Kitabı oku: «The Chocolate Seduction», sayfa 3

At her low velvety purr, Kit’s libido leaped right past thoughts of homey comforts and women who’d make good wives and mothers. Parker had been right—this was the best moving job ever.

“Stop!” Mackenzie suddenly commanded from the front seat. “Stop. Right here, in front of the candy store.”

The car screeched across a lane of traffic and pulled halfway into an illegal parking spot by a fire hydrant. “Mizzy, I can’t stay here—” the driver beseeched as his passenger jumped from the cab.

Kit gaped at what had caught Mackenzie’s attention. The display window of the narrow storefront was piled high with gold boxes and trays of chocolates in all sizes and shapes. Sabrina leaned past the futon, took one look and muttered a dire warning under her breath.

Mackenzie slammed the car door as she got out. “I’ll only be a minute. I need to buy my sister a housewarming gift.” Suddenly her face loomed in the open back window, serious with a disapproval Kit didn’t understand. “A nice big box of fudge.”

“NO, THIS ISN’T the closet,” Sabrina said, triumphantly throwing open the door of her third-floor flat after a delay that had entailed a journey into a dark, dank basement to hunt down the super and receive her new keys. “It’s the apartment.”

The wall opposite was so close it bore scrape marks from the front door. Kit edged in backward, dragging the futon. He expected to see a room opening off the narrow hall, so it took him a few seconds to understand that the hall was the room. It widened by several feet on the right—that was the living room—and culminated in a tiny stove and a sink built into the wall on the left, which was the kitchen. The scarred doors midway in between might open onto a vast ballroom with skylights and a light-filled conservatory, but he was betting on a closet and airplane-sized bathroom. Although the ceiling over the living area was high, it slanted sharply, giving the space an odd lopsided feel.

There was only one place to put the futon. He dropped it beneath a double-hung window covered with filth so thick it served as soundproofing as well as an effective sunblock. A layer of black soot lined the sill. It was only May, but already the apartment was airless and stifling.

Mackenzie hauled in the cleaning supplies. She carried the enormous box of fudge to the kitchen, took one look at the stained sink and said, “Sabrina, are you sure about this? I’ll loan you the money for first and last if you want to get a bigger place….”

“Nonsense. If I’m going to be responsible and live within my means, this was the best I could find in a safe neighborhood. You can think of the place as an atelier, if that helps. I’ll give the walls a coat of paint and it will be fine for a year.” She glanced at Kit. “Or at least a few months.”

Stepping on the futon, Sabrina flicked the latch and tugged on the window. It didn’t budge. Kit shoved hard on the upper sill and it opened with a screech of the ancient wood and a shower of paint chips. The view was of electric lines looped to the backside of an old button factory on West End Avenue. An enormous water tower loomed beyond the neighboring brick ledge, which threw a shadow into the apartment.

Sabrina wilted. “I’ll paint it sunshine yellow.”

“If you want to live in an egg yolk. Personally, I’d paint everything a bright, clean white. And put up a lot of mirrors.” Mackenzie approached the taps with caution. The pipes clanked when she turned on the water, then spurted out a stream of rusty water.

Kit lugged in the suitcase and the backpack. Sabrina hung her garment bag in the closet and put her shoe boxes on the open shelves above a built-in dresser. “There you go. I’m all moved in.” She dusted off her hands. “Yet another benefit of traveling light.”

“How do you live without accumulating stuff?” Mackenzie asked over the sound of rushing water filling her bucket. “Don’t you read? Listen to music? Cook?” She dumped in half a bottle of Mr. Clean. The stagnant air grew sharp with ammonia.

“I give books away when I’m finished with them. I go to clubs for music. Pots and pans I leave behind for the next tenant.”

Kit leaned across Mackenzie to open the kitchen cupboards. “You’re going to need new ones now. These are empty.” Except for the roaches, scuttling toward the cracks and crevices.

Sabrina had regained her optimism. “Good—a reason to go to the flea market.”

Kit thought of the displays of stainless steel cookware in Williams-Sonoma. Glasses, china, silver…He could outfit her kitchen faster than a bridezilla with a scanner in one hand and a registry in the other. But Sabrina would probably hate that.

Could he have a fling with a woman who didn’t know the joys of copper-bottomed sauté pans?

One look at her bending over to unzip the suitcase answered that question. Hell, yes.

In the other direction, Mackenzie was down on hands and knees scrubbing out the undercounter refrigerator. Her rear end was better than Sabrina’s, from an objective viewpoint. He gazed thoughtfully, but aside from a pleasant moment of appreciation for the female form, Mackenzie’s backside did little for him.

“What are you looking at, Kit?” Sabrina stood watching him, a small tarnished bronze horse statue in her hands.

“I was wondering where to put a dining table.”

“I don’t need one. I’ll eat cross-legged on the futon.”

“Too many crumbs. You’ll get roaches.”

“She already has roaches,” Mackenzie said under her breath.

“That’s not civilized,” Kit insisted. He’d hated the stuffy sit-down dinners at his guardian’s house, but then a few years later when his last-chance foster mother—a Frenchwoman known to all as Ma’am—had laid down the law that her kids must be home for dinner every evening, he’d come to look forward to the tradition. Even though on arrival he’d rudely sworn he’d break every rule she set. A proper dinner and the conversation and connection it established between the “family” had ended up being a rule that held deep significance for him.

“You definitely need a table,” he said.

“I might be able to wedge a bistro table in here. Or I could put it on the fire escape.”

“And when it rains?”

“I’ll eat at Decadence.”

“We can fit one in the hall, here, if the table’s narrow enough. Very, very narrow—a console.” He measured the space with hand spans. “The chairs would have to tuck under or there’d be no room to walk by.”

Sabrina shrugged. “Good thing I’m skinny.”

The comment drew his eyes to her like a moth hurtling into a flame. He could almost hear the snap and sizzle of his single-minded desire hitting the blaze. Her golden hair had dried into rippling waves that skimmed over her shoulder blades. The red pepper tattoo flashed at him, then disappeared when she twisted and turned. He loved watching her move—bending, lifting, stretching to place items from her shoe boxes on her freshly scrubbed shelves, every motion suffused with the athletic grace of a ballerina.

“What now?” she said, catching his eye.

“Were you ever a dancer?”

Her eyes danced while the rest of her went still. “Are you telling me I look anorexic?”

“No. But you could use some fattening up.”

Mackenzie sat back on her heels. “Sabrina’s the ectomorph of the family.” She swiped the heel of a rubber-gloved hand over her brow. “I’ve learned to accept that.”

“Ah, but you’re sisters—both attractive, in your own way.” Kit reached for the broom. “It’s just my cooking gene showing. You have an instinct to nest, Sabrina has one to roam, and I want to stock and furnish this sad excuse for a kitchen.”

Having emptied the suitcase, Sabrina zipped it shut and trundled it into the closet. “I can’t get used to being around all these men who cook,” she said from inside the door. “If only the average husband knew how attractive their wives would find them if they put on an apron now and again.” She poked her head out and winked at Kit. “Tell me, do you have groupies, huh?”

He batted her gorgeous backside with the broom. “Only you.”

“That’s what you think,” she said with an airy laugh. “Actually, I’m only interested in the chocolate.”

He raised a wicked eyebrow. “Hmm. Is that so?”

She blushed. Must have remembered previously admitting to her sweet tooth deficiency. “It is. Now that I’m in restaurant management, I have to develop my taste buds.”

“I’ll cook for you anytime.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to lower, but it had, making the offer more suggestive than friendly. Sabrina swayed toward him, her eyes liquid and alive.

Mackenzie gave a discreet cough.

Sabrina was quick to back off, blinking. “That won’t be necessary, thanks. The super told me there’s a Korean grocery around the corner. I’ll go later and pick up a few staples.”

“There’s always the fudge,” Mackenzie said. “A piece a day keeps the testosterone away.”

“What does that mean?” Kit asked, sensing an undercurrent between the sisters. They were up to something.

“Oh, nothing you’d want to know about, Chocomeister.” Sabrina’s voice was too innocent. “Wowza,” she said, “there’s a giant spider web in here. With mummified remains and all. Give me that broom.” She held out an open hand, her long fingers motioning to him from around the closet door.

Kit came up behind her. “Aren’t you afraid of spiders?”

“Not at all. I’ve lived in too many hovels to squeal over every creepy-crawly creature that appears.” She lay her hand on his forearm. The hair on it prickled even after she’d released him, muttering a throaty “Sorry.”

He slid in beside her, making as if he was examining the web, but actually consumed with the sweep of her hair over his arm, the warmth of her body so close to his. The sound of her breathing filled the closet. Was it short? Was it shallow? Was she as aware of him as he was of her?

“Do you have a paper?” he croaked.

“Umm.” Sabrina left the closet, but was back in an instant, handing him a white square. “A paper towel.”

He took it, angling toward the spider web. She leaned with him, her arm resting across his shoulders. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Just kill it. Stomp it.”

He touched the paper towel to the web, coaxing the fat spider onto it. “Out of my way.”

Sabrina nimbly stepped aside. He carried the paper towel to the open window, turning it over as the spider crawled along the edge toward his fingers. He shook the towel outside, over the fire escape. “Go, little spider. You’ve been set free.”

“Free to build a new web on my fire escape,” Sabrina said, elbows propped up on the sill beside him. A touch of a breeze fingered through her hair, blowing strands of it across his face. She drew it back behind her ears in the way that women did, making a ponytail. The neck of her top gaped a little, displaying her collarbone and the shadowed hollow between her breasts. He imagined touching her there, with his fingertips. Tasting her, with his lips.

Her mouth curved. “So…the mystery man reveals a soft heart.”

“I’m no mystery man.”

Her eyes engaged his. “And your heart?”

“Give it a little time,” he said. “Maybe you’ll find out.”

AN HOUR LATER, the three of them sat in a row on the thin futon, looking at the apartment, freshly cleaned but still sadly bleak. Mackenzie and Kit had stretched out their legs. Sabrina’s knees were drawn up to use as a desk. She was making a list on the back of a dry cleaner’s receipt.

“Pillows,” Mackenzie said.

“Pots and pans,” said Kit.

Sabrina scribbled. “One pot, one pan. I’m doing a minimalist thing.”

He let out a windy sigh. “Utensils.”

“A comforter,” Mackenzie added.

“Mixing bowls.”

“Towels. Tissue. Bath oil.”

“Wait, wait,” Sabrina said, amused that all of her sister’s items were for comfort and all of Kit’s were for the kitchen.

“You’ll never carry that much alone,” he said. “I’m coming with you.”

Mackenzie passed the fudge. Already Sabrina was sick of the stuff—her sister had constantly urged it on her—but she took a piece anyway and nibbled it as she completed the list. “There’s no way I’m buying all of this at once.”

“Most important is food.” Kit waved the fudge away with a grimace. Out of politeness, Mackenzie had offered it to him every time she’d forced it on Sabrina. “Food other than chocolate.”

“Left to her own devices, Sabrina will come home with two oranges, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of water.” Mackenzie tapped one sneaker against the other. “Maybe I should come along to help you shop.”

“Oh, please! I’m not a baby. Thanks for the offers, guys, but I can manage on my own.”

Mackenzie leaned closer to whisper behind her hand. “On your own isn’t the issue.”

Sabrina turned her head away from Kit, lowering her voice. “I’m stoked to the gills with chocolate. Don’t worry.”

“You’re a big girl.” Mackenzie got to her feet. Kit joined her. “Umm, I just remembered I can’t go with you anyway,” she announced, giving in graciously. “I have a meeting this afternoon with my builder. We’re finishing up renovations on my shop. Going over the final budget today, so I’ve got to be there.” She stuck out a hand. “Nice to see you again, Kit. Thanks for helping Sabrina out.”

They shook hands. “Should I go down and whistle for a cab?” he asked.

“That’d be great. I’ll be right there as soon as I gather up my stuff.”

“I’ll take the bucket and mop.”

Sabrina watched Kit go, big and broad and manly in a lank T-shirt and jeans. Perspiration-damp black hair curled over his ears and forehead. He looked happy and cheerful, almost like the boy next door, although as an adult she’d never had a next door for longer than a few months at a time. The serious, reserved persona he wore in the restaurant had peeled up at the edges like his hair, giving her a good long look at the man beneath—warm and caring in an earthy, sexy way.

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at him.” Mackenzie stood in the doorway with her broom. She’d left the detergents and scouring pads lined up on the two square feet of available counter space. “If you owned a spoon, you’d be eating him up.”

Sabrina swiped her brow. “Oh, please. Not a chance after all that fudge.”

Mackenzie shrugged off the assurance as she glanced toward the stairs. “I don’t blame you about Kit. He’s quite the man. I think he’d be really good for you—”

“Good,” Sabrina scoffed.

“But try to resist, okay? If you fall back into old habits now, next thing I know you’ll be packing for Zimbabwe or some other far corner of the globe, and I’ve been really looking forward to having you around for a while.”

“Thanks.” Sabrina gripped her sister in a big hug. “Me too.”

Mackenzie smoothed Sabrina’s hair from her face. “After today you’ve got to stay away from Kit.”

“Then why did you set me up with him for your store opening?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. Maybe it was to test your mettle. Or sabotage. I do love that ring, you know.”

“That’s cruel.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to see him. You can even date. Just don’t sleep with him.”

“But he’s so yummy.”

“So is chocolate. Go in and have another piece.”

Sabrina made a choking sound. The first few squares of rich, sweet fudge had gone down easily and possibly even increased her sense of well-being. But her interest in Kit hadn’t lessened. The only benefit was that by the fifth piece, she’d begun to feel sick. Physical attraction had momentarily been trumped by faint nausea. She suspected the former was longer lasting.

“Mackenzie,” she ventured, “I have to say that this idea of yours is not working.”

“Then we need to find better chocolate. I know of a small candy company that sells Better Than Sex chocolate bars. I’ll have a month’s supply delivered ASAP.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Mackenzie kissed Sabrina’s cheek. “It won’t be forever.” She gave her another squeeze. “Abstinence is good for the soul. And chocolate satisfies every desire.”

“Who said that?” Sabrina asked as Mackenzie departed. “Gandhi? Mother Theresa? St. Valentine?” She hung over the stair rail. “I’m no saint!”

Mackenzie’s voice floated up to her. “It must have been Willie Wonka.”

Sabrina groaned. “Well, damn. Dip me in a vat of Godiva and call me a virgin, why don’tcha?”

3

“SEE HOW PLUMP IT IS? Feel this. So firm.” Kit took a deep sniff before thrusting the tomato at Sabrina. “Smell. You’ll think you’re smack dab in the middle of a garden.”

Sabrina inhaled. Mmm. Kit was right—she was home in Scarsdale in the tangled, weedy vegetable patch her father had planted among her mother’s manicured perennial beds. The sun was hot; she wore braids and Lolita sunglasses; there was an itchy scab on her knee from a skateboard accident and loud voices drifting from the house….

Chomp. She took a giant bite out of the ripe tomato. Juice squirted over her cheeks and chin.

Kit’s surprise gave way to an exuberant laugh. He lifted the tomato to his own mouth and bit into it. A glop of seeds and juice ran down his wrist. “Delicious,” he said, raising his arm to slurp it up. “We’ll take a dozen.” The lady who ran the produce stand shoveled tomatoes into a clear plastic bag.

The bite of warm red flesh slid down Sabrina’s throat. “I can’t eat a dozen tomatoes at once.”

Kit was stalking the eggplants. “Sure we can.”

We, she thought, scowling to hide her unreasoned joy. She followed him closely, watching as he hefted eggplants and thunked melons.

“Two of the aubergines and one honeydew.” He dropped the melon he’d chosen into a bag extended by the proprietor. “For your breakfast,” he told Sabrina, offering her the half-eaten tomato.

Not our breakfast. She took a small bite, avoiding his fingers.

“Here, you’re sticky.” He pitched the rest of the tomato into an overflowing trash can and asked a passerby for a spritz from her water bottle so charmingly the girl laughed and obliged, squirting his hands. He dabbled his wet fingertips over Sabrina’s chin. “There. That’s better.”

“Now I’m dripping.” Ducking, she pulled her tank upward, drying her damp face on the front of it like a child.

Kit’s gaze had dropped to her exposed midriff. “I can see your—” He swallowed. “Ribs.”

She tugged the shirt back down. “Is this what it’s like, hanging with a chef? They follow you around saying, ‘Eat, eat. More, more.”’

“That’s an Italian mother.”

“Or a Jewish one.”

“Or Greek.”

She smiled. “Chefs must all have mother complexes. Only, being men, you feed the world and get well paid for it.”

Kit passed money to the vegetable lady and received the heavy bags of produce. At other stalls, he’d bought onions, mushrooms, too many peaches and apricots and a huge bunch of glossy red grapes.

Loaded down with parcels, they made their way through the throng of weekend shoppers at the farmer’s market. The door stood open at a small bakery, emitting smells of rising yeast and hot bread. Kit ducked inside and came out with a baguette of French bread wrapped in a narrow paper bag, holding it above his head like a triumphant warrior.

Sabrina shook her head at his glee and said, “Enough already. Come on, we’ll have to get a taxi instead of the train,” but he was already distracted by another vendor with baskets of fresh herbs that spiced the air with traces of mint and basil and oregano.

“I’m getting a cab,” she yelled over her shoulder. Her arms were so weighted she felt as if they’d stretched six inches. She pushed through the festive crowd, bags bumping. Kit came running, meeting her where the stream of shoppers dispersed among the bustle of traffic on Mulberry. Setting the bags of fruit and veggies on the sidewalk, she lifted a hand to signal for a cab.

“Five minutes,” Kit said before disappearing again.

She looked behind her at a drab storefront with a striped awning. Beyond a dingy window in which thick lengths of sausage hung, Kit consulted with a fat man in an apron. The butcher’s tattooed arms waved as the discussion grew involved. Finally he clapped Kit on the shoulder and reached behind the counter.

A cab screeched up to the curb and she loaded her parcels into it, climbing in herself as Kit emerged with a paper-wrapped bundle. “I got the last real Italian chorizo,” he said, panting as he pushed in beside her. “It’s the best in the city.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She was a goner if Kit should ever decide to seduce her with the passion he showed for their groceries. Hard to believe she’d considered him reserved. He was a different man away from the restaurant—less intense, not so contained. The teasing hints of playfulness she’d detected at Decadence were now full-blown, and very appealing. While they shopped, he’d dropped amusing little stories into their conversation, telling her of truffle-hunting expeditions with a pig and a man named Hogg in the south of France, of learning to make risotto and pears in mascarpone custard from a nun in Siena. Sabrina could have listened forever. She was intoxicated by the heady delight of really liking the person she was hot for.

But now here she was, all worked up without a bite of chocolate in sight. That was the one food item they had not purchased.

“Umm…” She nudged Kit’s shoulder. “What do you expect me to do with all of this food?”

“I’ll show you.”

“So you’re not only a pastry chef?”

“Of course not. That’s my specialty, but I can cook anything.”

“Even without dishes and utensils?” she said, remembering. She’d had no chance to drag out her shopping list—Kit had pulled her from one stall to the next as soon as they hit Little Italy. She’d been sure there were farmer’s markets closer to her neighborhood, but he’d insisted the trip downtown was worth the hassle.

“I went into a store when I sent you to buy the eggs.” He rummaged through the purchases until he found a shopping bag with string handles. “This will get you started.”

The bag crinkled as she peered inside. A flat pan, three whisks—why three?—a bundle of cutlery, stainless steel mixing bowls. “Thanks, but I’ll reimburse you. For all of it,” she added, mentally wincing at the balance in her checking account. New York was expensive. A large deposit on the apartment had eaten most of her savings. Mackenzie frequently offered loans, but Sabrina wouldn’t take them. It was a matter of honor—she’d survived this long on her own, even if she didn’t have a portfolio or hefty retirement account to show for it. Security wasn’t important to her. La dolce vita was. Turning thirty didn’t have to change that.

“Consider it a housewarming gift,” Kit said.

On impulse, she brushed her warm cheek over his, whispering thanks. “I’m overwhelmed.”

“Wait until you taste lunch.”

He was coming back to her apartment, then. He would fill it up with his wide shoulders and his deep voice and his sheer presence. She shouldn’t have been so happy at the thought. Normally she hated being crowded. Some of her finest days had been spent on the beach at Baja California, where she’d stayed for two months in a hut without real walls, only bamboo blinds that she rolled up to let in the sunlight and the salty sea breeze.

The city was teeming and uptown traffic was slow, but eventually they arrived at her new apartment. For a moment, she was dismayed at the idea of a year of dwelling in the heavy brick building, cloistered off the alley in what was essentially a closet with a toilet and a window. Then she remembered the pulse of the city, the vitality that had surged through her. It would be okay. She was on another adventure.

Kit unloaded the bags, extended his hand. Her sojourner, she thought, placing her palm in his.

“Where do you live?” she asked as they entered her building and climbed the stairs, weighted down like pack mules.

“A midtown sublet. It’s nothing special. I got the place from another chef who moved for a job in L.A., but it’s only good for five or six months. I’ve been there four. I’ll look soon for a permanent home.”

“You plan to stay in the city?”

Kit stopped outside her door. “Don’t you?”

She looked at him over the rounded end of the crusty loaf. “Not—” Her bargain with Mackenzie was supposedly going to last a year. The first five weeks had been spent on finding the right job and the wrong apartment. She’d been lucky when an old friend in the food service industry had recommended her to Dominique Para, who’d been willing to count Reno cocktail waitress and roller-blading hot-dog queen as job qualifications. But that didn’t mean Sabrina was so grateful she’d commit to the long term. Even a year was iffy. Extremely iffy, if Kit hung around and she lost the bet. No reason to stay after that. Unless Kit became the reason.

“Not forever, no,” she said quickly—and defiantly. “I like to stay footloose and fancy-free.”

He nodded. “Right.” Their camaraderie had suddenly dimmed, and it wasn’t because the super was too cheap to replace the burned-out lightbulbs in the ancient fixtures.

Disappointed, but not quite sure why, she juggled her packages to free a hand and slid her key from the pocket of her drawstring pants. She inserted it into the lock. “Aren’t you the same?” Clutching fruit to her chest, she pushed open the door.

Kit’s eyes had gone the color of a rain-chopped river. “What gave you that idea?”

“Dominique happened to mention it. She said you’ve worked all over the place in the past.” Dominique hadn’t been the only one. Parker had quoted Kit’s résumé to her one day when they’d shared a cigarette in the alley behind the restaurant. They’d both been awed by the world-class restaurants that had hired Kit.

“Join the Navy, see the world,” he said, standing aside while she shoveled Mackenzie’s detergents in the space under the sink. They started unloading. Soon fruits and vegetables covered every inch of counter space.

Sabrina turned on the water, eyeing the muscled terrain of Kit’s chest and arms while they waited for it to run clear. “You were in the Navy? I don’t see any anchor tattoos.”

“Should I take my shirt off?”

Her heart thumped. “No, thanks. I don’t need proof.”

“I see you have one.”

She hitched her shoulder. The tiny chili pepper tattoo on the back of it was a souvenir of a night in Tiajuana with a man whose kiss she remembered but whose name she’d forgotten.

“It’s cute,” Kit said, looking at her.

Stupid, cramped apartment. They were standing too close. She could feel the heat of his body. See the hint of blue behind his thick lashes, the glint of the gold at his ear. Even though they hadn’t kissed, his name was already tattooed on her brain. Damn—where was the fudge?

“You look hungry,” he said. “Have a grape.”

She grabbed the entire bunch and thrust it under the water.

He picked up the strays. “You should have a colander.”

“I don’t know what a colander is.”

“Liar.”

She held up the glistening grapes, waggling them to shed droplets. “Drip-drying works.”

“What about your hands? We didn’t buy towels.”

The comment made her think of wet naked bodies, but he appeared oblivious, splashing at the sink. She worked on sweeping him out of her mind while he washed the tomatoes, put them in one of the new mixing bowls and dried his hands on his jeans.

And she still hadn’t stopped dwelling about wet naked bodies. A distraction was in order. “When were you in the Navy? Dominique didn’t mention that at all.”

“After high school—sort of.” He looked uncomfortable. “So Dominique gave you a rundown on me, huh?” They both knew that Dominique was willing to gossip indiscriminately, although she was more discreet about staff since they led less interesting lives than her gadabout friends.

Sabrina blushed. “Okay, I confess. I asked her.”

“Why?”

She backed up to the counter. Licked her dry lips. “I think you know why.”

Although his feet didn’t move, suddenly he seemed right there on top of her. She was focused on his eyes, but she felt the rest of him through her pores. Hot, male, predatory, his chest—no, his entire body—slowly expanding and contracting with each deliberate breath.

“Because you like me,” he said in a low voice that melted her like butter. He lifted a hand. It hovered over her bare arm, making the hair on it rise. She almost expected him to start crackling like the wand of a metal detector. Certainly she’d been set off.

Parting her lips and making a response seemed to take forever. Her voice came out as soft and scratchy as an old record album. “Yes…I like you.”

“You want to date me.”

“Mmm.” If that’s what he called it.

“Maybe you want to kiss me.”

Maybe? For sure!

His eyes were so hot on hers it was like having her head dunked in his double boiler. She made a rough sound in her throat that probably passed for assent; it was all she could muster.

Kit lowered his fingertips onto her arm. His touch was silken as it glided upward. “And I want to kiss you,” he whispered, holding her face in both hands now, tilting it as his mouth came down over hers. The kiss landed softly. He lipped her, gently plucking and lapping, his palms cradling her cheeks. It wasn’t what she’d expected, but it was…heavenly.

Her fingers closed on his wrists, holding her up when her knees started to give out. She was in full swoon—all thoughts, all feeling centered on Kit’s kisses, which were so sweet and deliberate she believed he was savoring her.

His arms went firmly around her, one hand bunched in her hair, holding her fast against his chest as the kisses deepened by minute degrees. His tongue was liquid and warm. She gripped him tighter, lost in the molten flow.

“Ma chérie.”

She swam partway out of her lovely stupor. “What? Do you speak French?”

“A little.” He tried to keep kissing her, but she pulled back. “I’m a chef, after all. I went to cooking school in France.”