Grill Me, Baby (19 page)

Chuckling indulgently, Paolo grabbed a paper towel and mopped her wet cheeks before taking the bottle from her. He took a long swig and handed it back to Michaela, waiting while she slurped more of the delicious bubbly. For the next few minutes, they took turns polishing off the champagne. 

Michaela’s head whirled as she sprinted around her apartment on bouncy legs, humming the triumphant tune from
Rocky
.
Ta ta ta, ta ta ta
…until she collapsed on the sofa in a fit of giggles. Paolo joined her on the sofa and stretched his long legs in front of him. 

“Tell me, Maki. Why did you become a chef?” He eyed her giddy enthusiasm with a bemused expression.

“I’ve always loved food. When I was growing up, we never ate home-cooked meals. I didn’t learn to cook until we had a Costa Rican nanny. Her food was so delicious, with flavors I’d never tasted, that I wanted to learn more. That was the catalyst.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “What about you?”

“I love food too. Cooking is as natural as breathing to me. I grew up surrounded by women who are great cooks— Mamá, my sisters and my Italian Nonna.” Paolo’s eyes were warm and inviting as he regarded her. “Why is winning this competition so important to you?”

“It means the world to me. If I win…no let me rephrase that,
when
I win, I will be able to repay my parents for all the investment they made in the law degree that I never finished. Maybe I’ll finally gain their respect.” Normally, she didn’t tell others about her difficult relationship with her parents, but Paolo’s solid presence made her feel comfortable opening up.

He appeared mystified, but before he said anything, she continued, “Winning means my cookbook will make tons of sales.” Michaela’s stomach fluttered with excitement at the myriad possibilities. “Not only that…maybe I’ll be invited on the
Today Show
and I can showcase my light and healthy cuisine. I can also introduce my…”

“Wait a minute. You dropped out of law school to become a chef?” he interrupted. 

“Yes.”

“No wonder your parents didn’t look happy today.” Paolo gave a wry shake of his head.

“They are ashamed of me,” Michaela admitted, feeling a bit ashamed herself that she couldn’t live up to their high expectations of her. 

“Impossible! You are very accomplished.” Paolo’s compliment pleased her immeasurably. 

“No, really, they are embarrassed by my career. To them, I went from being white collar to blue collar, and I wasted their money in the process.” She felt embarrassed revealing how snobbish her parents were.

“Do they feel the same way about your sister?”

“Pfft. Tiffany? No. They gave up on her a long time ago. After she threw a few tantrums making it loud and clear that she preferred Barbies over the Mozart tapes and Smithsonian puzzles they gave her, they had to accept that she would never be an intellectual. Tiffany has other talents. She’s not only an amazing makeup artist, she sings and plays the guitar like a dream. Since she is the younger child and stunningly beautiful, they let her get away with most things.”

“You’re beautiful too.” 

“Thank you.” Surprised and touched by his compliment, Michaela realized with a pang that she loved hearing Paolo say that. “But beauty isn’t what my parents respect. They believe that you’re either born with it or you’re not. They admire hard work and the results of that labor, not something as nebulous as beauty.”

“Is that why you work so hard to be perfect in everything?” he asked, regarding her with fond bemusement. “Maki, nobody is perfect. I think you’re pretty terrific just as you are. Your parents sound like tough ones to please.”

Paolo’s supportive words made Michaela want to grab him and kiss him. His dark gaze remained on hers, soulful and genuine, as he aimed to make her feel better. 

“It’s true. My parents are tough to please, but that’s inevitable when you’re as driven as they are. Do you know how it feels to be reminded all the time that you’re a major disappointment to your parents?” she asked bleakly. “Probably not. You come from a big Latin family who celebrates everything you do.”

Looking uneasy, Paolo cleared his throat. “Well, I wouldn’t say
everything
…”

“I’m sure you are their hero. The apple of your parents’ eyes.”

“My father died when I was a teenager,” Paolo said quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Michaela saw the sadness in his eyes and felt a stab of guilt. He had graciously come over to celebrate the news and so far, she’d been a real downer. “Tell me…why is winning this competition so important to you?”

“I owe it to my father’s memory,” he said, his expression stricken.

“What do you mean?” She wondered at the regret on Paolo’s face and wanted to know what troubled him. She’d like to return the favor and somehow ease his personal pain as he’d eased hers just now. 

“The day Papá died, instead of helping with the family business like I was supposed to after school, I was out fooling around.” 

“I’m sure there was nothing you could have done to prevent his death,” Michaela said kindly, feeling bad that her question had dredged up painful memories. “What did he die of?”

Paolo’s face looked drawn and pale beneath his tan. “He died of a massive, bleeding ulcer. I had taken the family car out for a spin with my friends. By the time they got him to the hospital, it was too late. He had lost too much blood.”

Filled with compassion, Michaela touched his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“When my sister, Sonia, finally found me, Papá was already dead,” he said, his voice low and tortured. “I didn’t know he hadn’t been feeling well. He was the rock of the family, a pillar of hard work. I wish he had known that I would be responsible enough to take care of the family after he died.” 

Michaela listened intently, sensing his need to talk. She wished she could find the right words to lighten his burden. 

Paolo’s eyes clouded over, troubled by the memories. “As the only and eldest son, I was his favorite. Papá used to tell me, ‘You are the joy of my life.’”

“I’m sure you were,” she soothed.

His face taut with guilt, he shook his head. “No, I was irresponsible and selfish, goofing off with my friends when I should have been working at the restaurant. Poor Papá, he was stressed out and overworked—that’s why he died too young,” he said, his voice gruff.

“How old were you when he passed?”

“Eighteen. Almost overnight, I grew up and took over running my family’s restaurant and bakery in Buenos Aires.”

“Oh, I had no idea,” Michaela said, seeing Paolo with different eyes. Gone was the carefree braggart. He was a strong, responsible man intent on providing for his family and honoring his father’s memory. She wished he wasn’t her opponent for something that meant so much to her. It was times like these, when they weren’t arguing, that she found Paolo appealing—and utterly irresistible. She was touched he had opened up to her and wished she could alleviate his anguish. 

“I’m sure your dad is watching you from heaven and very proud of all you’ve done for your family.” She cupped the side of his face with a gentle touch. 

“Thanks.” Paolo took Michaela’s hand, turned it palm upward and placed a soft kiss in the center. 

The warmth of his lips on her sensitive spot disarmed her. Spellbound, Michaela met his sizzling gaze with wide-eyed anticipation as her pulse galloped like a runaway filly. He placed another kiss on the inside of her wrist and flicked the skin with his tongue. Michaela leaned forward and kissed him, a whisper-light touch that landed briefly on his mouth. Paolo’s mouth dragged over hers lustfully while he eased her onto his hard lap. She could barely catch her breath as she tilted her head back and welcomed his ardent kisses on the cool column of her neck. 

She shifted at the tender assault and heard something crackle. She noticed the paper stuffed inside his shirt pocket and pulled back to peer at him. “What’s that?” 

Paolo gave her a cryptic smile. “There was a second reason for my visit today.”

“What?” she asked breathlessly. 

He drew a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “I’ve come to collect on your offer,
querida
.” 

“What offer?” she croaked, recognizing the paper at once. 

“This.” With unconcealed delight, he handed her the paper that she had written BITE ME on earlier. 

Michaela sucked in her breath sharply. The paper slipped out of her hand just as Paolo’s tongue lightly touched the soft outer shell of her ear. 

“I am going to devour you,
querida
,” he whispered roughly, nipping her earlobe. “One bite at a time.”

Michaela’s body prickled all over with gooseflesh and her feminine core pulsed with dizzying pleasure as Paolo’s hoarse voice lured her with throaty Spanish endearments. She gazed into his gorgeous eyes, helplessly drawn into their black depths. A low, ragged moan escaped her when Paolo’s mouth covered hers and he began to feast on her, tasting her lips, sliding an insistent tongue between them to explore her mouth. Giving a shuddering sigh of surrender, she allowed him to deepen his kisses and molded her body against him, searching, reaching, yearning for more. 

She kissed the bristly side of his lean jaw and the seductive grooves beside his mouth, fumbling with his shirt buttons until his shirt gaped at the waist, revealing his muscular chest. She couldn’t resist pressing an open-mouthed kiss between his hard pecs. Paolo tasted so delicious she wanted to lap him up greedily, just as she had done with the champagne. She was drunk with passion and yearning for more—there was no turning back now. Michaela’s mouth roamed over his caramel-colored chest, learning the hard planes with her lips and tongue until Paolo cradled her face and stilled her.

“No more,
nena
, not yet,” he rasped, breathing heavily as he lifted her in his arms and held her against his chest. The room began to spin as he carried her into her bedroom, kissing her with maddening thoroughness. 

“Ooh, Paolo, I had too much champagne. I feel a little lightheaded. Better put me down.” She broke away from his kiss and burrowed her face in his smooth, strong neck, inhaling deeply of his appealing scent as she nuzzled the warm hollow at his throat.

“Hold on, baby
,
it’s going to be a long night,” he promised huskily when they reached the bed.

Paolo’s mouth descended on hers, primal and hungry and demanding in its possession. Every inch of her body throbbed, ached for full domination. The feminist in her cringed, but she couldn’t help it, Paolo was so large, so sexy, she wanted to be devoured by him, as he’d wickedly promised her. 

Within seconds, they were tearing off each other’s clothes and before Michaela knew it, she lay before him, unabashedly naked and moaning with pleasure as Paolo lustily feasted on her fevered flesh. Every inch of her was explored and revered as Paolo delighted in the softness of her breasts, the slight curve of her belly and indentation of her navel, the suppleness of her thighs, lavishing her with compliments and endearments in Spanish.

Michaela was beyond rational thought; her whole being ached for deep, sexual intimacy with Paolo. She pulled his lean hips toward her with urgent hands and wrapped her legs around him. His erection pressed against the cradle of her pelvis.

“Now, Paolo, now.” Her body arched upward, eager for his penetration. 

“Not yet,
linda
.” Paolo’s voice came out in a guttural rasp, his face dusky with passion and neck muscles strained as he turned her over, lifting her hair from her nape. 

Michaela bit into the pillow and moaned when his damp lips touched her sensitive nape and bit her ever so lightly. Exquisitely torturous moments passed as his greedy mouth traveled along her spine, nipping and kissing the summit of her buttocks, the back of her thighs, down her calves to her tingling toes, before he turned her over again. 

Unhinged and beside herself with desire, she reached down to caress him, but his steely hand formed a manacle around both of her wrists, holding them captive above her head as his passionate kisses turned to gentle love-bites, alternately kissing her, driving her wanton and wild as he pleasured her. Michaela’s head thrashed from side to side. She squirmed and whimpered, out of her mind, desperate for release. Just when she was about to climax, he let go of her wrists and slowed down to tenderly stroke her breasts, his callused fingertips rubbing the tips. 

“Don’t slow down…don’t stop! Please!” she urged shamelessly.

“
Qué bella
,” Paolo said, his voice thick as molasses. “So beautiful.”

His molten gaze held her transfixed. At that moment, Michaela was his—
completely
. Holding her hostage at the sweet threshold of release, Paolo worked his magic. He brought her to the edge, prolonging the exquisite pleasure-pain again and again until every pore screamed to let loose and threatened to implode. 

And just when she thought she would die, she climaxed with lusty, shuddering cries—
twice
. 

Chapter Fourteen

Waking up with a raging hangover was the least of Michaela’s problems as she tried to piece together last night’s events. She blushed when she reread Paolo’s note left on the pillow beside her scrawled in his large, expressive handwriting. As if
everything
about the man wasn’t large and expressive, she thought, her heart racing at the scribbled evidence of last night’s salacious lovemaking. 

Sorry I had to run off, but Claudia needed my help with Mikey. I’ll be back for seconds. You are delectable, querida.

Michaela closed her eyes and tried to remember all that they had done. Erotic, carnal images came rushing back of Paolo making love to her, wringing out one shattering response after another until she lay limp with pleasure and shamelessly spent. All she could remember was that she had never felt so close to a man in her entire life—or so uninhibited. She put her hands to her hot, flushed face, trying to visualize the moment when they’d had intercourse, but she couldn’t seem to. Had they fully made love, she wondered?