What's Cooking?

by Sherryl Woods

  “It will,” she said with conviction.

  “Probably.”

  “Then why bother?”

  “What’s wrong with living in the moment?” he countered. “I’d rather be a thousand percent alive some of the time than bored to death all the time.”

  “You don’t think there’s a middle ground?”

  “Haven’t found it yet,” he said. “Have you?”

  “No,” she told him honestly. But that’s what she wanted. She knew it existed because her parents had it. Melanie had found it with Mike. Maggie had already had enough of these whirlwind relationships to realize that she wanted more than this.

  “What’s the bottom line here, Maggie? Do you want me to take off?”

  The sensible answer, of course, was yes. She couldn’t seem to get the word out. As unrealistic as it might be, it seemed she wanted more with Rick, a man who obviously had no experience with making anything last longer than a few days or, at most, a few weeks.

  “I can’t think on an empty stomach,” she said instead, keeping her tone determinedly breezy. “That bear claw wore off a long time ago. I’ll go fix something.”

  His gaze held hers. “And then?”

  “We’ll discuss it some more.”

  His lips twitched. “Till you talk it to death?”

  “Maybe,” she said defensively. “A little talking will be good for a change. It’s not as if we’ve ever done much of it.”

  He laughed at that. “Okay, then, Miss Maggie, we will talk to your heart’s content, as long as you don’t mind if I do what I do best.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Try to convince you to shut up and come back to bed.”

  To her sincere regret, she shivered with anticipation. “You can try.”

  “Thank you,” he said solemnly. “I promise you, I will give it my absolutely best shot.”

  She frowned at him. “Arrogance is not appealing.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to let my actions speak for themselves,” he said agreeably.

  Maggie sighed. That was exactly what she was afraid of. When his actions challenged her willpower, it was no contest.

  Chapter Four

  To Rick’s surprise after the intensity of the conversation they’d had upstairs, dinner was actually more fun than he’d ever had with a woman outside of bed. Maggie ran her kitchen like a drill sergeant, issuing commands and organizing ingredients with an impressive level of efficiency. He went along with it and found himself enjoying her bossiness, mainly because it was so much fun to tease her about it.

  “You ever think about joining the military?” he inquired when he’d lined up a row of requested spices precisely according to her specifications.

  She shot a daunting look at him. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

  “It boggles the mind to imagine how many potatoes you could have peeled while on kitchen duty.”

  “Very funny.”

  He gestured toward the row of spices, apparently intended for spaghetti sauce. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to buy the sauce in a jar?” he asked, knowing she would consider the question to be bordering on blasphemy.

  “If that’s what your palate’s used to, then prepare to be awed,” she retorted. “Trust me, there’s no comparison.”

  “If you say so,” he said, hiding a grin at the indignation in her voice and the patches of red on her cheeks. He’d discovered a whole new way to stir Maggie up that was almost as enjoyable as sex.

  She frowned at him. “Why are you standing there? Aren’t you supposed to be crushing those tomatoes?”

  “Am I?”

  “You said you wanted to help,” she reminded him. “If you can’t keep up with the instructions, maybe you should stand back and let me do this.”

  “No way. I said I’d help and I will.” He eyed the bowl of canned tomatoes with exaggerated wariness. “You want me to stick my hands in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why not throw ’em in a food processor?”

  “There’s none here.”

  “A blender?”

  “Sorry. And even if we had one, in my family we do this the old-fashioned way. My father’s Italian. He’s taught us all how it was done in the old country. We try to follow tradition. Of course, if you’re afraid to get your hands dirty…” She let the unspoken challenge trail off.

  “I am not afraid of anything,” he said, sticking his hands in and squishing the tomatoes. He hadn’t done anything this disgusting since he’d made mud pies when he was a toddler. “Like this?”

  She watched him for a moment, shook her head, then stepped up and gingerly took his hands in hers and showed him what she wanted him to do. His body promptly stilled, even as his pulse took off like a jet seeking altitude. His response was poking her in the hip. There was no mistaking the moment she became aware of his arousal. She shuddered, then stepped carefully away, clearly trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

  “I think you have it now,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “I definitely have something,” he responded, keeping his expression innocent.

  “Rick!”

  “Yes, Maggie?”

  She gave him an impatient look, then muttered, “Never mind.” She turned her back on him.

  Rick regarded her with amusement. She was trying so blasted hard to keep things cool. She didn’t seem to get the fact that heat was what life was about. All the rest was marking time.

  “Okay, the tomatoes are properly squished,” he said at last. “Now what?”

  “Now you go for a walk or something and stay out of my way,” she replied.

  “Afraid I’ll steal your trade secrets?”

  “Hardly. I think we can both agree that you’re no gourmet chef.”

  Rick had to bite back a laugh. “Oh, really?”

  “It’s obvious.”

  “Just because I asked you to show me how to squeeze a few canned tomatoes?”

  “That was definitely one clue. Then there was the comment about getting spaghetti sauce from a jar.”

  “I said it would be easier, didn’t I? Did I say anything about better?”

  She regarded him with a quizzical expression. “What are you getting at? Do you actually cook?”

  “A few things,” he said modestly. He’d been a bachelor for too long, and somewhere along the way he’d developed a cultivated palate. He knew his way around the kitchen. In fact, he suspected he was a more than even match for her, when he chose to be.

  “You want to make the sauce?” she inquired in a way that implied she was throwing the suggestion out as a challenge she was confident he wouldn’t accept.

  “Sure.”

  Looking startled, she stood back and made a dramatic sweep of her hand. “Be my guest.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why not? I have a cast-iron stomach.”

  “There’s no need to be insulting.” And just for that remark, he intended to test her mettle. He’d make an arrabiata sauce that could match the fires of hell.

  With practiced movements, he tossed the ingredients into the saucepan, then began deftly adding spices. Next thing he knew, Maggie was at his shoulder, peering into the pot.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “What did you get out of the cabinet?”

  “Another spice or two.”

  “Which ones?”

  “I think I’ll wait till you taste it and see if you can guess.”

  She reached for the spoon, but he held it away. “Not now. It has to simmer for a bit.”

  “There’s nothing worse than a testy, controlling cook,” she muttered, retreating to her place at the table.

  “Something for you to keep in mind,” he said. “Any wine in the house? You could pour us a glass.” One was usually his limit, but tonight he might make an exception.

  “Oh, goody. An assignment for the little lady,” she mocked.

  “Pouring the wine is a macho thing, a very big responsibility, i
n fact. I didn’t ask you to set the table, did I?”

  “Good thing,” she muttered.

  Rick laughed.

  Twenty minutes later dinner was on the table. The fragrance of the sauce was rife with garlic, oregano and other spices. When Maggie had been getting the wine, he’d switched the angel-hair pasta for a denser penne that would hold up to the chunky, flavorful sauce. It was a lesson he’d learned from a famous Tuscan chef. Not all pastas were created equal, and the selection could make all the difference in the success of a meal.

  Maggie eyed the bowl in front of her with surprise as Rick grated fresh parmesan cheese over the top. He couldn’t fault the quality of the ingredients in her pantry. Even though she’d just arrived a few days ago, she’d brought in only the best.

  “This looks fabulous,” she admitted. “Smells good, too.”

  “You sound shocked. It’s just pasta.”

  She laughed. “There’s no such thing as just pasta to an Italian. This is the food of the gods.”

  “The Italian bit slipped my mind for a minute,” he said. “I was more panicked about performing to the high standards of the food editor.”

  She tasted her first bite, then sighed. “Not to worry. You passed with flying colors for both the Italian and the food editor. Even my father would be impressed, and he’s a tough critic. He doesn’t think anyone on earth cooks Italian the way his mama did, though it never stopped him from trying to teach all of us. To his regret, Ashley showed absolutely no interest. Melanie can barely boil water, and Jo likes to take shortcuts that make him insane. I’m the only one who took what he said to heart.”

  “I’ll have to cook for him sometime, then.”

  “Sure you won’t suffer from performance anxiety?” she teased.

  “Performing for you is the only thing that ever makes me anxious,” he responded. He gazed into her eyes. “I want to get it right, Maggie. I really do.”

  She swallowed hard, her gaze locked with his. “Are we still talking about cooking?”

  He shook his head. “Not entirely.”

  A surprising hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “You brought sex up first,” she gloated. “And after accusing me of wanting to talk things to death.”

  Rick sighed. “My mistake. Let’s discuss what we’re going to do tomorrow.”

  Maggie looked far more shaken than the suggestion warranted.

  “Something wrong with that?” he asked.

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “No, not as long as you’re here.”

  “You said you’d only be here a few days,” she said, sounding a little panicky.

  He shrugged. “I assumed you’d only be here a few days.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’m here indefinitely,” she said with a note of belligerence.

  “Then I guess I am, too,” Rick replied. That was the blessing of a career in which he made his own schedule. He might have to call his agent eventually and shuffle a few assignments, but he could manage to stay for however long Maggie did.

  “Why?”

  “I think we’ve established that,” he reminded her. “I intend to get to know you.”

  “Outside of bed?” she asked skeptically.

  He laughed, even though he could see that to her it wasn’t a joking matter. “And in.”

  Unfortunately, there was no spark of amusement in Maggie’s eyes. Obviously she was in no mood to be taunted.

  “Okay,” he relented. “It’s more than that, but I’m not sure I can explain it, Maggie. I have no idea what you expect me to say.”

  “To be honest, I don’t know what I want you to say, either,” she admitted, gazing at him plaintively. “Do you think we could spend an entire week together here without sex?”

  He gave her a horrified look. “Why would we want to?”

  “Because sex is not the only thing that counts in a relationship. People have to be able to communicate in other ways, too. They have to have things in common, enjoy spending time together.”

  He could see she was totally serious. When he recalled what she’d told him at the beginning, that she’d taken a break from all relationships, it finally dawned on him why she was so gun-shy about the way things were between them. “Is that what happened to your other relationships, Maggie? They cooled down and then they died? Did that convince you that the only thing you were any good at was sex?”

  She seemed startled by the question. “Where did you come up with that idea?” she asked defensively.

  “Added up a few comments,” he said. “Am I right?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” she admitted with obvious reluctance. “I seem to have this part down really, really well. The rest is usually a disaster. I’m not even sure I can carry on an intelligent, stimulating conversation with a man anymore.”

  Rick laughed until he realized that she was serious. He sobered at once. “Trust me, sweetheart, you can. In fact, that was one of the first things that attracted me to you. You came into that photo shoot knowing exactly what you wanted, and you didn’t hesitate to tell me.”

  “Well, of course, I did,” she said, dismissing it as if it were nothing. “That’s my job.”

  He grinned at her confidence. “True, but a lot of people tend to be intimidated when they deal with me for the first time. Some expect me to be temperamental, so they tiptoe around me. Others simply let me call the shots, because they figure that’s why they’re paying me the big bucks.”

  “Because you’re the internationally famous photographer?” she asked, her expression thoughtful. “Yes, I can see how that might intimidate some people.”

  “More than a few.”

  “But they’re the client,” she protested. “Besides, you mostly do fashion work. I knew we got you at the last second to do this food layout only because you owed a favor to a friend. I figured you’d welcome some pointers.”

  He laughed. “You gave more than a few pointers, Maggie,” he said, his expression wry. “You never shut up. Most clients don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. You did. I liked that. You challenged me every step of the way, and I liked that, too. We made a good team. The proof of that is in those pictures.”

  “I was fairly certain at the time that you thought I was being a pain in the butt,” she admitted.

  “I did, but a fascinating pain, just the same. Why did you think we wound up in bed that night?”

  “Chemistry,” she said simply. “That and the fact that it’s what you do. You meet a woman you’re attracted to, and you get involved for a bit.”

  “That’s fairly insulting,” he pointed out, then sighed. “But unfortunately, true. This time is different.”

  She looked doubtful. “How?”

  “I don’t know, but I can tell you that you are the first woman I’ve chased to the middle of nowhere.”

  “This is not the middle of nowhere,” she retorted, even though that was hardly the point. “You found a café that serves lattes, didn’t you? Isn’t that civilized enough for you?”

  “The only thing that kept me here, I assure you,” he said, enjoying the quick flags of color that burned in her cheeks. “Well…and you, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He met her gaze. “Do I get to stay?”

  She looked surprised by the question. “Is it actually up to me?”

  He made up his mind that this would never work if she was having second thoughts. He met her gaze and took a chance. “I want to stay, but if you still want me to go, then I will. So, yes, it’s up to you.”

  She hesitated for what seemed like an eternity, then said firmly, “You can’t stay here. That would pretty much destroy the whole starting over slowly thing.”

  “Deal,” he said, relieved. He could play by those rules, for a while at least.

  “And when you’re bored out of your mind in the middle of nowhere and with me, you’ll just say so, right? You won’t feel compelled to stay or take off without a word?”

  “Not go
ing to happen, but okay.”

  “Then you can stay,” she relented.

  Something told him, though, that she wasn’t entirely happy about it. He had a hunch it was the sex thing, that she didn’t trust herself—or him—not to fall back into that old, apparently self-destructive pattern of hers. Maybe a week would give him enough time to convince her that what they had was unique…in bed and out.

  Even though Rick had agreed to her ground rules, even though he was staying out of her path as they cleared up the dinner dishes, there wasn’t an instant when Maggie wasn’t fully aware that he was close by. The hairs on her arms all but stood up and did a little dance each time they brushed by each other, no matter how innocently.

  She had to get him out of here soon, before she weakened and broke one of those vows she’d made him agree to respect not ten minutes earlier. How pitiful would that make her look?

  When the doorbell rang, she raced to answer it, then realized she should have ignored it when she found Melanie and Mike on the doorstep. She had a hunch their arrival while Rick was here wasn’t strictly happenstance.

  “Go away,” she told her sister.

  Melanie simply laughed. “Don’t want me to meet your company?”

  “No, and how do you know he’s here, anyway?”

  “Mike heard it from a friend, who heard it when he went to pick up coffee this morning. I believe Rick was buying lattes and bear claws for two. I called Ashley, who knows everything going on in this family, and picked up a few more tidbits about the intriguing Mr. Flannery.”

  Maggie groaned. “Is there any little detail you’ve missed?”

  “I don’t think so, but I definitely feel out of the loop, since I haven’t even gotten a peek at this hunk who chased you all the way from Boston. I am your sister, after all.”

  Maggie turned a beseeching look on Mike. “Can’t you take her home? Isn’t it time to pick up Jessie or something?”

  “Jessie’s over at Pam and Jeff’s, playing with Lyssa,” Melanie retorted. “She’ll be fine for another hour or so.”

  “You’re going to stay, aren’t you?” Maggie muttered with a sigh of resignation.

  Mike gave her a sympathetic look. “Was there ever any doubt?”