Kiss The Cook

Chapter 6

"The only thing all that pacing is gonna give you is varicose veins," Nana said the next afternoon at the Pampered Palate, peering over her bifocals at Melanie. "Back and forth. Back and forth. It's like watchin' a dang tennis match. If you don't knock it off, I'm gonna need a chiropractor."

Melanie raked her hands through her hair. "I can't help it, Nana. The accountants will be here in an hour. There's so much riding on this independent review-the loan, the truck, Pampered Palate's future." She stopped and pressed her hand to her flopping stomach. "Do you realize that if all goes well, we could have our catering truck within two months?"

"A whole lot of good it'll do us if you're in the hospital," Nana stated. "Calm yourself. You said everything went fine at the bank this morning."

"It did," Melanie agreed, a rush of pleasure washing over her. "The loan officer was very impressed by the Pampered Palate and our plans for the future."

Noticing Nana's scowl, Melanie forced herself to sit down. She immediately started shredding a paper napkin emblazoned with the red and blue Pampered Palate logo.

"It's really happening, Nana," she said, elated and terrified at the same time. "It looks like our hard work is finally going to pay off." Nerves cramped her stomach and she groaned. "Jeez. I hope success isn't going to make me sick."

"Listen, honey, you've got to relax. Look how well you've done in only a few months." She patted Melanie's hand. "Those bankers will give you the loan."

"Only if we get a favorable review from the accountants."

Nana huffed out a breath. "Those accountants give us any trouble, I'll swat them upside their heads with a skillet."

For the first time in hours, Melanie managed a smile. "I appreciate it, Nana, but it probably won't help our cause if we're in the slammer for assault and battery."

Nana puckered her brow and nodded. "Hmmm. You're right. I guess we'd better settle for Plan B."

"Plan B?"

"Fresh-baked apple pie. With homemade vanilla ice cream." A big smile creased Nana's wrinkled face. "Like I always say, if you can't beat 'em, bribe 'em."

Melanie laughed. Everything was going to be okay. As always, Nana was there to keep her sane. "Sounds good to me."

"You're darn tootin'," Nana said. "As we're so fond of saying here at the Pampered Palate, let's get cookin'!"

Chris sat in his corner office and reached for the stack of financial statements piled on his mahogany desk. His morning had consisted of writing a proposal for a new client, a series of budget meetings, and lunch with a prospective new hire.

Turning his attention to the mountain of paperwork awaiting him, he pored over the balance sheets and income and cash flow statements, but he found it difficult to concentrate on the endless columns of figures.

The numbers blurred and ran together as images of Melanie flashed through his mind, distracting him, disrupting his train of thought. Her bright smile and infectious laugh. Those chocolatey eyes and full, kissable lips.

The incredible taste of those full, kissable lips.

Remembering their steamy kisses killed whatever small bit of concentration he had left. Tossing down his pencil in defeat, he decided he needed a strong cup of coffee. He was just about to head for the break room when Glenn Waxman, the senior partner, walked into his office and closed the door behind him.

Chris immediately noticed two things. One, Glenn held a manila folder in one hand. And two, Glenn had his other hand clapped over his mouth.

"What's up, Glenn?"

"Hmmphttpshm," replied Glenn through his fingers.

Chris laughed. "I might understand you better if you moved your hand."

"Hmmphttspm." Glenn removed his hand and curled back his upper lip.

His two front teeth were gone.

"What the hell happened to you?" Chris asked, staring at the gaping black hole in amazement. The always perfectly groomed Glenn Waxman looked like a full-grown second-grader.

"I lotht my crownth," Glenn said, his face puckered in a grimace. "I've got an emergenthy dentith appointment." He thrust the manila folder into Chris's hands. "Can you handle thith for me? Shouldn't take you more than an hour."

"Sure. No problem."

"Thankth. I owe ya one."

"How could I say no to a guy who sounds like Daffy Duck?"

"Ha, ha, ha. You're hythterical. Thee you tomorrow." Glenn clapped his hand over his mouth and left.

Postponing his coffee break for the moment, Chris opened the folder Glenn had given him. He froze the instant he saw the name at the top of the first page.

Melanie Gibson.

His attention riveted, he scanned Glenn's notes. Melanie was applying for a fifty-thousand-dollar loan to purchase a catering truck and had hired Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge to conduct the independent review required by the bank. Chris noted that the bank was one of his firm's clients.

So that's why the name Pampered Palate had seemed so familiar to him. He must have heard Glenn or one of the other partners talking about the upcoming review. As it wasn't his client, he wouldn't have paid particular attention.

Until now.

According to Glenn's scribbled notes, he needed conduct an on-site inspection of the facilities and pick up the client's paperwork and books. Bob Harris, a junior accountant, would be handling the actual review. They had an appointment at the Pampered Palate at four o'clock.

Chris glanced at his watch. Ten past three. A slow smile eased over his face. He'd known he would see Melanie again-he'd had every intention of making sure that happened.

He just hadn't realized it would happen quite so soon.

At five minutes to four, Melanie paced around the Pampered Palate's kitchen like an expectant father in a maternity waiting room. The butterflies in her stomach had butterflies. She tried taking deep breaths, but she was afraid she would hyperventilate.

There's no reason to be nervous. Of course not. It's not like this was important or anything.

Nana laid a comforting hand on Melanie's arm. "Calm yourself. The apple pie is cooling, the ice cream is made, and the dinner rush won't start for another hour. It's not going to help if you faint on them."

Melanie smiled and laid her hand over Nana's. "I know. I just want everything to be perfect."

"Everything is perfect. Stop worrying. You'll get pimples."

"Goodness knows I don't need…" Her voice trailed off as the bell on the front door jingled. "Oh, boy. It's them." Squaring her shoulders, she drew a deep breath, beat back her panic, and left the kitchen.

Two tall men stood in the front room. One was handsome and unfamiliar.

The other one smiled at her and she all but swallowed her tongue.

Good grief, what was he doing here? She couldn't talk to him now. The accountants were coming!

And darn him for casually dropping by and reminding her how beautiful he was. It had been at least three minutes since she'd thought of him. How was she supposed to forget him if he kept on showing up?

Forcing a calm she definitely didn't feel, Melanie walked around the counter. Before she could utter a word, the unfamiliar man asked, "Are you Miss Gibson?"

At her nod he extended his hand. "I'm Bob Harris. From Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge. Chris tells me the two of you have already met."

Melanie wasn't sure what kind of expression she had on her face, but whatever it was, it prompted Bob Harris from Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge to add, "We're the accountants. I, er, believe you were expecting us?"

Melanie shook his hand, somehow remembering how to speak. "I had an appointment with Glenn Waxman."

When Chris extended his hand, Melanie shook it and tried to ignore the sizzle that snaked up her arm at his touch.

"Glenn had an emergency," Chris said, holding her hand just a bit longer than necessary. "He asked me to fill in for him today. Bob here will be doing the bulk of the work, and Glenn will review it."

"So the accounting firm you work for is-"

"Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge," Chris said. "Guardian Savings and Loan is our client."

"I see." Perfect. Just when she needed all her wits about her, she was faced with the one man who made her forget her own name.

Melanie decided her only defense was to not look at him. If she didn't see him, she wouldn't think about him. If she didn't think about him, she could concentrate on the task at hand. She therefore focused her attention on Bob Harris with the zeal of a scientist peering at brain cells through a microscope. "What do we do first?"

"Let's start with a tour of the facilities," Bob suggested with a friendly smile. He sniffed. "It sure smells great in here. Like apple pie."

"We just took one out of the oven," Melanie said, mentally blessing Nana as she led the way toward the kitchen. "Maybe you'd like a piece with some homemade vanilla ice cream before you leave?"

"Sounds great," said Bob.

The instant they entered the kitchen, Nana descended on them. "Well, if it isn't the hunk," she said, her face wreathed in a huge smile. She enveloped Chris in a bone-jarring hug, leaving floury hand prints on the back of his navy suit jacket.

"Nice to see you, Nana," Chris said, grinning.

"You, too, handsome." She jerked her head toward Bob. "You bring him along for me for a double date? He's kinda young, but that's okay. He's real cute. Great butt." She turned to Bob. "Want some pie, honey?"

The expression on Bob's face reminded Melanie of a driver's license photo-bewildered and dumbstruck. Choking back a laugh she said, "Nana, Chris and Bob are the accountants we've been expecting."

Nana looked crestfallen. "You mean no double date?"

Melanie shook her head. "’Fraid not."

"Dang it." Nana shrugged in a philosophical manner. "Oh, well, I'd best get back to work. Let me know when you're ready for that pie."

Melanie led the two of them on a complete tour of the spacious professional kitchen, explaining the daily operations.

"Each day starts off with our morning deliveries," she said. "Fresh bread and produce arrive daily; meat and fish usually twice a week. In addition to our regular menu, we offer two daily specials."

Indicating the huge freezer, she continued, "Some items, such as tomato sauce and soup stocks, are prepared ahead of time and frozen, but the bulk of our fare is made fresh every day. The morning is spent preparing for the lunch rush, and during the late-afternoon lull we get ready for dinner. We do a decent walk-in business, but corporate lunches and dinners are our specialty."

While she spoke, she noticed that Bob scribbled copious notes on a yellow legal pad, occasionally asking questions. Chris paid rapt attention but said nothing.

She dared a peek at him once, and her cheeks flamed when she discovered his gaze resting thoughtfully on her mouth. Although he stood a dozen feet away from her, it seemed as if he'd caressed her. He glanced up and their eyes met. The long, intense, heated look he gave her stopped her in midsentence.

Her mind emptied and a tremor sizzled through her. She couldn't have felt more scorched if she'd backed up into a 450-degree oven. Completely flustered, she turned away from him and focused her attention back on Bob.

Forty-five minutes later, Melanie said, "Well, that's it, gentlemen. Do you have any other questions?"

Bob shook his head. "No, I think I have everything I need. If you'll just give me your books and business records, I'll be finished."

Melanie pointed to a shopping bag bearing the Pampered Palate logo. "Everything's in there. Books, bills, receipts, corporate records, bank statements, the works."

Bob shot her a smile. "Great. You'll hear from us in two to three weeks. Now how about that pie and ice cream?"

By the time Melanie arrived home that evening, she was exhausted. Her unexpected meeting with Christopher Bishop had thrown her for a loop. She'd been nervous the entire time he was at the Pampered Palate, but at least Bob had done most of the talking. After barely surviving that sexy look Chris had thrown at her, she'd avoided looking at him.

He must have taken the hint because when they left, Chris had merely shaken her hand and smiled at her. Very businesslike, impersonal, and polite.

Melanie didn't know whether she was relieved or irritated.

Nana ambled off to bed with a hot toddy and a steamy romance novel, but Melanie's nerves were too frazzled for reading. She decided to indulge in a relaxing bubble bath.

Five minutes later, she sank up to her neck in a hot, gardenia-scented tub and heaved a blissful sigh. Ahhh. Just what the doctor ordered. Her tense muscles loosened and a small smile touched her lips. Now if she could just banish the image of Christopher Bishop from her mind, all would be right with the world.

No sooner had the thought entered her mind than the phone rang. Drat. It was one of the basic laws of physics: the moment a body is submerged in water, the telephone rings. I'll let the answering machine get it. The ringing stopped and she closed her eyes. Seconds later she heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"What is it, Nana?" Melanie asked.

Nana opened the door and walked in carrying the portable phone. Setting the instrument on the edge of the tub, she said, "It's for you." Before Melanie could utter a word, Nana left, closing the door behind her.

Great. Figures. Probably someone wanting to sell her insurance or a cemetery plot. She grabbed the receiver. "Hello?" she all but barked into the phone.

"I can't stop thinking about you," said a low, sexy voice.

Uh-oh. If this was someone selling cemetery plots, she could be in trouble. It's not good to have people looking for cadavers say they can't stop thinking about you.

But she knew it wasn't someone wanting to measure her for a crypt. It was him, and damn it, he was just as deadly.

The sudden heat engulfing her had nothing to do with her bathwater. Annoyed that he could affect her like this over the phone, she asked in a bored drawl, "Who is this?"

"It's Chris. I can't stop thinking about you," he repeated in a husky whisper that caused a jillion and one goose-bumps to pop out on her overheated flesh. After a pause he asked, his voice sounding distinctly annoyed, "Who the hell did you think this was?"

Melanie was tempted to make up a name, any name, but she couldn't. There was no sense pretending. "I knew it was you."

"Good." He waited several heartbeats before continuing. "I have several things to say to you."

Melanie gripped the phone with her soapy fingers, half terrified, half delirious with anticipation. "I'm listening."

"First, I want you to know that the reason I didn't say much to you today was because I was only there as a favor to Glenn Waxman. He's the partner on your account. He'll be signing off on your review. I was just observing, making sure Bob got everything he needed."

"What difference does it make which partner does my review?" Melanie asked, confused.

"It matters. Glenn can do it. I can't. Conflict of interest."

"Conflict of interest? I don't understand."

He blew out a breath. "It would compromise my firm and your chances of getting your loan if I signed off on a review for someone I'm involved with. So you'll be dealing with Bob and Glenn from now on."

Melanie sat up so quickly, water sloshed over the side of the tub. "What do you mean, involved? You and I are not involved."

"Wanna bet? I am most definitely involved. And if you're honest with yourself, you'll admit you are, too."

"Am not."

"Are, too. I saw the way you were looking at me today."

"I wasn't looking at you!"

"Like hell. I caught you staring at me like you wanted to stick me between two slices of rye bread and have me for lunch."

Melanie's temper kicked in. Conceited dope. And boy, was he wrong. In truth, she'd been staring at him like she wanted to stick him between two slices of sourdough bread and have him for lunch. Shows what he knew.

"Well?" he asked, when the silence stretched on. "What do you have to say?"

"I'm taking the fifth."

"If you won't talk to me over the phone, I'm coming over."

"No!" Melanie gripped the receiver so tight her knuckles turned white. "Don't come over."

"Why not?"

"I'm in the bathtub."

She heard him take a deep breath, then exhale a groan, and she couldn't squelch the momentary zing of feminine satisfaction that washed over her.

"You're killing me, Melanie. You really are. In the bathtub. Jesus. Now I've got that picture in my mind. How the hell am I supposed to sleep tonight?"

He cut loose with a growl. "Listen, I only called to tell you that my strictly businesslike behavior today was to avoid any conflict of interest. And if you think we're not involved, you're nuts. Maybe you don't want it, and I certainly don't want it, but it's there, and it's not going away."

"It will if we ignore it."

"Not an option," he stated firmly. "I've been trying that since we met, and it doesn't work."

"This is ridiculous," Melanie said, pushing her damp hair out of her eyes. "If you hadn't taken Mr. Waxman's place tonight, we never would have seen each other again."

"Do you really believe that?" The soft, husky question raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Before she could even think of a reply, he continued, "We absolutely would have seen each other again, Melanie. I would have made sure of it."

It was a good thing she was sitting down, because the sexy undertone in his deep voice melted her insides like a flame to wax. If she wasn't careful she'd slip under the water and drown, a boneless, quivering mass of feminine flesh.

"You're not saying much," he said, "so I'll take that as a good sign. At least you're not arguing. So, on to the next thing. What are you doing Friday evening?"

"Friday evening? Why?" Good grief. Was that squeaky noise her voice? She coughed to clear her dust-dry throat.

"I'd like to have dinner with you."

"Dinner? You mean like a date?"

"That note of horror I hear in your voice is pretty deflating to my ego."

"We've been through this. I don't date. And even if I did, I don't want to date you."

"I don't want to date you either. Something we have in common. And since you don't date, I guess that means you don't have plans Friday night. I'll swing by and pick you up at eight."

"But-"

"I'll be out of town for the rest of the week, so you won't be able to reach me-just in case you're considering backing out."

"There's nothing to back out of. Listen, you can't fool me. I know your type. Smooth. Good-looking. Good-looking guys are nothing but trouble, and that makes you trouble with a capital T."

"So you don't want to have dinner with me because-"

"You're too handsome. That's right."

"I have to say, I've never been turned down for that reason before."

A snort escaped her. "Ha. I bet you've never been turned down, period."

"Have, too."

"Really? When? Second grade?"

He chuckled. "No. Third grade."

"Any turndowns prior to puberty are null and void. Besides, if-what was her name? The one in third grade?"

"Betty Waterhouse."

"If Betty Waterhouse could see you now, she'd kick her own ass black and blue."

"I had a blind date a few months back who hated me," he said in a low, sexy, confiding tone that prickled her heated skin.

"Hated you? Why?"

"She doesn't like accountants. Bad experience with the IRS. She practically broke out in hives when I told her I'm a CPA."

Melanie's eyes narrowed. "You planning to audit me?"

"Only if you want me to."

His tone was so suggestive, she almost dropped the phone into the bathwater.

Before she could find her voice he continued, "C'mon, Mel Gibson. Whaddaya say? You. Me. Dinner. I can do ugly. Really. Totally grunge."

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Oh, sure. You probably look good when you wake up in the morning."

"Hmmm. There's one way to find out."

"Forget it. Besides, I thought accountants were nerdy guys with leaky pens in their shirt pockets who wore high-water pants, white socks with black shoes, and held their glasses together with safety pins. You're not an accountant. You're a menace to female hormones."

"No menace. No audit. Just dinner. Maybe a movie."

"You'll be ugly?"

"Totally gross. Promise."

A sigh escaped her. "Are you always this persistent?"

After a long pause he said, "No. Actually, I'm never this persistent. Friday night. Eight. Dress casual. 'Bye, Melanie."

The dial tone sounded in her ear. Melanie held the phone away from her and stared at it as if it were the Loch Ness monster come to life in her tub. Dazed and confused, she clicked the OFF button and carefully laid the instrument on the bathmat. She had a date. With Christopher Bishop. Friday night.

Sufferin' succotash, how had that happened?

Probably because I didn't open my mouth and say no. But Melanie had a feeling that Chris wouldn't have taken no for an answer anyway, a fact she should have found annoying but instead found utterly romantic. And exciting.

Nana stuck her head in the door. "’Bout time you got off the phone. I was getting a crick in my neck from pressing my ear against the crack in the door."

Melanie buried her hands in her face. "You heard?"

"Only your side. What's the scoop?"

Melanie sighed heavily. "We have a date Friday night."

Nana stuck two fingers between her lips and let loose an ear-piercing whistle. "Praise the Lord! It's about time you came out of mourning over that two-timing gigolo Todd. Hot damn! A date with the hunk. I might even get me some great-grandchildren to spoil."

Melanie almost choked. "Nana! It's only a date. One date. That's it."

Nana regarded her steadily through very wise eyes. "If that's what you think, honey, then you'd better brace yourself, because one date is not what that young man has on his mind."

"I have no intention of getting involved," Melanie said with a sniff.

"Intentions, inschmentions," Nana said, shaking her head. "Your heart doesn't listen to intentions. His won't either." Leaning down, Nana patted Melanie's waterlogged hand. "Sweetie, don't close yourself off from someone who might bring you happiness just because your last beau was an idiot. Sometimes the least-expected path is the one that leads to the treasure." After uttering those sage words, Nana left the room, closing the door behind her.

Treasure. Phooey. Melanie pulled the plug and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in a thick pink towel. Christopher Bishop wasn't a treasure. He was a hazard. Granted he was sexy, yummy, and goose-bump-inspiring-but he was a hazard just the same.

And she had a date with him Friday night.

God help her, she couldn't wait.