Kiss the Cook (6 page)

Melanie led him into the kitchen, mentally berat
ing herself the whole way. This guy was dan-ger-ous. Yikes. Another second and he would have
kissed
her. If not for Nana's announcement, Melanie knew she would, at this very moment be on the receiving end of what she had no doubt would have been a mind-blowing kiss. She could almost feel the warm caress of his sensuous mouth. Drat! Er, good. Yeah. Good. Definitely good that Nana had interrupted. Definitely. Probably her lips would stop tingling any second now.

"Nice place," Chris
said. He settled his tall frame into one of the chintz-patterned chairs around the table. "Very homey and cozy."

“Thanks.
It’s a work in progress,” Melanie said, arranging the doughnuts on a serving plate while Nana poured the coffee into thick blue and yellow mugs.

"Mel was kind enough to let me move in with her a couple years ba
ck," Nana said. She joined Chris at the table, sitting in her usual chair by the window. "I used to live in one of those retirement places in Florida, but I hated it. Nothin' but a bunch of hypochondriac old fogeys down there." She bit into a chocolate-iced doughnut and hummed her appreciation.

Melanie sat down and stole glimpses of Chris over the edge of her mug as she sipped her coffee.
He carried on an easy banter with Nana, telling her about his three married
sisters and his younger brother. He genuinely seemed
to enjoy her company.

Melanie hadn't dated much since breaking off her engagement to her philandering ex-
fiance over a year ago. In fact she'd gone on exactly three dates,
all of them disasters, all forced on her by well-mean
ing friends. Aside from the fact that she hadn't wanted to date those men in the first place, her biggest problem with them was that they all objected to Nana.

None of them had spared
Nana more than a quick hello. Melanie’s ex-fiancé Todd had treated Nana politely but the fact that she lived with Melanie had been a bone of contention between them. As far as Melanie was concerned,
Nana was not only her roommate, she was her
best friend. And if you didn't like Nana, then the heck with ya.

But that didn't seem to be the case with Chris. He
and Nana were yakking away like they'd known each other
for years. His smile and easygoing manner certainly seemed genuine. He couldn't really be such a nice guy, could he? All that male pulchritude
and
nice? Nah. Impossible.

He
laughed at something Nana said, and Melanie shook her head in wonder.
If he wasn't nice, he was doing a damn good imitation
of it. Darn it! He
had
to be a creep. She
wanted
him to be a creep. She needed a reason to tell him to get lost so her hormones would sit down and shut up.

He and Nana burst out laughi
ng again, and Melanie swallowed a groan of dismay. Her common sense told her this was bad. Exceedingly bad. Her hormones broke out into a rousing chorus of "Our Day Will Come."

"Did you say something, dear?" Nana asked.

Melanie blinked out of her reverie. "Huh?"

"You were mumbling. Something about hormones." Nana peered at her over her bifocals. "Are you okay? You look flushed."

Melanie grabbed a doughnut. "I'm fine. The coffee's making me hot."
Yup. The coffee's making me hot.
That was her story and she was stickin' to it. She wasn’t wondering what he looked like naked
at all
.

They polished off the doughnuts in record time. Chris helped load the dishwasher, a gesture that sent Nana into a near swoon. When they finished cleaning up, Nana enfolded Chris in one of her famous bone-crushing hugs. "Any man who brings doughnuts
and
loads the dishwasher is okay in my book. You're welcome at Casa Gibson anytime, young man." She turned to Melanie and said in a whisper that probably the neighbors could hear, "Don't let this one get away. He's a real honey. Great legs, too." She patted her frizzy hair. "Well, I'd better go fix myself up. See you young folks later."

Melani
e breathed a sigh of relief and pretended her cheeks weren’t on fire. Five more minutes and Nana would be hinting about something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Chris leaned his
hips against the gleaming granite countertop. "Your nana is quite a character."

Melanie's hackles rose. No one insulted Nana and got away with it.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "Character? What's that supposed to mean?"

He held up his hands in surrender.
"No need to evil-eye me. It means I think she's great. Very funny. I like her a lot.”

She uncrossed her arms.
Drat. He liked Nana. Didn't think she was a pest. And Nana obviously liked him. Why couldn't he have said what her last date said? Something insulting to the effect that Nana was a crazy old bag. Then she could have sizzled him with a withering glance and told her hormones to take a hike. Her wandering eyeballs gave him a quick once over. Jeez, he was beautiful. Damn it, she needed a cold shower.

“You like her even though she says whatever pops into her head?  Even though her whisper is more like
a shout?” Melanie asked. Those two traits of Nana’s had particularly irked Todd.

“Far as I’m concerned
those are two of her best qualities. Especially the shouting whisper.” He grinned and shot her a wink. “She thinks I’m a real honey and have great legs.”

Okay, time out.
As if his smile wasn’t enough to melt knees, a man who looked like him should not be allowed to wink. Ever. Jeez. There oughtta be a law.

"So, do you want to observe while I look at your car," Chris asked, "or are you going to whip up some dessert?"

“Dessert? We just ate breakfast!"

"I meant for the cookout."

She stared at him. "What cookout?"

He stared back at her. "The cookout at my mother's house. Today. At two o'clock."

She shook her head. "I'm drawing a blank. Am I supposed to know about this?"

He
r reached out and laid his hand on her forehead. "Hmmm. No fever, but your short-term memory is shot."

Melanie
stepped back from his far too distracting touch. No fever? Coulda fooled her. She felt like she was melting from the inside out. "Refresh my memory."

"My proposition. I fix your car, and you come with me to the family cookout. I need a date so my mother doesn't try to fix me up with every single woman within a fifty-mile radius." He paused. "And we need to bring dessert."

Melanie cocked a brow at him. "Wow. What a romantic invitation. Be still my heart."

A devilish gleam sparkled
in his eyes. He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed his mouth over the backs of her fingers. "You want romance?”

"Yes. I mean
No!
I mean stop kissing my hand." She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held on, his eyes glittering with unmistakable mischief.

"Nana seemed to like the idea," he said. "She can't wait to go."

"Nana?"
Melanie croaked.
"My
Nana? When did she agree to this?"

Chris shook his head. "It's terrible h
ow the heat affects some people. I told you in the foyer. Before breakfast. Nana and I discussed the plans while we were eating. Where were you?"

"I was,
er, preoccupied, I guess."
With convincing myself I don’t like you
. Yeah. And imagining him naked.

"Well, you seem lucid now. So what do you say?" He dipped his head and lo
oked up at her with a beseeching expression no breathing woman could possibly be immune to. Including her. "C'mon. Nana already said yes. And you'd really be doing me a favor."

"
Favor? Well, guess I owe you one. Probably two, if you're the scorekeeping sort."

He ran his index finger down the bridge of her
nose, skittering a shiver of delight down her spine. "I'm the scorekeeping sort, and you owe me three.”

"Three?
How do you figure that?"

"One for blocking in my car, one for my ruined suit, and one for jump-starting your car. That's three."

"I gave you chicken, so you're down to two."

"I gave you a ride home. Three."

"I invited you in for breakfast. Two."

"I brought Boston cream
doughnuts. Three."

"Oh, all right Three. Sheesh. You sound more like a lawyer than an accountant
.”

He shot her a woebegone look that reminded Melanie of a sad puppy.

"Hey!" she protested, suppressing a grin. "Quit looking at me like that. I bet you practice that look in front of the mirror. No fair."

"I'm desperate. My mother wants to fix me
up with some woman who has two heads, breathes fire, and could eat me in one gulp." He chucked her under her chin. "Come on," he coaxed. "It'll be fun. And you'll get your car fixed for your trouble."

Melanie narrowed her eyes. "If, and I do mean
if
I save your sorry butt from the 'dragon lady,' then you have to call us even on the favor thing."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mel Gibson."

"Damn straight. And I have to be home early. I need to gather some papers for an appointment tomorrow morning."

He held out his hand. "Deal."

Melanie shook his hand and tried her best to ignore the zing of pleasure that zoomed up her arm at his touch. "Deal. Now haul it outside and fix my car."

He
offered her a smart salute. "Aye, aye, Captain." He brushed past her, then paused in the doorway. "About dessert-- Nana said she wanted to bring her own contribution and she's baking
a cheesecake, so anything chocolate you wanted to make would be great." After flashing her a big grin and another one of those darn winks, he left. The front door closed several seconds later.

Melanie collapsed in a chair and waved her hand in front of her face in a hopeless effort to cool off.

Yup. She was in trouble for sure.

~~~

An hour later, Melanie stepped outside into the oppressive heat carrying a frosted mug of lemonade. Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the sight that greeted her eyes. The only part of Chris that was visible were his legs. The rest of him was under her car. As much as she didn't want to, Melanie couldn't help but admire those muscular, tanned male legs.

Walking up to him, she tapped
his Reebok with her flip flop. "I brought you something to drink."

He
scooted from beneath the car, moving sideways like a sand crab. When his head was clear, he stood up and wiped his dirty hands with an equally dirty rag. In spite of being sweaty, rumpled, and sporting a smudge of something black on his jaw he looked good enough lick. The fact that his not-so-white-anymore T-shirt was molded to his broad chest and impressive abs definitely upped the sexy quotient. Uh huh, like he needed to look more sexy.

He took the proffered lemonade and drained it in a series of nonstop gulps that drew Melanie's attention to
his strong, tanned throat. When he finished, he touched the cold mug to his forehead. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Want some more?"

He shook his head. "Not now, thanks."

His proximity
was having a strange effect on her stomach. Stepping away from him, she asked, "How's it going?"

"Good. I just finished changing the oil. I gave you a complete tune-up and your battery is hooked up to my recharger. All that's left is changing the spark plugs." He indicated the opened hood with a jerk of his head. "
Wanna watch?"

"Sure, but I have to warn you: I know
diddly squat about cars."

"That's okay. I know
diddly squat about making dessert."

Melanie followed him t
o the front of the car then watched him open a package of what she assumed were spark plugs. She wasn't sure what fascinated her more-- the ease with which he selected foreign-looking items from his toolbox, or the way his muscles bunched and flexed while he worked. Whatever it was, she was soon thoroughly engrossed, and surprisingly curious.

She l
eaned over the engine with him. “How do you know so much about cars?”

“My dad and grandfather taught me.  Grandpa was a mechanic.”

She pointed. “What's that little do-flickit?"

"T
he air filter," he said, screwing a spark plug into place.

"How about that
thingamabob there?"

"The carburetor."

"I've heard of that. What's it do?"

"It vaporizes liquid fuel and controls its mixing with air for combustion in the engine."

"Uh-huh. And the English translation of that is… ?"