Kiss the Cook Read online

  She'd only taken two steps when she heard Chris yell, "Where are you going?"

  She turned. He stood next to his car, munching on a chicken leg. "I'm going to call someone to pick me up."

  “You don’t have a cell phone?”

  “My car battery isn’t the only one that died tonight.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

  She looked down at her wet, messy, barefooted self and gave a short laugh. “Really? Seems like a real shocker to me.”

  He laughed. “You can use my cell if you want. Or… ” He hesitated a second, then said, "I could drop you off. But I warn you, it's gonna cost you some more food." He took another bite and groaned as he chewed. "This is seriously great chicken."

  Melanie considered his offer. Nana would have to close up shop to rescue her. Besides, her grandmother shouldn't drive-- she was a hazard on the road, especially at night. That was why Melanie had made the deliveries tonight-- she'd been elected by default.

  Christopher Bishop seemed like a decent guy. He certainly wasn't hard to look at, he smelled great, and he hadn't made any untoward gestures when she'd been sprawled across his lap. Besides, she had pepper spray in her glove compartment. She'd bring it with her. One false move and the guy would be toast. Pepper toast.

  "How much more food?" she asked.

  "How much ya got?"

  She laughed. "I'll trade you a ride to the Pampered Palate for two more chicken dinners. It's just a few miles down the road. On Peachtree."

  "Deal. Let's go."

  While he transferred the heavy box from the Dodge to the Mercedes, Melanie grabbed her purse and stuck the pepper spray inside. Hey, a girl could never be too careful.

  She slid into the soft leather passenger seat of the luxurious Mercedes and sighed. A classic Billy Joel tune flowed from the stereo. "Nice car. It still smells new."

  "I only bought it two months ago," he said, easing his way into the Friday-night traffic. "A present to myself for making partner."

  "You're a lawyer?" she asked, praying he wasn't from Slickert, Cashman, and Rich.

  "No. Accountant."

  "Ah. And you work in that office building?"

  "Yup. Twenty-fifth floor."

  “Aren’t you kinda young to be a partner?”

  He shrugged. “I brought in a few key clients so they fast-tracked me.”

  She cocked her head toward the CD player. "You a Billy Joel fan?"

  "Everybody from New York is a Billy Joel fan."

  She stared at his profile. "You're from New York?"

  "That's not a crime, you know."

  "Of course it isn't. I'm originally from the Big Apple myself. I only moved here a few years ago.”

  "I thought I detected a bit of an accent. What part of New York?"

  "Long Island. You?"

  "Westchester." He briefly turned his head and smiled. "Seems like everybody in Atlanta is from somewhere else. What brought you down south?"

  "I couldn't afford New York. Atlanta's a happenin' place, the weather's great, and it's affordable. So here I am." She tapped her bare foot to the music. "Have you lived here long?"

  "Since high school. My dad was transferred during my sophomore year."

  She winced in sympathy. "That must have been tough."

  "At the time, I thought it was the end of the world. I think I set a world record for complaining."

  "Considering the way you carried on about being blocked in, I'm not surprised to hear it," Melanie said in a dust dry tone.

  "Very funny. So, how long have you worked for the Pampered Palate?"

  "Ever since it opened six months ago. Actually, I own it. Well, me and the bank. That fried chicken is our best-selling item. It's Nana's secret recipe and she guards it with her life."

  "Nana?"

  "My Grandma Sylvia. I've always called her Nana. We live together and she helps out in the kitchen."

  "Do you usually make your own deliveries?"

  Melanie shook her head. "My delivery man called in sick at the last minute. Nana offered to step in, but as much as I love her, she's a menace on the road. Sort of a cross between Mario Andretti and Mr. Magoo. Anyway, we offer free delivery on orders over a hundred dollars. That's mostly corporate accounts."

  She slanted him a sidelong look. "Our motto is, 'If it's not delivered on time, it's on us.' That's why I double-parked." She jerked her head toward the backseat. "I had five minutes to get that box of food upstairs or I was out three hundred bucks."

  "Why do you still have it?"

  "The customers had some sort of emergency. They called and canceled the order, but I'd already left. Nana called my cell, but you already know my sad battery story.”

  "Who was the order for?"

  "Slickert, Cashman, and Rich, Attorneys at Law. Thirtieth floor. I wonder what happened."

  "Walter Rich was rushed to the hospital," Chris said.

  Dismay filled Melanie. "Oh, no! Is he okay?"

  "He slipped and fell. His leg is broken and he might have cracked a few ribs. The ambulance came around seven."

  "How awful. Which hospital was he taken to?"

  "Piedmont, I think."

  "I'll have to call and find out how he is," Melanie said. "He's such a nice man, and one of my best customers. He looks just like-- "

  "Santa Claus without the beard," they said in unison. Chris grinned. "My firm audits them. Walter's a great guy."

  He maneuvered the Mercedes into the small parking lot adjacent to the Pampered Palate. "Here we are. I'll help you with the box."

  Melanie held the door for him and they walked into the small front room of the brightly lit store. No one stood behind the glossy dark green granite counter, decorated with a vase of cheerful flowers and a stack of takeout menus. The gleaming parquet floor lent the small space a cozy feel, while the cream-colored walls gave it a dignified air. No tables. Until she could afford a larger space, the Pampered Palate was strictly takeout.

  When she saw him looking around, Melanie said, "I know it's small, but I'm hoping to grow. I want to buy a delivery truck and do private catering on the weekends then eventually expand into a full restaurant."

  "Ambitious goals," he said, nodding, "but if your food is any indication of your talents, I'm sure you'll succeed."

  "Thanks." She set her purse on the counter. "I really appreciate the ride. It was very nice of you, especially considering the inconvenience I caused you."

  "What are you going to do about your car?"

  Melanie shrugged. "I'm not sure. The only person I know who knows anything about cars is my delivery man, and he's sick."

  "You can't leave it parked in that driveway the whole weekend. It'll get towed."

  Towed. She hadn't thought of that. Just what she needed-- another expense. "I'll think of something," she said.

  He set the box down on the counter, and Melanie smothered a laugh. The rip in his pants was a good six inches across. A patch of white boxers stuck out, complete with a smear of barbecue sauce. She smiled and pulled out two dinners.

  "Hey, Melanie!" Nana's scratchy voice reached them. The woman who walked in from the kitchen was a cross between Julia Child and the Energizer Bunny. She stared at Chris. "Jiminy Cricket. Who's the babe magnet?"

  Melanie coughed to cover up a laugh. "Nana, this is Christopher Bishop. I had some car trouble and he gave me a ride."

  "Sylvia Gibson," Nana said, sticking out flour-dusted fingers.

  Chris shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. You make the best fried chicken I’ve ever tasted."

  Nana blushed and patted her short, frizzy, bright red hair. "Call me Nana. So, you after my granddaughter or what?"

  "Nana!"

  "She's a great cook and she's single," her grandmother continued, unrepentant. "Drives a piece of crap for a car, but she won't give it up. She's stubborn but good-hearted, and loves kids and pets." She peered at him over her bifocals. "What do you think?"

  Melanie groaned and covered her eyes
with her hands, but Chris just smiled. He leaned close to Nana's fire-engine red hair and said, "I think I'm going to charm her out of some more chicken, then see if I can talk her into parting with a piece of that cheesecake in the display case.”

  Nana laughed and slapped her knee, sending her knee-high stocking down to her ankle. "Well, good luck, son. Mel hasn't parted with any cheesecake in quite a while. I keep telling her to loosen up a little, but does she listen to me? No. All she does is work, work, work."

  She turned to Melanie, who felt as if the fires of hell were burning in her cheeks. "I'd hold onto this one if I were you. He's cute, smart, and he's got a great butt. Needs some new pants, though. I don't care for this fashion of lettin' your drawers hang out of holes in your britches. At least the hole's in the back, otherwise we’d see his-- "

  "Thank you, Nana," Melanie broke in hastily. "Why don't you head back to the kitchen? I'll be right there."

  Nana fixed Chris with a stern glare. "You fix up those pants, young man, before you call on my granddaughter.''

  Chris gave a smart salute. "Yes, ma'am."

  "And clean that barbecue sauce off your ass," Nana said over her shoulder as she exited.

  Melanie smothered a chuckle, not sure what amused her more-- Nana's remark or Chris's bemused expression.

  “Sorry about that. Nana’s sort of outspoken. She’s loveable, but keeps forgetting I'm not six years old."

  Chris nodded. I know the type.”

  Melanie opened her mouth to ask him… something, but she completely forgot what as she looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in the bright light. Whoa. His good looks were no illusion caused by darkness or rain. He was a veritable DNA masterpiece.

  Whatever gene pool he swam out of deserved its own display at the Smithsonian. His thick mahogany hair beckoned her fingers to ruffle through it. And his eyes reminded Melanie of her favorite color from her childhood Crayola crayons, midnight blue. Her gaze settled on his lips. How they managed to look soft and firm at the same time she didn’t know, but it proved a potent combination. An unbidden image of him kissing her flashed through her mind. Full-blown lust slammed into her so hard she gasped.

  "What's wrong?" he asked. "Do I have chicken stuck between my teeth?"

  She yanked her gaze up and heat scorched her cheeks at the speculative look in his eyes. Crap. It was one thing to ogle a guy, but totally another to get caught doing it. An embarrassed laugh escaped her. "No, no chicken. I was, er, just… "

  "Staring." He took a step closer to her, and Melanie's heart shifted into overdrive. "You were staring at me."

  Melanie averted her eyes, ready to deny his words when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. Her short, curly hair stuck up from her head at all angles-- like hundreds of tiny vacuum cleaner hoses had sucked it up. No shoes, wrinkled shirt, and her face… good grief, her face. No need to wonder if she’d used waterproof mascara this morning.

  She hadn’t.

  Just her luck. Here she stood, looking like the creature from the black lagoon, while Chris appeared as if he’d just wandered in from some modeling assignment. Story of her life. She was cursed with permanent when-my-ship-comes-in-I'll-be-at-the-airport syndrome, while he looked as if he'd never miss the boat.

  “You okay?" he asked.

  Melanie shook her head. "I just caught a glimpse of myself. Yikes. I'm surprised you didn't run screaming from the store the moment we arrived."

  He tilted his head and studied her like an art patron assessing a Picasso. "You look like a raccoon.”

  She pasted a sticky-sweet smile on her face. "Thanks. I guess I won't take offense, since the source of that opinion is a guy whose ass is hanging out of his pants."

  "Touché." Laughing, he touched a finger to the black smudge under her right eye. "I have three sisters. I'm used to this look. Besides, I bet you clean up pretty good."

  Melanie tried to swallow and couldn't. The moment he touched her with that single gentle fingertip, all the spit in her mouth dried up and left her tongue feeling like dust.

  He glanced at his watch and frowned. "Listen, it's late and I need to go before I fall asleep on my feet." He picked up the two boxed dinners she'd set aside. "Thanks for the chicken."

  Melanie cleared her throat. He was the most gorgeous man she'd ever met, and he was leaving. She'd never see him again. Good. Fine. She didn't have time for men anyway. Men were nothing but pains in the tush. She knew that all too well. Yes, indeed. She could thank her ex-fiance for that lesson. And the better-looking they were, the worse they were. This guy probably had more notches on his bedpost than a rock star. Yup, it was a good thing he was leaving. She wanted nothing to do with--

  He touched her arm. "Okay?"

  Uh oh. Clearly he'd been talking to her while her thoughts ran away. "Huh? Okay what?"

  "You must be more tired than I am. I said I have to go." He held out his hand. "It was, er, interesting meeting you. Thanks again for the dinner."

  "Thanks for the ride."

  Melanie thought she sensed a momentary hesitation in him, almost as if he was reluctant to leave. She discovered she was holding her breath. Was he going to suggest seeing each other again? Oh, sure, her inner voice sneered. You look like something the cats dragged in that the kittens wouldn't eat. No, of course he wasn’t going to ask for a date. Not that it mattered. She didn't want a guy cluttering up her life.

  "Good luck with your car." He flashed her a smile. "Brush your hair, okay?"

  Smart aleck. "Change your pants, okay?"

  He laughed. "Deal." Balancing the boxes in one hand like a professional waiter, he walked out the door.

  "Jiminy Cricket," came Nana’s voice from behind her. "He's a real hunk."

  Melanie turned around to face her grandmother's knowing eyes and adopted what she hoped was a casual air. "I suppose a certain type would find him attractive."

  "What type is that?"

  She sighed. No point trying to fool Nana. "The female type."

  "So why'd you let him get away?" Nana smacked her lips. "I woulda hog-tied that sucker and made him my love slave."

  Melanie couldn't help but smile. "I'm not looking for a love slave. I'm not looking, period. A man is the last thing I need."

  "Phooey. A man is exactly what you need. A little passion, a little lust, they're great for the soul."

  Maybe. But Melanie had a sinking feeling that a little passion and a little lust would not be the problem where Christopher Bishop was concerned. The man had distraction written all over him, and a distraction-- of any kind, but most especially one that could lead to heartbreak-- was exactly what she didn’t need.

  Thank goodness she’d never see him again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Chris entered his sparsely decorated Buckhead condo and breathed a sigh of relief. He plopped his briefcase in the ceramic-tiled foyer and was half undressed by the time he reached his bedroom. Leaving his ruined clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor, he stepped into the shower and allowed the stinging spray to massage away his stress-induced aches.

  It didn't take long for his neck and shoulders to feel better, but there was one ache that the steamy water wasn’t washing away. The one brought on by Mel Gibson's lush body pressed up against him. He shook his head. He definitely needed to call her Melanie.

  Not that he needed to call her anything because he didn’t plan to see her again. Hell no. Her and her beat-up car had headache—no, make that migraine-- written all over her. And he needed a migraine like he needed a ball gown.

  After turning off the shower he grabbed a towel. Rubbing his hair dry, his thoughts annoyingly remained on Migraine Melanie and he tried to recall the last time a woman had turned him on so much so fast, and couldn't think of one. None of the women he'd dated in the last several years had ignited more than a fleeting spark.

  And neither had any of the women his determined-to-see-her-single-son-married mother constantly threw in his path. He shuddered, rec
alling the last "perfect girl" Mom had introduced him to. Turned out Miss Perfect was looking for a candidate to father her child. She had a thing for accountants and was anxious to discuss "loopholes." Thanks, Mom.

  He pushed away the unpleasant memory and pulled on a clean pair of boxer briefs and sweats, then headed toward the kitchen. Popping the top on a beer, he settled in at the built-in snack bar with his Pampered Palate dinner.

  Pampered Palate. That name set off a chorus of bells in his mind, but he still couldn't pin down the source. His gut told him it was work-related, but his memory refused to cooperate and tell him why the Pampered Palate struck a familiar chord in him. He knew he’d never seen Melanie before. No way he would have forgotten meeting her.

  Melanie Gibson. Hmmm. Chris washed down a bite of cole slaw with a swig of beer and shook his head. By all accounts he should be royally pissed at her. Her double parking drama had wrecked his new suit and his shoes would probably never be the same.

  Yet something about her had prompted him to offer her a ride. Maybe it was her forlorn expression when her car died the second time. Or maybe it was because if one of his sisters had been in a similar fix, he'd want someone to give them a hand. Maybe it was simply her fabulous fried chicken.

  An image of her in those wet, clinging clothes, sprawled across his lap, trying to unsnag his pants flashed through his mind and he blew out a long breath.

  Fried chicken. Yeah. Right.

  He'd taken one look at her delectable curves, those big mascara-smudged eyes, and that lush mouth and lost his mind. Lust had smacked him with the force of a two-by-four to the face. She was cute, funny, and unassuming-- definitely very attractive in spite of her disheveled appearance. And he really liked the way she'd laughed off her raccoon eyes and Bride of Frankenstein hair. Something about her strummed a chord in him-- a note no one had plucked in a long, long time.

  But the timing sucked.

  In spite of his killer work schedule, his life was finally just beginning to be uncomplicated. Twelve years ago he’d been thrust into the role of "man of the house" when his dad suddenly died from a heart attack-- a big responsibility for an eighteen-year-old, and one he took seriously. He'd changed his plans to go away to college and instead attended a local university. Balancing school and work and helping out with his younger siblings had been a struggle, but in the end well worth the sacrifices he’d made. His sisters were all happily married and Mark, the youngest in the family, had graduated from college two months ago. Chris had made partner soon after that, and now his life, and his finances, were finally unencumbered.