Grill Me, Baby (12 page)

She cleared her throat and looked away from his hypnotic eyes. “No, thanks. No more for me.” 

“C’mon, Maki. Live a little.” 

Paolo’s mocking tone prompted her to take an extra large sip of champagne. She almost choked when the tiny bubbles burst in her mouth and tickled her nostrils. She erupted into a coughing fit. 

“You okay?” Paolo patted her back with his large hand.

“I’m fine,” she choked out between sputtering coughs. “Drank too quickly…went down the wrong way.” 

The feel of Paolo’s warm palm lingering on her back made her pulse race. Michaela rested her hand on her chest as she cleared her throat. Paolo’s gaze dipped to the neckline of her blouse where her hand lay. He stopped patting her back and began a slow rub instead. 

“You can stop now. I’m not coughing anymore,” she managed in spite of her pounding heart. 

Paolo followed her into the dining room and gave a nod of appreciation toward the table. “Looks great, Maki. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me.”

“No trouble. I love everything to look nice,” she said, pleased he had noticed. She wished it didn’t matter so much that she wanted to impress Paolo. “Presentation makes everything taste better.”

“True,” Paolo agreed amiably. 

The dining room table was draped in a luxurious, muted gold Florentine tablecloth and accentuated with coordinating napkins bordered in dusky rose and bronze. Michaela’s fine ivory china sat atop antique bronze chargers. Sleek crystal goblets and a glowing hurricane lamp lent elegance to the room. 

For the next half-hour, she sat across from Paolo as they ate and discussed her meal. She basked in his many compliments. He took obvious pleasure from the food and its presentation, asking questions about the ingredients and preparation. His easy-going manner made her relax and enjoy his company. 

“I’ll serve dessert and espresso in the living room and then we can discuss the show,” she said. 

“Okay.” He winced when he got up with his plate in hand. He was moving stiffly and she suddenly remembered she hadn’t given him the painkiller. “Leave everything there, Paolo. I’ll clear it. Why don’t you go to the couch and I’ll bring you the painkiller now?”

“Good idea.”

Michaela went to her bathroom cabinet and just as she was reaching inside to take out two prescription bottles and check the labels, the doorbell rang. She grabbed both medicine bottles and headed toward Paolo in the living room. 

“Don’t get up. Stay there. The pain pill is one of these bottles,” Michaela said, handing him the little plastic bottles before hurrying to answer the door.

“Thanks. Which one?”

“Not sure. Read the labels first and take only one with a full glass of water.”

Michaela peeked through the peephole. Oh no, Aunt Magda! Normally, Michaela would have invited her in, but not today with Paolo in her living room. Immobilized, Michaela stared into the peephole. Stylishly dressed in a royal blue fitted dress, Aunt Magda fidgeted from one high-heeled pump to the other and fanned herself with her hand. 

“Honey, it’s Aunt Magda,” she called out. 

Michaela turned to look at Paolo.

“Who is it?” Paolo called out, chasing the painkiller with wine.

Michaela bolted to his side. “My aunt. Stay there and I’ll try to get rid of her.” She frowned at the wine goblet in his hand. “I said to take the painkiller with water, not wine. You’re not supposed to mix alcohol with it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Paolo grinned. “Is it the famous Aunt Magda that Tiffany mentioned last night? The matchmaker?”

Michaela nodded and put her fingers to her lips in a shushing motion.

The doorbell rang again and Paolo burst out laughing when her aunt began banging on the door. Michaela gave him a disapproving shake of the head before rushing to answer it. 

“Hi, Auntie,” she said, leaning forward to kiss her aunt’s perfumed, powdery cheek. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s okay, honey,” Aunt Magda said. “I don’t normally stop by unannounced, but I got worried when you didn’t return any of my phone calls.”

“I’m sorry. I was planning to, but I’ve been really…”

“Busy,” Aunt Magda finished with a rueful smile. “But you should take a break once in a while, dear. Your mom is downstairs waiting in the car. We want to take you to dinner with us.”

“Thanks for inviting me, but I’ve already eaten.” 

Aunt Magda gave her a cajoling smile. “You can still come and keep us company. We’re long overdue for a visit.”

“I know, but I can’t today. I’m actually in the middle of a business meeting.” Michaela didn’t budge from the door, even though she knew it was rude not to invite her inside.

“Really?” Aunt Magda tried to peek over Michaela’s shoulder. “Who’s that in your living room?” 

Paolo ambled to the door and joined them. Michaela had to step aside as he held his hand out and introduced himself. “Paolo Santos. And you must be Maki’s favorite Aunt Magda.”

“Why yes! I’m surprised you know my name,” Aunt Magda said, looking utterly delighted. “Did you just refer to my niece as Maki? I’ve never heard anyone call her that.” 

“It’s my nickname for her. She loves it,” Paolo said, winking at Michaela. 

“She does? Well…isn’t that interesting?” Aunt Magda shot Michaela a curious look.

“I’d invite you in, but you don’t want to keep Mom waiting downstairs. Right?” 

Aunt Magda was too busy sizing Paolo up to protest. “Oh, right…I shouldn’t keep Sylvia waiting. Well, call me tomorrow, dear. I was hoping you could join us for dinner tonight.” 

“I would have loved to. We must do it soon,” Michaela said.

Aunt Magda turned to Paolo. “Please continue with your business meeting with my niece,” she said with an impish grin. “Not only is Michaela a wonderful cook, but she is also a very smart, loyal and dependable girl.”

“Thanks, now I sound like a golden retriever,” Michaela quipped under her breath.

“What do you do for a living, Paolo? Are you single?” Aunt Magda inquired boldly.

“Aunt Magda, please!” Michaela gave her a discouraging look. “Paolo is a chef. We really are having a business meeting.”

Aunt Magda looked like she didn’t believe Michaela’s protests one bit. She held out her hand to Paolo. “Charmed to meet you, Paolo. Next time I hope to get to know you better.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Paolo said gallantly. He took Aunt Magda’s proffered hand and kissed the top of it like a dashing Spanish
caballero
.

Aunt Magda giggled. A second later, she leaned forward and whispered into Michaela’s ear, “Your Paolo is scrumptious. And those dimples are positively wicked!” 

Unfortunately, Aunt Magda’s comments were loud enough for Paolo’s ears. Michaela watched his mouth ease into a slow grin, his dimples deepening rakishly on either side. Shaking her head, she waited until Aunt Magda reached the elevator before shutting the door. 

Just as she closed it, her phone rang and she rushed to check caller ID. She gave Paolo an apologetic look. “I’m sorry for the interruptions, but it’s my mom’s third call today and now, thanks to Aunt Magda, she knows I’m home.”

“Go ahead and answer. I don’t mind.” 

“Thanks.” Michaela gave him a grateful smile and answered the call. “Hi, Mom. Sorry I can’t join you and Aunt Magda for dinner, but I’m in the middle of a business meeting.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I’m just as busy as you are, Michaela. The least you can do is spare me a few minutes of your time.”

Michaela sighed. She hated when her mom took that tone. Sylvia Willoughby wasn’t a top litigator for nothing. 

“I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve been absolutely swamped,” she said, watching Paolo go into the kitchen and come out with a plate of figs. Nooo, she had wanted to serve her meringue torte first! 

“It’s about Tiffany.” Mom sounded agitated. “Your sister is dating an illegal alien.”

Michaela rolled her eyes at her mother’s description. “An illegal alien? What are you talking about? Who is it?” Tiffany hadn’t mentioned anyone special last night, but then there hadn’t been the opportunity for her to, with the way the evening had ended.

“Paco…Pedro…what does it matter? He’s the Mexican tennis pro at the Club,” Mom replied, her voice laden with disdain. “Your sister has no sense when it comes to men. I’ll bet you he’s after a green card!” 

“You don’t know that for sure,” Michaela said, hoping to end her rant.

“Don’t be naïve. Tiffany is being taken for a fool by Mister Super Taco.”

“Mom!” Michaela protested, appalled. “Please don’t call him that—especially in front of Tiff.”

“Fine, but I want him out of your sister’s life. Remember when she was dating the Cuban rafter? I thought she’d never get rid of that good-for-nothing.” 

“Chill, Mom,” Michaela said in a placating tone. “By the way, congrats on the case you just won. I saw it in the
Miami Herald
.”

“Don’t change the subject on me. You need to talk some sense into Tiffany because she won’t listen to me.”

“I’ll call you back tomorrow and we can talk about it. I really have to go. Bye, Mom.” Michaela hung up before her mother began a cross-examination. 

She exhaled loudly and tried to shake off the unpleasant exchange. Mom had a knack for sucking out all her energy with just one phone call. Michaela resolutely put the conversation out of her mind and went into the kitchen. Moments later, she emerged with the meringue torte in one hand and two dessert plates and forks in the other.

Paolo’s face lit up as he took the dessert from her and placed it on the coffee table. Michaela sat beside him. “You have beautiful hands,” he said, taking her cold hands and warming them with his. He turned them over, palms up. “So slim and delicate. But a chef’s hands and wrists must be strong.” 

He traced the inside of her palm with his fingertip and her pulse went wild. As Paolo languidly studied her palms, Michaela had a crazy wish for him to kiss them. Seduction Paolo-style was dangerous, she reminded herself as she reluctantly removed her hands from his warm grip.

“They
are
strong.” She formed a fist and mockingly shook it a few inches from his jaw. “You’d better not distract me from my dessert presentation or you’ll get this.”

He chuckled and covered her fist with his big hand, giving it a light squeeze. It was a simple gesture, but having her hand engulfed in his felt sensual and intimate.

“Nothing would be more fun than to wrestle with you,
querida
…with real whipped cream.”

Michaela got a vivid mental image of them wrestling naked on the kitchen floor covered in whipped cream. Paolo hadn’t even mentioned naked, but the gleam in his eyes showed he was imagining it too. She looked away and concentrated on serving two slices of the torte. 

Paolo tasted it and gave a rough-edged purr of satisfaction. “He ate another mouthful. “Is this really low calorie? It can’t be.”
Delicioso
.”  

“Of course it is. I’ll tell you the ingredients later.”

Amazed, he polished off the rest and regarded her with approval. “Light and luscious, just like you. Very nice, Maki.”

“Thank you.” 

Paolo’s molten eyes left no doubt of his desire. Michaela forced herself up from the sofa and reached for the dessert plates on the table, only to have Paolo snatch her wrist and pull her back down. The corners of his lips turned upward and she found herself staring at his indolent grin.

Summoning the last shred of willpower, Michaela rose again and this time got away. She headed toward her bedroom in search of a legal pad and two pens. When she returned, she assumed a businesslike stance as she took a seat across from him. “Let’s come to an agreement on what we’ll cook together.”

He took the pad and pen from her. “It’s simple.” He scribbled as he spoke, “
arista di maiale, gnocchi
…”

“Just a minute. Give me that,” she snapped, retrieving the pad from his hands. 

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you think is wrong? Those are all
your
recipes. One hour isn’t enough time for us to cook separate menus.”

“But, Maki, your diet food isn’t for everyone,” he said patiently. 

“Why not? Everyone can benefit from healthy eating.”

“The viewers will not be thinking of calories when they tune in to our show. They’ll want recipes for delicious food.”

She started to get annoyed, but tamped it down. “My food
is
delicious. It’s Floribbean, a mixture of Florida and the Caribbean.”

They had arrived at the inevitable standoff Michaela knew was coming. Paolo had been agreeable until now and she didn’t want to end the evening on a sour note. She sighed. They would get nowhere if he wasn’t willing to budge. As long as she was able to feature a few of her signature dishes, she would compromise for the joint pilot show. But when it was her turn to cook solo, she would pull out all the stops. 

“I’m willing to compromise,” she declared magnanimously.

Paolo eyed her with a hint of suspicion, hesitated a moment and then said, “Fine, I’ll compromise too. But not too much.” 

For the next half hour, they went back and forth until they came up with a menu that was mutually satisfactory. First thing tomorrow morning she would send the list of ingredients to Ted Marton, the culinary producer in charge of their segment.

Paolo finally took the pad from her hands and placed it on the coffee table. “There, we’re finished. No more work,” he said firmly. 

Michaela gave a rueful shake of her head. “I’m glad we got through this without more family visits or phone calls.” 

“Your Aunt Magda is quite the matchmaker. Tell me, Maki, why hasn’t some guy married you and given you a house full of kiddies to tug at your apron?” 

We are not going there tonight,
she thought, not thrilled by the turn in conversation. Of course, she wanted all those things, but he didn’t need to know it. “I’m too busy for a husband and kids at this point in my life. What’s your excuse?” 

Paolo shrugged. “I still haven’t found the girl who will put her family first, before her career and everything else.”