“HI, HONEY, I’M HOME.” David felt like an idiot announcing his presence in his own house, but he didn’t want to startle his temporary roommate.
He stepped inside and felt his nostrils quiver. What was that amazing smell?
“Hi,” a cheerful voice answered him. “You’re home early.”
He put down his briefcase. He’d never thought of his home as cold before, but walking into it now he noticed a difference. The space felt warm, lived-in, and whatever that woman was cooking, his stomach wanted some.
He’d never thought a woman could look sexy in an apron. The image reminded him of moms and old ladies at Christmas dressed as Mrs. Claus, but on Chelsea? The blue-and-white striped apron was about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
Dragging his tie off, he moved closer to his kitchen. Never had there been so much activity in it so long as he’d lived here. He’d grilled the odd steak, and a woman or two had cooked him dinner, but mostly he ate out. He stared in amazement. Little blue flames danced under copper-bottomed pots that certainly didn’t belong to him, and the air was scented like the best French restaurant, only somehow cozier and more familiar.
As he looked at the number of dishes spread out he experienced an uncomfortable scratchy feeling behind his breastbone. “Are you entertaining tonight?”
She’d been quick to make up rules about how he couldn’t have sex with her, or even kiss her, and naturally, the minute he was faced with rules like “no sex,” what else could he think of but taking that lush body in his arms and making love to her all night long?
Why hadn’t he thought to institute a few rules of his own? The first of which would be no entertaining other men in his house when she was supposed to be engaged to him.
She laughed, a deep, sexy sound. “No, I’m not. Well, your sister did drop by earlier, but I wouldn’t invite people here without your permission. And I certainly don’t intend to invite men over while I’m supposed to be engaged to you.”
Even though he was relieved to find she saw the situation exactly as he wanted her to, he also saw how unfair it was. He dashed upstairs into his bedroom, changing into jeans and a shirt before emerging once again into the kitchen.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “that this deal isn’t exactly fair on you, is it?”
She was stirring something on the stove, critically studying the contents. “What’s not fair?”
“That you can’t see anyone else, I guess.”
She glanced up at him, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of the stove. “I went into this arrangement with my eyes open. I won’t do anything that would embarrass you.” She considered. “At least, not on purpose. And I really don’t have time for a man in my life right now, I want to get my business going.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “There’s so much to do. Licenses—oh, that reminds me, I need to make an appointment for a health inspection of the premises. Are you okay with that?”
“Sure. I guess.”
“I’m not completely sure yet what I’m doing. I mean, what my menus will be. I don’t want to start too big and ambitious and turn your apartment into a catering company, but if I start too small, then it’s going to take ages to build a reputation. So far I’m just cooking.”
She’d pushed her hair behind her ears at some point and the ends brushed her jaw. He had no idea why the sight was so hypnotic but he wanted to kiss that spot, trail kisses along her jaw and to her mouth, that glorious, sexy mouth. It took an effort to concentrate on her words.
“Who is all this food for?”
She looked around as though she hadn’t realized how much food she’d cooked. She shrugged helplessly. “You, if you want it.”
The itchy feeling behind his breastbone subsided. “Oh, if it tastes half as good as it smells, I want it.”
She found one of the ridiculously expensive black-and-white plates his designer had chosen. “You have to be honest, though. I want a critique of every bite. I’m determined to be the best caterer this city has ever seen.”
“And I respect your position. But I really don’t want to eat alone with you hovering over me with a scorecard. How about you take off that apron, grab another plate, I’ll open a bottle of wine and we can eat like regular people.” He glanced around. “Only with a lot more food choices.”
“You’re laughing at me. But I can’t help myself. This kitchen is wonderful and I start cooking and can’t seem to stop. I went to the Reading Terminal Market today and got a bit carried away. I’d forgotten how great it is there. So many fresh fruits and vegetables, and an excellent assortment of fish, and artisanal cheeses and—” She laughed. “Well, I don’t have to tell you, you live here.”
But he didn’t think he’d ever in his life got all excited about a food market.
“I may be laughing at you just a little bit, but I’m not complaining. What’s on the menu?”
“We have about three different appetizers to start with, then duck with fresh cherries—I hope it tastes good—and a little lamb that we should probably have later, grilled simply with fresh herbs and fresh vegetables, and two kinds of tart for dessert.”
Whistling softly, he went to the wine fridge that he kept stocked even though he was rarely home to drink wine. While he selected a decent bottle that he hoped would complement a few of the dishes laid out, his roommate set the table. She knew his kitchen far better than he did, unerringly finding table mats he’d forgotten he owned and placing everything neatly on the table.
He noted a big vase of daisies on the table and thought how much they brightened up the place. His roommate wasn’t quite as neat as he was, but the few things she left around made the place seem more lived in. There was the book she’d been reading, set on a side table by the window. Today’s newspaper, open to the half-finished crossword puzzle.
As he moved it off the chair he was about to sit in, he said, “Amputate.”
Chelsea blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Six across. Eight-letter word, to cut off,” he explained, smiling at her. “Amputate.”
“Oh, right. Thanks. I hope you don’t mind that I did the crossword. It didn’t seem like something you enjoyed.”
“No. I never do them. No time.”
She shook her head at him. “You and your sister with your no time.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t compare me with my sister. She’s so driven it’s insane.”
She set a plate with about seven kinds of appetizers on it in the middle of the table. Under a short cotton skirt, her summer-brown legs were bare. Her feet were in sandals and besides noting that she’d painted her toenails purple, he saw a little silver toe ring. “She’s not so driven that she’d pretend to be engaged in order to further her career.”
He grinned at her. “She would if she’d thought of it.”
When she’d settled herself on the other side of the big farmhouse table, he poured wine, then raised his glass. “A toast to our mutual success.”
She smiled at him and they both drank.
“You were a big hit at dinner the other night, by the way,” he told her.
“Really?”
He reached for a tiny pea pod stuffed with crab and some kind of sauce and popped it in his mouth. “Oh, wow, this is fantastic,” he said thickly. “Yeah, they all loved you. Piers is convinced you’d be the perfect hostess at any company function. He’s beside himself with excitement.” Piers wasn’t the only one beside himself with excitement, and he got the feeling his fake future wife had picked up on it. She leaned forward, looking eager.
“So, did you get the VP spot?”
He savored the moment, conscious that he’d pretty much rushed home to tell her, knowing she should be the first to know. “He said they can’t make anything official until Macabee retires, but he offered me the job.”
She shrieked and jumped up and ran around the table. He rose and as she threw her arms around him he caught her against him. Her body felt as good in his arms as he’d known it would. Her smell entranced him, like wildflowers and woman all mixed up with the scent of a great restaurant.
Through the thin cotton of her cherry-colored tank top, he felt her body, warm and luscious.
Her lips were curved in a smile and they were absolutely the sexiest, most kissable lips in the universe. His mouth was on hers before he had time to register what he was doing. Instinct took over, and a kind of need, to taste and hold and savor.
He felt the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest, the fine bones in her back as he held her, and the magical feel of her mouth against his.
Heat pulsed between them and the need to touch her, to take her, pounded in his veins.
As he moved in to pull her even deeper into him and take the kiss to the next level, she put her hands on his shoulders. It took him a second before he realized she was pulling away.
There was a moment of total awkwardness as they stood facing each other. Her eyes were a little wide, her breathing fast.
He wanted to kiss her again; it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He wanted to peel off her clothes and take her to bed, and he could see in her eyes that she was tempted.
But she shook her head, a quick no. Backed away. And then he remembered her stupid rules. Like the no-kissing rule that rattled around in his head like a penny in a tin can.
She sat back down in her seat and made a fuss out of offering him more appetizers, which he ate to keep his mouth busy. Since her food was amazing, the flavor distracted him, but still, he couldn’t entirely stop thinking about kissing her and all the places that could lead.
“I have news, too,” she said, looking pretty pleased with herself.
“What?”
“I got my first catering job.”
“You did?”
“Mmm-hmm. It was through your sister, actually. Some friends of hers are getting married. They’ve been living together for a while and are expecting a baby so they suddenly decided they want to get married in three weeks’ time. And I’m catering the wedding.”
“That is fantastic.” Married in three weeks, he thought. Well, the lucky couple were probably doing it like rabbits, getting so much sex they’d be exhausted by the time they got to the wedding night. That’s what it should be like when you were engaged to a sexy woman. And here he was, engaged to the sexiest woman of all, and he ached, literally ached from the lack of sex.
She beamed at him across the table. “I couldn’t have done it without your kitchen.” She reached for a tiny round of crispy cooked potato topped with goat cheese and some fancy green stuff. As she bit into the appetizer he thought of how much he liked her mouth and how much he wanted her. “We could be the making of each other.”
He had to get a grip!
Stop thinking about sex and Chelsea. Think about something else, anything.
Business, that was it. He was genius at business and maybe if he focused on that he could get his mind off sex.
Temporarily.
“Maybe I could help you in your business,” he blurted.
One sexy eyebrow rose. “You can cook?”
He shook his head. “You’re a genius in the kitchen, but how’s your marketing coming? Have you got a Web site set up?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I was planning on waiting until I have a proper kitchen.”
“Mistake a lot of people make,” he said around another fantastic bite of heaven topped with goat cheese. “Get your advertising and marketing going right away.” He licked his thumb. “Product quality is important, no question, which you definitely have here, but you’ve got to get people buying it or you won’t have a successful business. Bottom line, you won’t have any business.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I can help you with that. I’ve got great contacts through my work. I know a woman who does fantastic Web sites and she owes me a favor. I bet I can cut a good deal. I’ve got a good printer who turns things around fast.”
“A printer, but—”
“You need it all. If you want to be a top caterer, present yourself as a top caterer. You can print off menus on the computer, that’s cool, but have a fancy folder to put them in. And some decent business cards.”
“Business cards?”
“Business cards.” He pictured something classy but forward thinking. “What’s your business name?”
“Hammond and Co.” She got that line between her brows that she always got when she was concentrating on something. “I thought of a bunch of cutesy names, but the more I thought of it the more I wanted my food taken seriously.”
“Sounds like a good strategy to me.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you.”
He was glad she was in such a good mood, and already profiting from their little arrangement, because he had another piece of news for her. One she might not love as much.
“Even though it’s not official yet, I’ve been invited to my first leadership retreat.”
“Leadership retreat? Sounds like a Bible study camp.”
“It’s more a work/play weekend where the top brass of my company plan the future, work on the strategic plan, play a few rounds of golf, that kind of thing.”
“You are so in there,” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, I know. I’m pretty stoked.” He paused, took another sip of wine. Worked up his courage. He’d been selling since his first job in a steakhouse. He was brilliant at sales, he reminded himself. “So, what are you doing weekend after next?”
She stopped chewing and her eyes grew all squinty and suspicious. “Why do you care what I’m doing weekend after next?”
“Because it’s the corporate retreat, and, naturally, the significant others are invited.” He rushed on before she could speak. “It’s going to be great. It’s in a five-star resort in the Poconos, with a spa, excellent meals that you will appreciate. There’s horseback riding, I think, and shopping—” he racked his brain “—and golf.”
“I believe you mentioned golf.” She stared at him for an uncomfortable moment. “I didn’t realize weekend retreats would be involved when I agreed to this charade.”
“I didn’t, either. I mean, I didn’t know it would all move so fast.” He gave her his best winning grin. “It’s all because of you. They liked you so much they’ve fast-tracked things.”
She did not appear to be won over.
“I thought it would be a few dinners and cocktail receptions. I never imagined having to pretend to be in love with you for an entire weekend.”
“Is that so tough?” he asked, stung.
She put down her wineglass. “Yes,” she answered at last. “Tougher than you can possibly imagine.”