He would probably laugh if he knew the number of chastising phone calls she’d received from Mom, Dad and Aunt Magda. This was turning into the worst day of her life. Where was parental loyalty and support when she needed it most? Ironically, Aunt Magda’s sole worry was that Michaela had lost the opportunity to rope in such a handsome and perfectly “charming” catch.
After the show, dear Aunt Willow had pressed her treasured Tibetan Mani Stone into Michaela’s palm as she consolingly patted her back and urged her to rub the stone for good karma.
Tiffany had tried to offer comfort with a few compliments on her appearance—even though Michaela hadn’t worn the sexy red dress Tiffany had bought her. She knew her sister meant well, but Michaela hadn’t wanted compliments on her appearance; she had wanted to outperform Paolo and she had failed—miserably.
“I’m in no mood for your champagne.” She looked Paolo in the eye and she emptied her champagne flute into the sink. With wicked satisfaction, she watched his smile turn into a scowl.
Paolo’s eyes darkened with displeasure. “You just threw away an excellent Perrier-Jouet.”
Michaela lifted her chin with as much dignity as she could muster. She knew it was rude of her to toss his champagne in the sink like dirty water, but she didn’t feel like apologizing.
Paolo slanted a hard look at her. “What is wrong with you?”
“Hmm, let’s see. For starters, you never met with me to rehearse, knowing how important it was to me. You probably never intended to rehearse in the first place. You were just humoring me, right?”
“Wrong,” Paolo replied, his mouth flattened into a grim line. “I had every intention of rehearsing with you, querida. Can I help it that Claudia decided to have her baby at the most inopportune time?”
“Maybe you couldn’t help that, but you could have kept your pants zipped when it came to Bernice Blumenthal last night!” Michaela’s blood boiled at the image of Paolo seducing the older, fleshy flirt for his personal gain.
Paolo’s mouth spewed the champagne as he doubled over in mirth. “Bernice Blumenthal? You think I was sleeping with Bernice?” he roared in disbelief, his broad shoulders shaking as he erupted into guffaws.
“Damn you, it’s not funny!” Michaela turned on her heel, stomped to the front door and flung it open. “Get out!” Her index finger trembled as she pointed to the hallway outside her door.
Paolo forcefully set his glass down on the countertop and joined her in the foyer. He reached for her arm, but Michaela angrily shrugged out of his grasp.
“Calm down, Maki,” Paolo said. “I never slept with Bernice. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Don’t act innocent. I know the reason you were so late last night is because you were with her!”
“We were having a business meeting,” he stated in an even tone.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Damn right I do. It was only a business meeting, nothing else,” Paolo said implacably, his eyes hardening to onyx.
“Oh, really? More like monkey business. I heard she was all over you in the parking lot of your restaurant,” Michaela huffed, seething with distrust. “And then you arrived all disheveled and late and stinking of her perfume!”
“I’m not sure what your sources saw or who they are, but I met with Bernice to plan her dinner party for the tenor, Palmentieri.”
“And it took you until midnight?” she asked in a cynical tone.
Paolo’s jaw tightened. “I cooked dinner for Bernice and then we planned the menu. If you had listened to me last night, Sherlock, instead of tearing off in the middle of my explanation, you would have known that I was late because I had to change a flat tire. End of subject,” he stated tightly.
“I still don’t see why—” Michaela began to protest.
Paolo ignored her and shut the door. “I have something important to tell you and you are going to listen to me.” She wasn’t amused when he firmly grabbed her arm above the elbow and propelled her into the kitchen. She stood rigidly beside him, ready to pounce if he dared make light of things as he lifted the champagne bottle and refilled his glass.
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
“You will listen and you won’t interrupt,” he said firmly. He skewered her with a stern look. “Not a word until I’ve finished, Maki, or I won’t give you the good news.”
“Good news? Ha!” Michaela planted her fists on her hips and rounded on him with narrowed eyes. “I’ll give you two minutes and then I want you to leave.”
Paolo looked like he wanted to wring her neck. “The good news for you is that we are both still in the running for Miami Spice. The producers haven’t made a final decision.”
“What?” Michaela’s chest expanded with hope and her heart began to hammer against it with excitement. “Did you just way we’re both still in the running?”
“You heard right. Mr. Blumenthal invited both of us back to do another taping. The next one will be in a studio.”
Michaela froze; she could barely believe her ears. A surge of joy made her want to jump up and down and repeatedly squeal “yes!” with accompanying fist pumps. “For real? Are you telling me the truth? This better not be some kind of practical joke,” she warned.
Paolo looked heavenward and shook his head. “Dios mío, you try the patience of a saint.”
“Your last name might be Santos, but you are no saint.”
“Damn straight I’m not.” Paolo grinned. “Ellie called this afternoon and said that Mr. Blumenthal has decided to have the two of us back for another taping.”
Michaela felt the wind under her sails fizzle as she regarded Paolo dubiously. “Why didn’t Ellie call me?”
“Because I told her I’d take care of letting you know.”
“Oh.” For once, she was speechless and then giddy relief mushroomed inside her until she thought she would burst.
Paolo held out his hand. “Truce?”
In a daze of euphoria, Michaela shook his hand. “Truce.” A sexy current sizzled between them making her quickly release his hand, but Paolo’s exotic eyes held her captive. “When is the taping?” she asked through suddenly parched lips.
“At the end of next month. But this time we get a solo show each.”
“Yay!” she cried. “I can’t wait to call Ellie for more details.”
Michaela grabbed the champagne bottle from his hand, put her mouth on the bottleneck and drank deeply. Champagne had never tasted so good! She closed her eyes, choking as the sparkling froth cascaded down her throat, spilling over the sides of her mouth and onto her cheeks, and drenching the front of her blouse. When she opened her eyes, she caught Paolo watching her, his handsome face lit up with amusement. But she didn’t care. She was bubbling over with joy, flying high with the thrill of getting a new chance at winning!
Chuckling indulgently, Paolo grabbed a paper towel and mopped her wet cheeks before taking the bottle from her. He took a long swig and handed it back to Michaela, waiting while she slurped more of the delicious bubbly. For the next few minutes, they took turns polishing off the champagne.
Michaela’s head whirled as she sprinted around her apartment on bouncy legs, humming the triumphant tune from Rocky. Ta ta ta, ta ta ta…until she collapsed on the sofa in a fit of giggles. Paolo joined her on the sofa and stretched his long legs in front of him.
“Tell me, Maki. Why did you become a chef?” He eyed her giddy enthusiasm with a bemused expression.
“I’ve always loved food. When I was growing up, we never ate home-cooked meals. I didn’t learn to cook until we had a Costa Rican nanny. Her food was so delicious, with flavors I’d never tasted, that I wanted to learn more. That was the catalyst.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “What about you?”
“I love food too. Cooking is as natural as breathing to me. I grew up surr
ounded by women who are great cooks— Mamá, my sisters and my Italian Nonna.” Paolo’s eyes were warm and inviting as he regarded her. “Why is winning this competition so important to you?”
“It means the world to me. If I win…no let me rephrase that, when I win, I will be able to repay my parents for all the investment they made in the law degree that I never finished. Maybe I’ll finally gain their respect.” Normally, she didn’t tell others about her difficult relationship with her parents, but Paolo’s solid presence made her feel comfortable opening up.
He appeared mystified, but before he said anything, she continued, “Winning means my cookbook will make tons of sales.” Michaela’s stomach fluttered with excitement at the myriad possibilities. “Not only that…maybe I’ll be invited on the Today Show and I can showcase my light and healthy cuisine. I can also introduce my…”
“Wait a minute. You dropped out of law school to become a chef?” he interrupted.
“Yes.”
“No wonder your parents didn’t look happy today.” Paolo gave a wry shake of his head.
“They are ashamed of me,” Michaela admitted, feeling a bit ashamed herself that she couldn’t live up to their high expectations of her.
“Impossible! You are very accomplished.” Paolo’s compliment pleased her immeasurably.
“No, really, they are embarrassed by my career. To them, I went from being white collar to blue collar, and I wasted their money in the process.” She felt embarrassed revealing how snobbish her parents were.
“Do they feel the same way about your sister?”
“Pfft. Tiffany? No. They gave up on her a long time ago. After she threw a few tantrums making it loud and clear that she preferred Barbies over the Mozart tapes and Smithsonian puzzles they gave her, they had to accept that she would never be an intellectual. Tiffany has other talents. She’s not only an amazing makeup artist, she sings and plays the guitar like a dream. Since she is the younger child and stunningly beautiful, they let her get away with most things.”
“You’re beautiful too.”
“Thank you.” Surprised and touched by his compliment, Michaela realized with a pang that she loved hearing Paolo say that. “But beauty isn’t what my parents respect. They believe that you’re either born with it or you’re not. They admire hard work and the results of that labor, not something as nebulous as beauty.”
“Is that why you work so hard to be perfect in everything?” he asked, regarding her with fond bemusement. “Maki, nobody is perfect. I think you’re pretty terrific just as you are. Your parents sound like tough ones to please.”
Paolo’s supportive words made Michaela want to grab him and kiss him. His dark gaze remained on hers, soulful and genuine, as he aimed to make her feel better.
“It’s true. My parents are tough to please, but that’s inevitable when you’re as driven as they are. Do you know how it feels to be reminded all the time that you’re a major disappointment to your parents?” she asked bleakly. “Probably not. You come from a big Latin family who celebrates everything you do.”
Looking uneasy, Paolo cleared his throat. “Well, I wouldn’t say everything…”
“I’m sure you are their hero. The apple of your parents’ eyes.”
“My father died when I was a teenager,” Paolo said quietly.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Michaela saw the sadness in his eyes and felt a stab of guilt. He had graciously come over to celebrate the news and so far, she’d been a real downer. “Tell me…why is winning this competition so important to you?”
“I owe it to my father’s memory,” he said, his expression stricken.
“What do you mean?” She wondered at the regret on Paolo’s face and wanted to know what troubled him. She’d like to return the favor and somehow ease his personal pain as he’d eased hers just now.
“The day Papá died, instead of helping with the family business like I was supposed to after school, I was out fooling around.”
“I’m sure there was nothing you could have done to prevent his death,” Michaela said kindly, feeling bad that her question had dredged up painful memories. “What did he die of?”
Paolo’s face looked drawn and pale beneath his tan. “He died of a massive, bleeding ulcer. I had taken the family car out for a spin with my friends. By the time they got him to the hospital, it was too late. He had lost too much blood.”
Filled with compassion, Michaela touched his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“When my sister, Sonia, finally found me, Papá was already dead,” he said, his voice low and tortured. “I didn’t know he hadn’t been feeling well. He was the rock of the family, a pillar of hard work. I wish he had known that I would be responsible enough to take care of the family after he died.”
Michaela listened intently, sensing his need to talk. She wished she could find the right words to lighten his burden.
Paolo’s eyes clouded over, troubled by the memories. “As the only and eldest son, I was his favorite. Papá used to tell me, ‘You are the joy of my life.’”
“I’m sure you were,” she soothed.
His face taut with guilt, he shook his head. “No, I was irresponsible and selfish, goofing off with my friends when I should have been working at the restaurant. Poor Papá, he was stressed out and overworked—that’s why he died too young,” he said, his voice gruff.
“How old were you when he passed?”
“Eighteen. Almost overnight, I grew up and took over running my family’s restaurant and bakery in Buenos Aires.”
“Oh, I had no idea,” Michaela said, seeing Paolo with different eyes. Gone was the carefree braggart. He was a strong, responsible man intent on providing for his family and honoring his father’s memory. She wished he wasn’t her opponent for something that meant so much to her. It was times like these, when they weren’t arguing, that she found Paolo appealing—and utterly irresistible. She was touched he had opened up to her and wished she could alleviate his anguish.
“I’m sure your dad is watching you from heaven and very proud of all you’ve done for your family.” She cupped the side of his face with a gentle touch.
“Thanks.” Paolo took Michaela’s hand, turned it palm upward and placed a soft kiss in the center.
The warmth of his lips on her sensitive spot disarmed her. Spellbound, Michaela met his sizzling gaze with wide-eyed anticipation as her pulse galloped like a runaway filly. He placed another kiss on the inside of her wrist and flicked the skin with his tongue. Michaela leaned forward and kissed him, a whisper-light touch that landed briefly on his mouth. Paolo’s mouth dragged over hers lustfully while he eased her onto his hard lap. She could barely catch her breath as she tilted her head back and welcomed his ardent kisses on the cool column of her neck.
She shifted at the tender assault and heard something crackle. She noticed the paper stuffed inside his shirt pocket and pulled back to peer at him. “What’s that?”
Paolo gave her a cryptic smile. “There was a second reason for my visit today.”
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
He drew a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “I’ve come to collect on your offer, querida.”
“What offer?” she croaked, recognizing the paper at once.
“This.” With unconcealed delight, he handed her the paper that she had written BITE ME on earlier.
Michaela sucked in her breath sharply. The paper slipped out of her hand just as Paolo’s tongue lightly touched the soft outer shell of her ear.
“I am going to devour you, querida,” he whispered roughly, nipping her earlobe. “One bite at a time.”
Michaela’s body prickled all over with gooseflesh and her feminine core pulsed with dizzying pleasure as Paolo’s hoarse voice lured her with throaty Spanish endearments. She gazed into his gorgeous eyes, helplessly drawn into their black depths. A low, ragged
moan escaped her when Paolo’s mouth covered hers and he began to feast on her, tasting her lips, sliding an insistent tongue between them to explore her mouth. Giving a shuddering sigh of surrender, she allowed him to deepen his kisses and molded her body against him, searching, reaching, yearning for more.
She kissed the bristly side of his lean jaw and the seductive grooves beside his mouth, fumbling with his shirt buttons until his shirt gaped at the waist, revealing his muscular chest. She couldn’t resist pressing an open-mouthed kiss between his hard pecs. Paolo tasted so delicious she wanted to lap him up greedily, just as she had done with the champagne. She was drunk with passion and yearning for more—there was no turning back now. Michaela’s mouth roamed over his caramel-colored chest, learning the hard planes with her lips and tongue until Paolo cradled her face and stilled her.
“No more, nena, not yet,” he rasped, breathing heavily as he lifted her in his arms and held her against his chest. The room began to spin as he carried her into her bedroom, kissing her with maddening thoroughness.
“Ooh, Paolo, I had too much champagne. I feel a little lightheaded. Better put me down.” She broke away from his kiss and burrowed her face in his smooth, strong neck, inhaling deeply of his appealing scent as she nuzzled the warm hollow at his throat.
“Hold on, baby, it’s going to be a long night,” he promised huskily when they reached the bed.
Paolo’s mouth descended on hers, primal and hungry and demanding in its possession. Every inch of her body throbbed, ached for full domination. The feminist in her cringed, but she couldn’t help it, Paolo was so large, so sexy, she wanted to be devoured by him, as he’d wickedly promised her.
Within seconds, they were tearing off each other’s clothes and before Michaela knew it, she lay before him, unabashedly naked and moaning with pleasure as Paolo lustily feasted on her fevered flesh. Every inch of her was explored and revered as Paolo delighted in the softness of her breasts, the slight curve of her belly and indentation of her navel, the suppleness of her thighs, lavishing her with compliments and endearments in Spanish.
Grill Me, Baby Page 15
