With a Little Help

by Valerie Parv

  “Makes two of us,” Nate agreed. “After all the drama, I need something else in my head. Tell me what you’re doing at this moment.”

  “Besides calling you?” she asked, feeling her face heat. Why hadn’t she texted him instead of getting herself into this?

  “Yep. Start with what you’re wearing.”

  Shock made her blurt out the truth. “Coffee-colored lounging pajamas.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Her stomach knotted. “Nate!”

  His laughter vibrated down the line. “You’re blushing, I can tell.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  She pulled her legs close to her body in an unconsciously defensive posture. “All right then, two can play. What are you wearing?”

  “Sleep shorts with red devils on them.” He sounded far more relaxed than she was. “Seems appropriate.”

  “You think of me as a devil?”

  “Only when you act like one. Like you’re doing now.”

  “Have you thought you might bring out the devil in me?” His voice was low and sexy.

  She’d had enough, not only of his dismissal of her work, but the way her body temperature insisted on soaring at the sound of his voice. “You must be mixing me up with the other Emma,” she said tartly.

  “WHAT OTHER EMMA?” NATE searched his memory but came up blank.

  “On the phone when I reminded you about our meeting, you mentioned another Emma you thought you had a date with tonight.”

  “Oh, her. My mind was on other things.” Like the touch-and-go outcome of a nine-hour surgery, he recalled.

  “I’m sure she’d be flattered.”

  Emma actually sounded angry, and Nate felt a stirring of regret. She was so easy to tease that he’d forgotten women liked to think they were the only one in a man’s life. Not that she was. They were merely business associates, as he’d told his mother. Still, he didn’t like hurting her feelings. “The other Emma, as you call her, is a family friend from Tasmania. When she moved to Sydney last November, I took her out a few times to help her find her feet in the big city. Happy now?”

  “It’s hardly any of my concern. I’m more worried that we didn’t make progress on planning your event.”

  Nate picked up the relief in her voice and wasn’t sure he believed her.

  “What kind of progress should we make?”

  “You know I mean with your event.” Her voice had an edge to it. “Though if my proposal put you to sleep, that may be an answer in itself.”

  Nate’s conscience twinged as he looked at the pages scattered around the chaise. “I’d barely started reading when I nodded off.”

  “Better and better.”

  Hearing the censure in her voice, he felt something snap inside. He’d looked forward to telling her he was warming to her idea of a family-themed party. Instead, he let stress and exhaustion speak for him. “Look, whatever you decide is fine with me. Why don’t you go ahead and make it happen?”

  “You don’t want to be consulted?”

  “You and Joanna can work out most of what you need between you, as long as you keep me informed.”

  “Naturally I will,” she said coolly.

  He’d added insult to injury, but he was hiring her, for pity’s sake. He should have kept this professional instead of triggering feelings he’d rather not have to deal with.

  A picture formed in his mind of her gorgeous sun-kissed hair held by one of those clip things. Was it down now, loose and flowing over—what was it she’d said she was wearing?—lounging pajamas? He didn’t know exactly what they were, but imagined filmy harem pants and a strappy top outlining her slender curves. Pajamas suggested bed. He felt the red devils stirring to life around his groin, and slammed a lid on any thoughts of bed and Emma together.

  Between the sudden awakening from REM sleep and the Scotch, which was now half-gone, he wasn’t thinking straight. He could still tell when he’d done damage, and his sense of decency made him say, “You know your business, Emma. I don’t need detailed reports.”

  “What you need is a demonstration.”

  The red devils went crazy. “What?”

  “It’s time you rediscovered home cooking and got a feel for what I want to do for you. I’ll cook some of the dishes myself at your place this Friday night if you’re available.”

  “Friday’s open, but why cook in my kitchen?”

  “I’ll be working there on the night of your party. Call it a road test.”

  Having her in his house hovered dangerously close to his fantasy, but he couldn’t tell her why everything in him wanted to turn her down. “Friday it is then.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, second thoughts assailed him. In trying to soothe her ruffled feelings, he’d committed himself when he couldn’t guarantee to follow through. All it took was another close call in surgery, and all bets were off. But the mistake was made.

  “I’ll be there when you get home,” she agreed. “In the meantime, you might finish reading my proposal when you’re awake.”

  She was like a terrier with a bone, he thought. But she was right about this. “I’ll read it first thing tomorrow. But only as a formality. You can consider yourself hired as of tonight. The budget is no object, so spend whatever you think appropriate. Email me how much you need as a deposit, and I’ll have the money transferred to your business account ASAP.”

  SHE SHOULD FEEL PLEASED, Emma thought as she thanked him and hung up the phone. Instead, she felt unsettled.

  Her tea had cooled, so she went to the kitchen to make a fresh cup. While she waited for the water to boil, a vision of Nate in shorts, chest bare, rose in her mind. Heat spread through her, molten and wild, and her breath caught. What was going on here?

  Why on earth had she suggested cooking dinner for him? He’d been ready to leave everything to her, which should have been enough. If he hadn’t confessed to falling asleep while reading her proposal, she’d never have offered a demonstration.

  Exactly what was she trying to prove? An image of awakening a sleeping tiger came to mind, and was just as quickly banished. He was an attractive man, but a doctor to his bootstraps. Always busy, always with a good excuse for running late. Never time or attention for anything but his work. She’d be lucky if he showed at all on Friday.

  On the other hand, being stood up might convince her how crazy she’d be to let herself think of Nate as anything but a client. Having her carefully prepared meal go to waste might help her shake off this insane preoccupation. The way her body hummed like a tuning fork and her hand wavered as she poured water over the chamomile leaves made the prospect unlikely. She’d never felt this alive thinking about a man. And she didn’t want to now, especially not over Nate.

  Tea in hand, she paused at the kitchen door, her hand on the light switch. Life would be a lot simpler if feelings also came with an off switch, she thought as she darkened the room and headed for bed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NATE MADE SURE HE WAS ON TIME on Friday. Citing the need to tackle a backlog of paperwork, which was true, he’d scheduled his last operation for early in the day, and had time to check on his recovering patients and make inroads into the tower of files on his desk before leaning back in his chair and stretching.

  Grace Lockwood, his assistant and a brilliant surgeon in her own right, came into his office and added another file to the tower, ignoring his grimace. “How’s the party plan coming along?”

  “I’m road testing some of the food tonight.”

  “Personal service. I’m impressed. Cherie Kenner-Jarrett’s daughter is your caterer, isn’t she?” When he nodded, Grace said, “Let me know how the road test goes. I have friends who want help with their son’s eighteenth.”

  “Oh, to be eighteen again.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to go there. My eldest turns eighteen this year, too. The drive-by hormone attacks are scary.”

  Thinking of Luke, Nate was inclined to
agree. “You’ve never regretted having kids?”

  “On the hour, every hour. Wouldn’t swap them for the world.”

  “What about juggling family life with all this?” He waved toward the files.

  She didn’t hesitate. “If it comes to a choice, family wins every time. Otherwise, Mike and I wouldn’t have lasted this long.”

  “My father never got the balance right.”

  Grace regarded him keenly. “It’s in the willingness, not the genes, Nate, in case you decide to take the plunge.”

  He affected a shudder. “I’m already married to this place.”

  “Here’s another morsel of wisdom for you. Never love anything that can’t love you back.” Her pager beeped and she checked it. “Duty calls. Have fun with your paperwork.”

  Some fun, he thought, surprised by a rush of resentment. A surgeon was all he’d ever wanted to be. Suddenly everyone was chipping away at the foundations of his life. He admired and respected Grace, but putting personal life ahead of work wasn’t always possible. How could you turn your back on someone whose life depended on you?

  He thought of his mother. Her emotional life had depended on her husband, and she’d been let down more times than she could tolerate. The marriage had eventually died.

  Nate swore under his breath. Why did it come down to a choice? People who married doctors had to know what they were getting into. If they couldn’t stand the heat, they shouldn’t be in the kitchen.

  And thinking of kitchens, Emma would be in his house by now. No way would he add to her low opinion of doctors by getting home late. Refusing to wonder why her opinion mattered to him, he hung up his white coat and left the hospital. The startled looks he got as he walked out on time irritated him by suggesting that Emma had a point.

  By the time he pulled into his garage, he’d worked up a first-class appetite. For food, he told himself. Only for food. Inside, he was greeted by aromas he hadn’t known his kitchen could produce. He bit back the urge to call out, “Honey, I’m home.” Emma was a paid professional.

  Her appearance at the kitchen door, wiping her hands on an apron, didn’t help. “Nate, you’re on time.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “And cranky, too.”

  The effort not to move closer was agonizing. “I’m not cranky, damn it.”

  “Evidently not.”

  She turned back into the kitchen and he followed her, determined not to be thrown by the unaccustomed domesticity. And stopped in his tracks when he saw the chaos. Pots and pans were piled high. The mirror glass oven doors were fogged, and dishes revolved in the microwave. “Bet you’ve never seen your kitchen like this,” she said.

  “All this for one meal?”

  “I made a few extras, cookies and squares to fill those gorgeous Villeroy & Boch containers that look like they’ve never been used. You’re getting the whole home-cooking experience.”

  She held out a jar and he looked inside. Huge chocolate cookies glistened, and he couldn’t resist. He dipped, lifted, bit and went to heaven.

  “Hey, those are for later.”

  “Never mind dinner, I’ll just have these.”

  She wrestled the jar away. “Shower. Change. Dinner’s in thirty minutes.”

  He should object to being ordered around in his own home, but instead he felt cared for. Emma had chocolate on her cheek. He reached out a crooked finger and erased the smudge, hearing her suck in a breath. “Shower,” she said, sounding husky.

  He didn’t trust himself to linger.

  EMMA’S FACE FELT FLUSHED from more than the cooking. The touch of Nate’s finger, like a butterfly wing on her cheek, had speared through her. He’d looked as if he wanted to do more, and heaven help her, so did she.

  A timer pinged a welcome distraction. By the time Nate’s thirty minutes were up, she had herself back under control. Joanna had set the table before going home so Emma only needed to serve the courses and wait for Nate’s reaction.

  When she went into the dining room, he was staring at the table and frowning. “Set another place. You’re joining me.”

  “Nate, I shouldn’t…”

  “Either we eat together or the whole meal is wasted.”

  He didn’t leave her much choice. Flustered, she added another place setting but he didn’t sit down until she carried in the first course and he pulled out a chair for her.

  Across from her, he studied the first dish. “Fish cakes?”

  “I promised you home cooking.”

  He forked a bite into his mouth and a blissful expression took hold. “This is like no fish cake I’ve ever tasted.”

  She sampled her own. “Because you’ve never had them made with Tasmanian salmon, anchovy essence and my special coating of Italian breadcrumbs and polenta. Try adding some of the lime dressing.”

  He did and rolled his eyes. “I thought the cookies were sublime.”

  She basked in his enthusiasm. Purely out of professional pride. “Wait till you taste the rest.”

  He gave her an assessing look. “I can hardly wait.”

  Glad of the excuse to escape to the kitchen, she sipped water to steady herself before plating up her secret weapon—meat loaf. The aroma from the mushrooms, mozzarella and herbs rolled in a layer of spiced ground beef and veal was perfect. She arranged the slices on beds of baby field greens and mounded truffled mashed potatoes beside them.

  When she served Nate, he inhaled curiously. “What’s this?”

  “Meat loaf.”

  He took a bite, chewed slowly, swallowed then actually moaned. “No it’s not, it’s an orgasm on a plate.”

  Emma wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “This is what I want your guests to experience. I mean—the best of home cooking, not…um…”

  “An orgasm?” His gaze sparkled. “You’ve certainly convinced me.” He finished the dish in silence, which to Emma was a greater compliment than words.

  Her final course of baba au rhum with almond praline ice cream also got his seal of approval. But when she reached to remove his plate, he grasped her hand. “I’ll do that. You’ve earned a break.”

  “It’s my job.”

  He stood up, not exactly towering over her, but still making it clear he would have his way. “You’ve done your job. And proved your point.”

  She wasn’t sure how she got from wrestling over a plate to being held against the hard wall of his chest. She’d always known sharing food could be bonding, but this?

  His breath was fragrant with the rum from the dessert, and the tiniest speck of Chantilly cream dotted the corner of his mouth. She fixated on it to avoid his gaze.

  “Look at me, Emma.”

  Slowly she raised her eyes and almost gasped, the intensity of his expression searing her. “The dishes,” she mumbled. “I’d better…”

  “Do you always talk so much when you’re about to be kissed?”

  Her stomach constricted. “Am I?”

  He didn’t answer but closed his mouth over hers, neither gentle nor forceful, but making it clear he wanted her.

  She should move away, reassert the roles between them. Instead she took what he offered, tasting traces of the meal they’d shared, tasting him. She was all heat, all sensation. Melting like Norwegian butter in a hot pan. Sizzling.

  THE SECOND THEIR LIPS MET, Nate knew he shouldn’t have kissed her. She was like a drug, robbing him of all common sense.

  Maybe he was dreaming. To test the theory, he did what he’d wanted to do since he first saw her. Reaching for the clasp holding her hair, he undid it as easily as he would a surgical clip.

  The silken strands tangled as thoroughly as his thoughts, dimming his sense of what a bad idea this was. He didn’t need the involvement, nor did she. They were about as well matched as truffles and ice cream. Yet somewhere in the world, some talented chef was probably combining the two and making it work.

  Food was different. Food could be controlled. Unlike this woman, who argued every point wit
h him, and disliked everything he was and did. Not a good recipe for a shared future. He should back away, but his body wasn’t listening.

  Right now the future didn’t matter, he realized. What mattered was the warmth of her lithe body against him, the fast beating of her heart and the fluttering of her lashes as she looked up at him, almost in panic. Her lips were parted, her cheeks rosy. He couldn’t help it. He had to kiss away that fear.

  EMMA’S MIND WHIRLED. Nate’s hold was pointedly light, as if to emphasize it was her choice to be in his arms. But how could there be a choice when her nerves were so fired up she couldn’t think clearly?

  His body felt hard, toned. A rock against her softness. She wanted to cling to him, but that would be too out of character. She was the take-charge type, efficient, organized. Never weak and clingy. Yet a distant part of her wanted this, wanted to soften. Wanted to have someone to hold on to. Having Nate touch that part of her scared her out of her wits.

  “You’re thinking,” he murmured, his lips moving over her hair.

  She shivered. “Thinking keeps me out of trouble.”

  “Are you in trouble now?” He trailed kisses along the side of her neck and she tilted her head like a cat being scratched under the chin.

  “I could be if we don’t stop.”

  “If this is trouble, there’s an obvious solution.” He found her mouth again, his lips parting hers as he deepened the kiss. Sensation shot through her like electric currents, energizing her even as it made her want to go limp with pleasure. How could she feel both at the same time? This made no sense. It was only a kiss.

  With Nate, there would never be an only anything, she suspected. Some men might have said her food was nice, tasty, expertly prepared. He’d compared her meal to an orgasm. Her mind flashed to what it would be like to experience a different kind of orgasm with him. She was certain he’d take his time, and her pleasure would matter as much as his own. Only when she was completely ready would he tumble them both over the edge into absolute bliss.