face. "Ouch."

"That's exactly what Todd said when I belted him upside his head with my purse."

"I hope you gave him a lump."

A tiny smile touched the corners of her mouth. "Actually, I gave him a concussion, a fact which helped my pride but didn't do much for my broken heart. I lost my fiancé and my best friend in one fell swoop. Not to mention the humiliation involved in canceling a wedding with only a few hours' notice."

Chris gently drew her across the seat, into his arms, and settled her head against his shoulder. Melanie closed her eyes and sighed. He felt so good. He smelled so good. Like warm sunshine. His heart thumped against her cheek in a soothing, lulling rhythm. It would be so easy to get used to snuggling against him.

He dropped a kiss into her hair. "I'm sorry, Melanie. Sorry something so hurtful happened to you. But at least you didn't marry the jerk."

"No, I didn't," she said into his shirt. "But the experience made me careful. Very careful."

Leaning back, he placed his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look at him. The half smile tilting his mouth was at odds with the dead-serious look in his eyes. "I can promise you'll never find me boffing your best friend on the kitchen floor." He raised his hand. "Scout's honor."

"Chris, look-"

"I don't cheat, Melanie," he said quietly, all vestiges of his smile and humor gone. "I don't lie and I don't make promises I can't keep. I always try to be upfront with the women I date. I'm very attracted to you. I'd like to see where it leads. I'm not looking for a lifelong commitment. Just a date." He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe we'll go on one date and end up hating each other."

Fat chance. Melanie had a sneaking suspicion that she'd end up falling hard and coming up empty again. Her stomach cramped at the thought

"The point is," she said, "you've come along at a really bad time. I simply don't have time for you. I don't want to want you."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't want to want you either. So how about dinner tomorrow night?"

He drew her closer, until they were pressed intimately together. The heat of his body surrounded her, igniting flames in her newly awakened erogenous zones. Her body leapt to life with a ferocity that left her bordering on panic. She had to get away from him. Right now.

Pulling herself out of his arms, she grabbed her purse, scooted across the seat, and all but bolted from the car.

Chris turned off the engine and joined her on the driveway.

Feeling completely unhinged, she paced back and forth. "Uh-uh. This is too much, too soon. I can't do this." She stopped in front of him, grasping for any excuse that would save her from this devastating man who threatened the peaceful existence she'd carved out for herself. "I can't possibly go out with you. You're… you're an accountant, for crying out loud. I can't possibly date an accountant. Accountants are stodgy and boring. Nothing but conservative suits and ties. Numbers and flowcharts."

She nodded vigorously, desperately trying to convince him-and herself. "If I was looking for a man-which I'm not-but if I was, it certainly wouldn't be an accountant. It would be a Marlon Brando type." Yeah. Yeah. That's the ticket.

Doubt was written all over his face. "You're looking for a three-hundred-pound actor old enough to be your father?"

"No, of course not. I meant a young Marlon Brando. Like in that movie where he's on the motorcycle."

"So you want a motorcycle kind of guy?"

"Yeah. That's right. I've always wanted to be a biker chick." She spread her hands, palms up. "So you see? As tempting as you are, we'd never work this out. You're all actuary tables and balance sheets, and I long for the open road, the wind in my hair, the asphalt beneath me. My motto is-it's motorcycle guys or no guys."

He nodded his head slowly, never taking his eyes off her. "I see."

He saw. Good. Now all she had to do was escape. Before her resolve crumbled to ashes. Holding out her hand, she said, "Thanks for everything. I had fun."

He shook her hand. When he tried to pull her closer, Melanie snatched her hand away. "Good-bye."

"’Til we meet again," he corrected with the hint of a smile.

Not if I can help it. Melanie walked into the house, closed the door, and leaned back against it. She heard his car door slam and listened to the Mercedes drive away.

Thank goodness he was gone. She should be thrilled. The man was a hazard to the female population. Yup. She was happy as a clam at high tide. Happy as a flea on a hound dog.

She felt like crying.