Grill Me, Baby (22 page)

Paolo lay face-down on the massage table, naked save for a small towel draped over his butt. He was looking forward to the massage after the stressful week he’d had. He was tired, but mostly he was horny as hell ever since Michaela had put the brakes on him. Just when things had heated up between them, she had doused his libido with ice water. Now, he couldn’t think about anything else but having her and it was driving him nuts. Damn the
caliente
redhead! He was wound up tighter than a steel drum and ready to explode.

Adding to his problems, he’d had to deal with the arrogant Woodbridges and their plot to take Mikey away from Claudia. They had pushed hard for her to divorce Bobby on grounds of abandonment and then tried to bribe her with a large sum of money. Paolo hadn’t had a good night’s rest since Claudia and Mikey had come to stay with him, yet he was so attached to Mikey that he’d be damned if he couldn’t provide a good life for his little nephew. That kid would not want for anything; Paolo would make certain of it. 

The soft, tinkling Asian music began to lull him to sleep. He was about to doze off when he heard the door open and quiet footsteps approach his side. Without opening his eyes, he said, “Hey, Lisa.” 

“Lisa late. I massage,” a young female voice said. She sounded eastern European, maybe Russian. Paolo tried to lift his head to look at her, but a soft hand firmly held his neck anchored on the headrest of the table so he could only look down. 

“Do not move,” she ordered. 

Paolo heard her uncap a bottle and squeeze the contents. She began to massage his back and shoulders with feather light strokes. Instead of relaxing him, her silky touch was making his rigid body respond in ways he would rather not… Damn, after that last session with Maki, all he thought about day and night was making love to her and this girl’s feathery touch was reminding him of Maki’s soft hands.

“That’s too soft. Press harder. I’m tied up in knots,” he said, his voice garbled. 

“Why?” She pummeled his shoulders with tight fists. 

“It’s been a stressful week. That’s it,” he grunted. “Give it to me harder. Much harder.” 

“Gladly.” She doubled up the pressure. 

“That’s more like it. What’s your name?” 

“Irina.” 

“I’m Paolo. Where are you from?” He rarely heard an accent like hers on Flamingo Island.

“Ukraine.” 

There was something familiar about the masseuse. She smelled like roses, just like Maki. There was also something familiar in her intonation, even if she had a heavy, low-timbered accent. Paolo tensed. If he wasn’t mistaken, that voice belonged to Maki! Who did she think she was kidding? He knew her soft touch, her delectable scent… He almost shouted with laughter when he realized it was indeed her, but lying buck naked and trapped in the treacherous hands of his rival, he chose not to. Two could play her little game of deception. Paolo decided not to expose her, especially since he was in danger of being exposed himself—literally. 

“Never been to the Ukraine. I’m from Argentina.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “I’m the chef competing against Michaela in the
Miami Spice
competition. Do you know her?” 

“Yes. Michaela great chef.” 

“Eh, maybe, but I’m sure to win,” he boasted. He held his breath waiting for her reaction.

“Why?” Her voice sounded snarky already.

“She only serves up rabbit food.” Paolo relished the sound of Maki’s strangled groan.

“Rabbit food better than lard.” She punctuated her words by vigorously thumping his shoulders with her balled up fists. 

Paolo’s shoulders began to shake with mirth. If Maki thought she was hurting him, she was delusional. Her pounding massage actually felt good, revved up his blood.

“What’s funny?” Her voice sounded close to his ear.

“I was laughing because that bossy little spitfire doesn’t stand a chance over my gimmick.”

She dug her nails into his shoulder blades and worked handfuls of his flesh with a vengeance. 

“Watch it, Irina! Your nails are sharp.” Their game was fun, but Paolo wasn’t willing to become Maki’s human pincushion. He tried to turn around, but she quickly threw a lavender-scented towel over his head. When he reached to pull it off, her hand firmly pressed down on his nape.

“Be still.” She switched her attention to his towel-covered buttocks and smacked them with malicious vengeance. 

“Hey, what kind of a massage is this?” 

“Slavic. Tell me about gimmick,” she demanded, the trace of her distinct American accent suddenly surfacing.

What the hell, might as well tell her and gauge her reaction, he thought, biting back a chuckle. There was no way she would want to steal his idea or copy it anyway. Not proper Maki. 

“My show will be called
Grill Me, Baby
.”

“
That
is your gimmick?” she asked in a dismissive tone. “Eh!”

“Not all of it. I’m going to pick one lucky lady from an all-female audience and romance her with my magnificent cooking.”

She gave a cynical snort. “I do not like this
Grill Me, Baby
!”

“Why? It’s genius. The women will
love
it…that I know.”

“Sounds lame.” The little spy’s fake accent was back, thicker than ever. “Is that
all
you have?” 

“No, that’s not all,” he growled. “I am going to whip my opponent’s lily white ass!” 

Michaela’s elbow landed sharply between his shoulder blades and dug in. 

“Oof, cut that out.” 

“Maybe she wins.”

“No way. She doesn’t stand a chance. Good thing she’s hot, because the spoils go to the victor, eh?” 

Michaela added her other elbow and intensified the pressure mercilessly.

“Stop that,” he roared. 

“Ees good for you.” 

Paolo was sorely tempted to turn over and pull her on top of him when he heard approaching footsteps. 

“Sorry I’m late, Paolo. What’s going on here?” Lisa asked in a bewildered tone. 

Michaela mumbled a hasty good-bye and ran out the room. Paolo’s chest began to rumble when Lisa hurriedly said, “Hold on, Paolo. I’ll be right back.”

Paolo could only nod his head. If he uttered a sound, he would start guffawing and then they would all know he was on to Maki’s tricks.

Chapter Sixteen

“I know what Paolo’s ‘gimmick’ is,” Michaela crowed triumphantly. Aunt Magda and Tiffany were gathered around the dining room table. 

“How did you find out? I thought he was keeping it top secret,” Tiffany said.

“He doesn’t know that I know.” Michaela still couldn’t believe that she’d pulled off the outrageous trick on Paolo without him catching on. Thank God, Lisa had been a loyal ally, and hadn’t let on that Michaela was masquerading as Irina.

“How is that possible?” Aunt Magda asked. 

A giggle escaped Michaela, prompting her to take a sip of ice tea instead of elaborating. 

“That was a guilty giggle if I’ve ever heard one.” Aunt Magda’s eyes brimmed with curiosity. “I want to hear the story. And please don’t leave anything out!”

“It’s no big deal, really.” Michaela tapped her pen against a yellow notepad and tried to look nonchalant, but the image of Paolo receiving her wrathful massage, big and bare except for the tiny towel over his taut butt, made her squirm in her seat and nearly sent her into a gale of giggles. It served him right for all the rude, chauvinistic comments he had made about her. She almost strangled him when he blithely said,
“I’m going to whip my opponent’s lily white ass”
. Unfortunately, he was a little too well acquainted with her ass…

“So what’s his gimmick?” Tiffany prodded. “Dish already!” 

“The Latin lover plans on having an all-female audience. He will choose one lucky lady—his words, not mine.” Michaela rolled her eyes. “And plans to romance her on air with his
magnificent
cooking. His words, not mine again.”

“That’s the gimmick?” Tiffany asked. “Anything else?”

“His segment will be called
Grill Me, Baby
.”

Aunt Magda nodded. “It’s catchy. I’ll give him that. Unfortunately, I like it,” she admitted, looking a bit guilty.

“Me too,” Tiffany said. “You have to admit it, Mic, sex sells.”

“That man oozes sex,” Aunt Magda cooed shamelessly, her powdered cheeks flushing bright pink. She fanned herself and took a sip of iced tea. “Goodness, gracious me. He is positively swoon-worthy!”

Paolo didn’t just ooze sex; he
was
hot sex—uninhibited, forbidden sex and Michaela hadn’t been able to get that last night at her apartment out of her head since. “Hey, who are you rooting for anyway?” she demanded, glancing from one to the other.

“You!” Aunt Magda and Tiffany cried in unison.

“Good, let’s keep it that way,” Michaela said. The doorbell suddenly rang, startling the three of them.

“That must be Willow,” Aunt Magda said. “I told her we were brainstorming over how to help you win.”

Michaela rushed to the door and opened it with a welcoming smile. She was always delighted to see Aunt Willow. 

“I came as soon as I heard you needed my help.” Aunt Willow deposited a kiss on Michaela’s cheek. “The moment that Magda called, I downed my ginkgo and a few other mind boosters with my herbal tea. I’m full of ideas. They are flowing through my head as we speak.”

“Good! I’m certainly in need of them.” Michaela gave her a hug. “Come in. Tiff and Aunt Magda are already here.” 

Aunt Willow glided to the table, radiating serenity. “Hello, my dears.” She greeted Tiffany and Aunt Magda with a kiss on the cheek before taking a seat at the table. 

“You look amazing.” Tiffany gave her Aunt Willow an admiring once-over. It was true. Few women at sixty-three wore their hair, straight, all gray and shoulder-length with such panache, but Willow’s hair was just as silky and thick as in her younger days. Her eyes were a clear, radiant blue, just like Tiffany’s. Had to be her organic diet. Whenever Willow entered a room, people visibly relaxed. She claimed psychic abilities. Maybe that was what drew people to her, even total strangers. That and her ability to connect on a deeper, emotional level than most.

“All right, ladies, what have we got?” Aunt Willow asked.

While Tiffany filled Aunt Willow in on Paolo’s gimmick, Michaela fixed a cup of her aunt’s favorite white tea. She placed it on a tray and added a tin of her light version of French
macarons
that she planned to feature on her show. She set the cup in front of Aunt Willow and noticed her eyes were closed and she remained silent. 

“Yoo hoo, earth to Willow.” Aunt Magda glanced heavenward with a shake of her sleek auburn bob. The contrast between the two women was staggering and what made them unique. Aunt Magda, slim and stylish, wore a periwinkle blue tunic top, black legging capris, and jeweled black patent leather flats. Like Tiffany, Aunt Magda adored fashion, hair and makeup and used it to her advantage. The two of them made an ideal shopping team, always finding the best bargain for their buck, yet looking current and stylish.

Aunt Willow, ever the flower child, wore a flowing tangerine caftan with multi-colored macramé bangles and fringed tan leather sandals. “I was trying to tap into Paolo’s macho spirit, Magda. I was almost there, but now you ruined it,” she said with a sigh.

“I didn’t ruin anything,” Aunt Magda replied. “You looked like you were in a trance. Have you been puffing on the wacky weed again?”

“No! I would never drive a car under the influence,” Willow protested with wounded dignity. “Magda, really, that was quite unnecessary.”

Before Magda could respond, Michaela quickly said, “Here, have one of these.” She opened the tin and set it in front of her two aunts—appealing to their sweet tooth to end the bickering. 

Aunt Willow selected a lavender-colored Sporting two mood rings on her un-manicured hand, she twirled it from side to side and inspected every angle. “What is this beautiful confection?”
macaron
.

“It’s a lavender-infused love bite. The center is Valrhona chocolate.” Just like the color of Paolo’s eyes, Michaela thought privately.
Stop it
, she told herself sternly. What was she doing thinking dreamy thoughts about Paolo when their job today was to find a better gimmick? 

Aunt Magda quirked her perfectly waxed eyebrows and gave Michaela a surprised look. “Did you say love bite?” She picked a coral one and giggled as she studied it. “I like the name, the play on words. It’s deliciously naughty. What’s this one made of?”

“Passion fruit with Armagnac-fig filling.”

Aunt Magda popped it in her mouth and sighed dreamily after she swallowed. “Such sinful delicacies. They’re positively decadent. I could devour the whole box. Actually, I could inhale it.”

“Thanks, I’m planning on…” The doorbell rang again interrupting Michaela. “Who can that be?” she wondered aloud. 

“Paolo?” Tiffany grinned mischievously.

“I sure hope not!” Michaela said, hurrying to the door.

Michaela peeked through the peephole and for a fleeting moment, she wished she could turn her visitors away. Anxiety churned in her stomach at the prospect of letting her parents in, but she couldn’t exactly exclude them when the rest of the clan was here. It wouldn’t be kind. And in truth, she was curious as to why they had shown up…together. This was a first. She hadn’t seen her parents together in a long time. Well, they had been at the taping, but they’d been sitting far apart from each other.

The moment Michaela opened the door, her parents strode into the apartment with the same purposeful vigor they unleashed in courtroom litigation. She was surprised. These days they barely communicated with each other, except through one of their daughters.

Dressed to the nines in a fitted, charcoal-colored silk suit and a Tahitian gray pearl earring and choker set, Mom imperiously confronted Tiffany, Magda and Willow. “Why wasn’t I included in this family discussion?” she asked. Accusation and something akin to hurt clouded her keen blue eyes. 

“What about me? Aren’t I part of this family too?” Dad asked, looking dapper in a dark blue Armani suit. His neatly trimmed goatee was a new addition. “Magda, you did right to call us. After all, we are Michaela’s parents,” he boomed in his deep, courtroom voice.