Fire In the Kitchen (14 page)

Cassidy watched him. He packed away with the precision of plating up a degustation dish. He opened the cupboard doors and lined up his clean dishes with the rest so they all formed a perfect line that hadn’t existed before. It shouldn’t have, but it irked her. He was just too perfect in everything he did. Did he ever make mistakes? Did he ever fall on his backside like she had earlier? She doubted it.

She put away her ingredients roughly where she’d found them. Not with the exactness of Dante, but with the slap-dash near-enough-is-good-enough action of Cassidy. They were fine where she’d put them, and she couldn’t believe she was even thinking it. He walked behind her and she longed for him to close the gap and pull her close again, even though she’d insisted otherwise. Instead, he straightened the carton of eggs she’d put away, as well as the rest of the cartons. Cassidy looked down at the packet of flour in her hand and her reflexes took over before her brain had time to catch up. She pulled it open and tipped it upside down over his head.

Like snow, Dante’s hair turned white. His dark eyes darkened as he turned to face her and shook the flour from his hair and clothes. He removed his shoe and tapped flour onto the floor. He put it back on and tapped his foot, like a teacher trying to maintain control of an unruly class.

Cassidy felt a giggle bubble inside her. He finally looked like a human being, not a gorgeous Italian God.

“Oops,” she said.

The wild, carefree woman she once knew had returned. She wasn’t sorry she’d done it. It had felt exhilarating and had relieved the tension she’d felt between her shoulder blades and down her spine. She allowed the laugher to erupt and soon felt tears running down her cheeks. She was back.

“You forgot something.” Dante leaned back and reached for the carton of eggs. He cracked one on the side of the bench one-handed and emptied the contents onto her head. He rubbed it into her short spiky blonde hair and reached for another one. “I’ve heard it makes a great conditioner.”

Cassidy couldn’t believe Dante had done something so unruly. It made her want to get even closer to him than when they first kissed. He’d exposed a part of himself she knew didn’t come out often, if ever.

“Let me see,” Cassidy grinned, standing still and allowing him to crack a couple more eggs to join the others. The slimy egg whites and yolk slid down over her outfit and joined the flour on the floor. “What goes with flour and eggs?” She raced to the refrigerator and grabbed a large carton of milk. She opened the lid and threw the contents at Dante, as though she was emptying a bucket of water. “Anyone for pancakes?”

Dante froze, closed his eyes, and pinched the top of his nose. A low growl escaped his lips. It held no anger. It was a primal roar of excitement, attraction, fun. His shoes squelched as he walked back to the ingredients benches. He found the maple syrup and hovered it near her.

“Don’t you dare,” she squealed before pleading even louder: “Don’t. You. Dare!”

The thick, sticky syrup oozed over her hands and up her arms, coating her once pink top. She moved closer to Dante, regally, like a teenager in a fifties movie learning to walk with a book on her head for good posture. She forced her chest against his, ensuring he had the same amount of sticky syrup on his clothes as she did. She writhed against him, lowering her body toward the floor and up again several times, making the mess nice and even, in the process scrambling all previous thoughts of rejecting him.

She roughly pulled herself back, fighting her reflex to do the opposite. She started to wipe away the congealed mess, knowing only a change of clothes, soap, and hot water would make her clean again.

“Forget it, we’re both beyond saving.” His voice sounded gravelly. He pulled her back toward him and it felt as if they’d been apart for hours, instead of moments. As if it would make a world of difference, he pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped flour off the tip of her nose. His other palm cupped her cheek and his lips curved in a crooked smile. Then he rinsed the handkerchief in water and wiped their sticky hands. “What am I going to do with you, Cassidy Summers? You’re good enough to eat.”

“So what are you waiting for?” she whispered.

Her words were all the invitation he needed. Their second kiss wasn’t anything like the appetizing first. It made Cassidy escape to a place she’d never visited before. He tasted like chocolate and fresh mints. She nestled her face near the cleft of his slightly stubbled chin and inhaled a hint, just a hint, of cedar aftershave. It felt as though they were falling without a destination, spinning on their own special axis. She pulled his shirt from his waistband, desperate to feel if his back was as smooth and firm as his dressed outline promised. She needed more of him, she needed skin on skin. She moaned as she achieved her goal and discovered the opposite of disappointment.

He did the same with her and his hands glided along her skin. She needed him to feel every part of her so he could know how he made her feel. His fingers slid beneath her bra strap and then paused.

“Cassidy,” he moaned.

“Yes.” She reached back to help him undo it, but lost her balance and slipped on the milk. Along with saucepans that got in the way and crashed to the ground, Dante came tumbling down with her. The intensity was momentarily lost. They laughed with the exuberance of teenagers. They kissed again and the hunger returned, even stronger than before. No longer strangers, they held each other tightly. Cassidy grabbed some of Dante’s thick black hair she’d admired for so long and gently tugged. He moaned and pulled her around so she was sitting on top of him. All sense of time forgotten, their kisses became more urgent, the need to get even closer intensified.

Eventually, the hard surface of the floor proved too uncomfortable for them to stay there any longer. Dante helped her to her feet and they kissed some more until he gently pulled away. “Perhaps the kitchen isn’t the place to do this?”

“I never was good at geography, but you may have a point.” Cassidy smiled. “To be continued?”

They cleaned the kitchen as quickly as they could. Cassidy was pleased he didn’t keep checking to make sure everything was put away in a straight line or stacked neatly.

“I need a shower,” Cassidy said as she looked down at her clothes and grinned.

He pulled her back toward him. “Your place or mine?”

The producer named Joe yawned as he balanced two cups of coffee in one hand to open the door of the production room with the other. It was four o’clock in the morning. The long days were killing him, and his wife had been angry when he’d insisted
all
the crew live in the designated accommodation, along with the competitors, until the show was in the can.

There were so many cameras in so many positions, he’d lost count. They wouldn’t miss a thing, and every piece of footage was watched again and again, which meant sleep for him had become an optional extra.

What happened away from the competitor challenges could have been a TV program in itself. And in fact, “behind the scenes” programs often rated more highly than the actual shows because they gave the viewers the opportunity to see the competitors for who they really were. Or, more to the point, who the producers wanted them to be. Some clever cutting here and interesting pasting there could make or break a person’s television career, without them knowing what they’d done right or wrong. Most times they hadn’t done anything, it was just the dice the television station tossed as they decided who their viewers should love or hate, based on the initial reaction of the test panel.

“Morning, Eric,” he said, handing him a coffee. “What have we got?”

The other producer’s eyes glistened with excitement as he accepted his coffee and put it down carefully on the bench. Half the contents of Joe’s mug slopped onto the floor when Eric grabbed him by the arm and almost shoved him onto the chair beside him.

“I’d say the rights to the next series.”

Joe didn’t need to weigh the disappointment of losing half his morning brew against what was obviously brewing on screen. “Don’t tell me it’s something to do with our star performers.”

“I won’t tell you.” Eric’s gaze didn’t leave the screen in front of him as he hit the Play button. “I’ll just show you.”

Dante and Cassidy didn’t know it, but they had been labeled in the TV adverts as the popular odd couple. Joe couldn’t help liking Cassidy. She was a bit of a wild one and they had many great takes of her singing and leaving a mess everywhere she went. They didn’t even have to fabricate it, she was a natural disaster zone and she kept the first aid team on their toes with their stock of blue Band-Aids and burn cream. In the weekly shows aired to date, the public found her endearing.

In contrast, Dante was the handsome charmer, the one who would capture every woman’s heart with his smooth-talking and his shifting into Italian from time to time. The fact that he was also a great chef, always striving for excellence, made him even more of a ratings winner. Everything he plated up screamed to be eaten, and they anticipated once they uploaded his recipes to their website, they’d get a lot of traffic.

They were both winners. Whoever won the title at this point, it didn’t matter.

Joe cocked his head to one side as Eric showed him the unusual activity in the kitchen from the night before. The rest of the contents of his coffee, including the cup, clanged to the floor as his jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected to see kissing, kissing that looked so hot they’d need to find a fire extinguisher to put it out. “Call the medics, I need my pulse checked.”

Eric grinned. “Wait ’til you see this.”

He showed him the full footage, from the first kiss, to the food fight, to the wild sensuality on the kitchen floor.

“I need to take a cold shower,” Joe said.

“I haven’t finished yet.” Eric pointed to a shadowed corner. “You couldn’t get any better than this, even if we’d scripted it.”

Joe leaned forward and concentrated on the area indicated to him.

“What am I looking at? I don’t see anything.”

Eric put his fingers to his lips. “Just watch.”

The shadow moved. Someone was hiding in the dark, watching Cassidy and Dante. Eric pressed a few controls and zoomed in on the shadow, bringing it to light and exposing a face.

It was Carlos Cristiani.

Dante hadn’t really fallen asleep. How could he when he was sharing a single bed with Cassidy? How could he when he’d made love to her and she’d made him feel better than he’d felt in as long as he could remember? Impossible.

She’d been wearing mismatched underwear of polka dots and stripes but still managed to make them look incredibly sexy.

No satin and lace for this one.

He could lie like this forever, even if he had no feeling left whatsoever in his left leg.

He shifted it no more than an inch, but it was enough to awaken Cassidy. He was nestled against her back. She wriggled around to face him. In true Cassidy style, she rolled off the bed, but he caught her before she landed on the floor and pulled her back up to face him.

“What am I going to do with you?” He laughed gently.

“Everything I could hope for, and maybe a bit more.” She smiled lazily, draping one of her shapely legs over his waist like a cat taking ownership of what she knew was hers. “Thanks for saving me from another bruise to add to my cast of thousands.”

“Show them to me.” He grinned.

She pointed to her elbow. “Stainless steel benches have hard corners.”

He kissed it.

She found other bruises, and he kissed them all. Then they compared long-term scars from cuts and burns. It was an act of amused contortionists on the small bed, and he’d never known another woman who could put his usual guard down without even trying.

“How’d you get this one?” Cassidy traced her finger along the fine scar above his left eyebrow. “Chef’s knife fight over who had the best pasta dish?”

“Sandpit brawl when I was six.”

She laughed so loudly, the bed shook and banged against the wall.

“Shh, everyone will hear us.” He put his finger over her lips.

“I don’t care, there’s not much they could say to me they haven’t said already.” Cassidy pushed his hand away but stayed where she was, allowing him to hold her. “Why does it matter to you? There’s nothing in the rule book that states we can’t do more than swap food stories with our fellow contestants.”

“You mystify me.” Dante pulled her closer, hoping to change the subject. He didn’t like being responsible for making her defensive. “It’s impossible not to feel lighthearted whenever you’re around.”

“Well, you’re a stick in the mud, but it’s kinda cool being around you, too,” Cassidy replied. He was relieved her mood had bounced back so quickly. “I don’t know why you worry so much about what the other chefs think. It’s not as if we can cheat in the competition if we’re together.” Her voice lowered. “Or are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

Dante considered her question. No, of course he wasn’t. He just wanted to win so badly, he didn’t want anyone or anything to get in the way.

“That’s crazy talk,” he said. “If you learn how to wash dishes properly, we might be able to move on to the next stage.”

“What’s the next stage?” Cassidy giggled.

“Pots.”

“Why you…” Cassidy sat, reached for a pillow, and aimed it at his head. Bullseye.

He struggled with her and removed the pillow from her grip. After putting it back behind her head, he added another mind-blowing kiss to the many they’d shared the night before. There was something exciting about the way she kissed he couldn’t put his finger on. It was a combination of intimacy, feeling carefree, and…bubbles.

They heard a sharp rap on the door.

“Who is it?” Cassidy called out.

“Room service,” Carlos called out. “No wait, scrap that, you’ve already been serviced. Good morning, Dante.”

Group laughter echoed in the hallway.

The bastards, obviously led by his cousin.

Dante saw the look of hurt in Cassidy’s eyes. This gorgeous woman didn’t deserve their cruel reproach. He got up and rushed to get dressed to confront them. No one spoke to her, or any other lady, like that if he could help it.