by Jill Shalvis
Hell of a time for it.
“Five, four…”
It was also a hell of a time to realize what was really bothering him about going back to Los Angeles.
The fact that he didn’t want to go.
* * *
“Three, two…”
Dimi dragged in a deep breath, but it didn’t clear her head. Nothing could clear her head after having Mitch’s hot, open mouth on her.
“And…you’re on!”
She smiled for the camera and prayed it was a good one. At least it wasn’t cold and forced, but then again, nothing about her had been cold and forced since the day Mitch Knight set foot in Truckee.
But soon he’d be gone, and she’d be free to go back to being herself—only somewhere along the way she’d lost that woman.
“Welcome to Food Time,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “We have some great recipes coming up. Tomorrow we’ll do borlenghe with pancetta and rosemary.”
Beside her, Mitch looked totally blank. “Bore what?”
She imagined another hundred viewers falling for that helplessly confused expression on his innocent face. Only she knew he was no innocent! “Crispy crêpes from Modena,” she translated. “But for today, we’re cooking roasted leg of lamb.”
Somehow she finished her intro, but she was painfully, vibrantly aware of the tall, powerful, far too magnificent man standing next to her, unusually quiet and speculative.
She should have known that wouldn’t last.
“We’re also introducing a new element to the show today.” He broke in, surprising her.
His gaze was deep and fathomless and full of heat—for her—and every complaint flew right out of her head.
“We’re going to take call-ins on the air,” he said, and when that sank in, Dimi nearly fell off her high heels.
“What?”
“Later,” he said, going to the refrigerator and taking out a tray of meat.
But that was her move, so she stalked right up to him and reached for the tray.
“Just trying to give you a hand,” he said with an innocent smile. “Don’t want you to catch cold in that itty-bitty dress here in front of this blast of cold air.”
That she already had goose bumps all over her body was his fault, but she didn’t point it out. “Thanks, Mitch. You’re going to make someone a very considerate wife some day.” Smiling for the camera, she pulled the tray in front of her, which she hoped would hide the fact that her nipples were still at urgent attention.
Mitch followed her to the counter and watched with interest as she handled the meat. When she lifted a tenderizing mallet he leaned back in horror. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Tenderize the meat.”
He shuddered. “Remind me never to make you mad.”
“Too late,” she said sweetly, wielding the mallet and making Mitch wince. One strap fell down her shoulder, and with a sideways disgruntled look at the man who’d picked the dress out, she shoved it back up. She concentrated on her task, on talking to the camera and on keeping her dress up all at the same time, until the lamb was ready for the oven.
Dimi carried the tray to the opened appliance and stood there, rooted by sudden indecision.
How was she supposed to bend over to put the food in without flashing her panties to every single viewer?
“What’s the matter?” Mitch asked, lightly of course, since he didn’t have a care in the world.
She shot him a look of panic and saw laughter swimming in his eyes. He knew exactly what the matter was. In fact, given his sick, twisted sense of humor, he’d probably planned it! “I’ve decided to let you be chivalrous today,” she said, thrusting the tray at him, yanking on the hem of her dress as casually as she could.
Mitch put the meat into the oven and then took their first phone call. “Hello,” he said into the camera. “You’re on the air with Food Time.”
“Oh! Oh, how exciting! This is Millie from Fernley!”
“Hello Millie from Fernley!” Mitch said, speaking in exclamations, as she had. He smiled sweetly. “How can we help you today?”
Though the woman sounded as if she’d been smoking for sixty years, and had maybe driven a truck for much of that time, she giggled. “I was wondering. Do you and Dimi date?”
Mitch tucked his tongue in his cheek and deferred the question to Dimi with a lifted hand.
“Um…that would be negative,” Dimi said quickly.
“What a shame! You do know how handsome he is, right, dear?”
Dimi did not look at Mitch. “Did you have a cooking question, Millie?”
“Well, sort of. I was wondering, if you don’t date Mitch, and you gave up all other men, who’ve you been cooking with, girl?”
Dimi’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you’ve been kissing someone.”
Dimi let out a little laugh. “Millie, maybe you have the wrong channel. This is a cooking show. You know that, right?”
“Yes, and my question stands. Who’ve you been cooking with, because lordie, that hickey on your neck is making me weak in the knees. I want one of them. Did Mitch put that there?”
Dimi looked at Mitch. And mercifully, they cut to commercial.
Suzie ran up to Dimi, wisely keeping her laughter to herself as she handed her a little mirror. Doing contortions, Dimi was just able to catch a glimpse of said hickey at the base of her throat.
“Oh. My. God.”
Suzie’s cell phone rang. She answered it and looked at Dimi as she said, “Yeah, she’s here, and she only has sixty seconds, so make it fast.” Then she handed Dimi the phone.
It was Cami, and she got right to the point. “Holy cow, that hickey is amazing! Please, oh, please tell me you finally did the deed with that man.”
“Cami!”
“Tell me you did it right there on your darkened set against the refrigerator, so hot and needy for each other you didn’t even care that anyone could walk in on you at any moment.”
Dimi looked skyward, then made the mistake of looking at Mitch again. He was studying a spreadsheet his assistant had shoved in his hands, but as if he sensed her gaze, he looked up. Right at her. Through her, to the inside, where she was wondering if he really might have taken her against the refrigerator.
His gaze heated.
Oh, yeah, he would have, and her thighs clenched at the thought. Her tummy tightened, too. “Cami, I gotta go.”
“You did! Against the refrig! Oh, my God, sis. That’s so cool.”
“We didn’t. It’s just that…” She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “He’s driving me crazy, Cam.”
“You mean he’s making you hot?”
“Yes!” she cried miserably.
“Well then, beat him at his own game, would ya? Stop letting him get the better of you. Make him hot right back!”
“But…”
“But nothing, just do it.”
Once again she looked at the tall, dark, mesmerizing man getting the best of her and admitted the truth. “I don’t know if I can.”
“What? Are you kidding? Have you looked in the mirror lately? We’re hot, babe. We’ve got it going on, so for God’s sake, use it. You’ve already got the new wardrobe. Now all you have to do is turn the tables on him.”
Sounded easy enough. Dimi kept looking at Mitch, at all that amazing, edgy gorgeousness, and shivered. Yeah, he’d definitely made her want him.
And she thought maybe he wanted her back, but he’d managed so far to control himself. Could she make him lose that control? It would certainly help take her mind off the fact that she could never really have him, since he already had one foot out the door.
“Do it,” Cami said in her ear.
Could she? Testing, Dimi looked right at him and slowly licked her lips.
Mitch’s mouth fell open.
Testing some more, still holding his gaze, Dimi winked.
He dropped the papers he was holding.
It couldn’t be that easy. Could it?
To be sure, she ran her fingers through her hair and licked her lips again.
Mitch, ignoring the papers scattered at his feet, blinked and swallowed hard.
“Dimi?” Cami sounded worried. “You still there?”
“Yeah, Cam, I’m still here.” Dimi let out a slow smile and felt the power of being a woman blossom through her. “I’m here and ready to rock and roll.”
CHAPTER 9
MITCH HAD BEEN hot for two days now, and it had nothing to do with the unexpected warm front that had blown in from Mexico.
He stalked his office, pacing back and forth, going over details for the show that had nothing to do with what was really bothering him.
“Mitch?” Accompanying that low, soft voice on the other side of his closed office door came a light knock.
Dimi. The root of all his problems in one hot little package.
“I’m not here,” he said testily, and when he heard her laugh, he ground his teeth.
What had gotten into her? Suddenly it wasn’t him coaxing her to be funny and sexy, she just was those things.
Effortlessly.
Suddenly he was the one having trouble, and it all centered on how she’d started looking at him—as if he was a twelve-course meal and she was starving.
She opened his door and danced in, wearing—
“Oh, my God.” He clapped a hand over his eyes, making her laugh again.
“Oh, good,” she said. “You like it.”
It, of course, referred to her outfit, which he peeked through his fingers to see. It consisted of two spaghetti-strapped tank tops layered over each other, one bright white, the other bright red. Her denim skirt was a short, snug wraparound, which meant that as she walked toward him, one smooth, long, glorious leg after another was bared.
The camera was going to eat her up, and so would he if she came any closer.
Which she did.
She’d been doing that for two days, invading his space, smiling at him as if she knew some huge secret and generally making his life—and his body—a living hell.
“They wanted me to tell you,” she said, almost purring. “Fifteen minutes until air time. You’re needed on the set pronto.”
He removed his hand from his eyes, and they promptly attached themselves to her body. “You have to wear a bra on television.”
“I am.”
He stared at her full, round, perfect breasts, both of her nipples hardening under his scrutiny. “You are not.”
She reached up and peeled down the two straps of her tanks from her right shoulder, revealing the top of her right breast.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, covering his eyes again.
“Showing you I’m wearing a bra. Suzie sewed the cups in so I wouldn’t be bouncing all over the place. See?”
He squinted one eye open to realize she wasn’t uncovering any more of herself, only enough so he could see the white of the sewed-in bra cup. But that’s not where he looked. No, he looked at the curve that the bra barely restrained, at the tantalizing creamy flesh making his mouth water.
“We’ve got to run,” she said, and as if he were a child, she grabbed his hand and led him from the room. He followed, his gaze drawn to her hips, which wriggled enticingly in the heels she’d adopted.
Had he ever really imagined her in need of sprucing up? Not sexy? Ha!
She had him hot, horny and hard, and he’d been in that state for so long his mind had gone fuzzy from lack of blood.
Peeking at him over her shoulder, she shot him a smile designed to heat his blood even more, so he didn’t even try to talk, try to tell her he knew the way to the damn set, that he could get there under his own steam. He just stupidly followed her, conserving what little brain matter he had left for the show.
At the set, he sank to a chair and rubbed his temples, wondering if a man could die of an ignored erection.
“What’s the matter?” Dimi asked, her voice silky. “You have a headache?”
Before he could respond, she was standing behind him, her hands stroking his neck, urging his head back, pillowing it against her incredible breasts. Then her hands skimmed upward, sank into his hair and started massaging his head.
His entire body quivered.
And he actually forgot. Why was he resisting her? Exactly why didn’t he grab her, pull her around and into his lap, and give them what they both wanted with a terrifying desperation?
Oh, yeah.
Because he was leaving.
Because he wasn’t the type to want a woman to such distraction.
Because he hadn’t opened up his heart in two long years, and it hurt to think about letting someone in, someone who could mean as much to him as Daniel had.
Just when he thought he had a handle on that and could resist her, she bent and put her mouth to his ear, breathing into it as she whispered, “Better?”
Any better and he’d embarrass himself right then and there. He was spared having to answer by the call to their marks.
His most pressing problem was how to remain behind the counter for the rest of the show so as to not exhibit the fact that the front of his pants was a permanent tent.
* * *
Dimi was well aware that she was playing with fire. And skating on thin ice. All at the same time.
It was part of her plan. Make Mitch want her while not giving him a chance to actually get her.
But she was weakening on that resolve. She’d created a monster. This…thing between the two of them was out of control.
It was just a game, she kept reminding herself. She was getting even with him for turning her into the cooking sex kitten.
Only problem with that theory…she liked what he’d done to her. She liked the clothes that made her feel sexy, liked the freedom it gave her to loosen up a bit and enjoy herself. She smiled more, and not just because he’d asked her to.
She felt happier.
Not happy enough to sleep with him, though. That would be a colossal mistake, because then there’d be no avoiding involving her heart.
And there was the teeny tiny little detail of his impending departure.
So she avoided being alone with Mitch at all costs.
But one day she found herself alone at a table in the lunchroom with him, because the two grips sitting between them finished eating and left.
“I’ll eat later,” Dimi said, rising, grabbing her plate of veggies—she’d given up her beloved junk food to better fit into her costumes—but Mitch stopped her with a hand on her wrist.
“Scared of me?”
She saw the dare in his gaze and slowly sank down, because no way was she going to let him think that. She even laughed. “Hardly.”
“Uh-huh.” His teeth sank into his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he watched her with an endearing mixture of wariness and good humor as he chewed. “You’ve been avoiding being alone with me,” he noted, downing some milk. She could hear him swallow, and darn it, his lunch looked a whole heck of a lot more appealing than hers.
“And vice versa.” Daintily she bit into a carrot stick while begrudging the fact it didn’t smell nearly as good as the peanut butter.
“You always eat rabbit food?”
For about the millionth time she cursed her curvy, fat-loving body, especially when he dug into a big bag of chips. Barbecue. “You’re going to plug your arteries.”
“I think you’re jealous.” He lifted the bag, offering, shrugging when she shook her head. “Suit yourself.” He put a big chip in his mouth, closed his eyes and licked his fingers.
Dimi stared at her pathetic little rabbit lunch of carrot sticks and celery and wanted to smack him. “Okay, maybe just one.”
“Nope,” he said, pulling the bag to his chest. “Too late.”
“Give me a chip.”
He smiled. “What will you do for it?”
She could already smell and taste it. She had to have one and would ha
ve done anything, anything at all for it, until she saw the gleam of triumph in his dark gaze.
“Come on,” he taunted. “Surely you can think of something you’re willing to do for a chip. Why don’t you…oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me why you’re all of a sudden trying to drive me crazy with that incredible body of yours. Not that I mind, you understand. I’m just wondering.”
“Maybe there’s no reason.” She reached for a chip, but he withheld them with a shake of his head.
“There’s a reason,” he stated flatly.
“Okay.” She lifted a shoulder. “You got me. It’s because you’re easy. Now give me a chip.”
He offered her the bag, watching her dig in. “I’m not always easy,” he muttered.
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Just for you.”
Her gaze jerked up from the precious chips, and she studied him, uncertain if he was kidding, but she decided he had to be. “Sure. I believe that one.”
Did she imagine the flash of hurt that crossed his face?
Definitely.
But when she found herself alone at lunch with him the next day, as well, and then the next, too, and each time he was nothing but funny, sharp-witted and all around enjoyable, if not too damn sexy for her mental health, she had to wonder.
“Lunch tomorrow,” he said on the fourth day. “At a restaurant this time. With food someone else prepares.”
She went still. “Just you and me?”
“Yep.”
“As in…a date?”
“Yep.”
“But we’re not dating.”
He looked at her.
“We’re not!”
“I’m not asking you to grow old with me, Dimi. Just have lunch. It won’t be something you haven’t done before.”
So why did she feel like a trembling virgin? “Um…”
“Yes or no.”
“I, uh…okay. Yes.” And all she could think was, she’d live to regret this, big time.
But she didn’t. They had lunch.
