Jacquie ’Alessandro - Kiss The Cook

Mine, a deep, primitive inner-man voice claimed. This woman is mine. He half expected to feel panic at the thought, but only deep contentment washed through him.

And I am hers, continued his inner voice. Chris braced himself for bachelor panic, but none came. Again, only warmth and happiness flowed through him at the thought. I am hers, she is mine.

God, that felt good. He wasn't quite sure how love had managed to sneak up on him, but it had. There was no point denying that he'd fallen, and fallen hard. Fallen? Hell, he was splattered all over the sidewalk. His bachelor days were sinking below the horizon like the setting sun.

He shook his head in amazement. Done in by a set of big brown eyes, a tangle of curls, and the sweetest smile ever created. Not to mention the gentlest hands, and the kindest heart.

Just then, one of those gentle hands brushed his cheek. He turned his face and kissed her palm.

"You were right," she said in a breathy voice that sparked interest in his recovering private parts.

"Of course I was," he replied with exaggerated male smugness. "What was I right about?"

"You said we'd have great sex." She closed her eyes and stretched like a contented cat. "We did."

A frown tugged between his brows. Sex? Like hell. Irritation bubbled up inside him. He said nothing, just waited until she opened her eyes. When she did, he watched her expression grow wary as she read the discontent he knew showed on his face.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "Maybe the sex wasn't as good as I thought."

"We need to get something straight right now, Melanie. I never said we would have great sex. I said we would make beautiful love together. And we did. What we just shared was not sex," he said, enunciating his words very carefully, so she would not misunderstand. "We just made love. Believe me, there's a big difference."

Her eyes grew round; then to his chagrin, they filled with tears. His annoyance instantly evaporated, replaced by that panicky sensation only female tears could induce. Rolling them onto their sides, he gathered her into his arms and held her close.

"Hey, don't cry. Really. Please don't cry."

She sniffled against his chest. "I'm not crying."

Wet tears hit his chest and he groaned. "Don't do that, Melanie. Stop. I mean it. Tears kill me." He tried to pry her chin up, but she just burrowed deeper into his chest, soaking his skin with her tears. Giving up, he patted her back, praying she'd turn off the waterworks soon. He didn't know what the hell he'd said or done to bring on the flood, but he was damn sorry about it.

Ten torturous minutes passed before her sobs tapered off into juicy hiccups. He spent those ten minutes alternately stroking her hair and cursing himself for hurting her. When she finally lifted her tear-streaked face, he cupped her face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Whatever I said or did to make you feel so bad, I'm sorry. I swear I didn't mean it."

Her damp eyes widened, and to his amazement, she laughed.

He shook his head. "Now you're laughing? Women! If I live to be a hundred, I'll never understand them. Groaning in passion one minute, crying their eyes out the next, then laughing." He watched her, wary, wondering what was next.

"I think," he said carefully, "I know what made you groan. Would you care to fill me in on what made you cry and why you're laughing now?"

She reached out and stroked his face, her eyes filled with tenderness. "You," she whispered. "You made me groan by the incredible ways you touched me-ways no one else ever has. You made me cry-but they were happy tears. Emotional tears. Because of how you made me feel.

"And you," she continued, "made me laugh because you were so sweet and concerned that you'd done something wrong, when you'd done everything so right." She gently kissed him. "So wonderfully, totally, completely right."

Relief swept through him. He brushed back her tangled hair. "I have one request, okay?"

She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. "Only one?"

He chuckled. "All right, maybe two. Hmmm. Maybe two dozen. But definitely one."

Running her hand down his chest, she tickled his navel and whispered, "Your wish is my command."

Chris sucked in a breath. "No more tears," he said, his concentration deteriorating at an alarming rate. "Next time you're happy, please smile. Don't cry."

She leaned forward and nibbled on his earlobe. "That sounds simple enough." She breathed into his ear and a chill raced down his spine, snapping his arousal to immediate attention.

Leaning back in the circle of his arms, she looked at him, her eyes filled with mischief.

"Is that your only request?" she asked, arching a single brow.

"Absolutely not." He rolled them until she sat astride him. Looking up at her, her beautiful, flushed face and soft, warm eyes, his heart clenched. Fisting his hand in her hair, he dragged her head down and kissed her hard.

"Are you ready for request number two?" he asked against her lips.

"Are you kidding?" She moved against him and his eyes glazed over. "I can't wait for request number two. Or three or four."

A slow smile lifted his lips.

He couldn't wait to see what she thought of requests five and six.

Melanie lay back on the rumpled sheets and covered her eyes with a limp forearm. Chris lay next to her, equally breathless.

"I read somewhere," she said when she could speak again, "that every time you make love, you burn about a hundred and fifty calories." Turning her head, she looked at him, sprawled out in satiated, naked male glory. "There's about three thousand calories in a pound. You're the math whiz. How much weight have we lost?"

He didn't move. "About forty-two pounds each." Melanie would have laughed if she'd had the strength. She peeked at the clock. Seven forty-five A.M. They'd been at it the entire night.

"Good grief," she said. "I thought making love all night long was something that only happened in the movies."

"Clearly that is a misconception."

"Clearly," she agreed. "Well, one of us is going to have to get up and find us something to eat and drink before we shrivel up and die of starvation and dehydration."

He still didn't move. "Yeah, I guess one of us is going to have to do that."

The husky note of utter exhaustion in his voice amused her. Summoning up what little energy she had left, Melanie rolled onto her side, propped her head up on her palm, and gazed down at her lover.

Her lover.

Those two simple words echoed over and over in her mind, inundating her with a kaleidoscope of feelings she'd never before experienced. She'd spent the night with Chris, her lover, doing things she'd never done before. Her previous experiences with what's-his-name had always left her feeling awkward and clumsy.

But not with Chris.

She'd lost count of how many times they'd made love, but the multitude of discarded foil packets scattered on the comforter let her know that it was quite a few. And each had proven more incredible than the last.

But they hadn't only made love. They'd talked and laughed, explored and discovered. Until last night she'd honestly thought sex consisted of thirty seconds of optional foreplay, several minutes of moaning, followed by eight hours of sleep. Chris had certainly disabused her of that notion.

By the time they'd reached "request number three," all Melanie's previous inhibitions had faded into oblivion. The words shy and retiring no longer resided in her vocabulary.

And Chris certainly didn't seem to mind. In fact, he'd encouraged her to take the initiative, and she had. Several times. Much to their mutual pleasure.

Her gaze drifted over him and she sighed with deep contentment. Christopher Bishop had to be the sexiest man on the planet. Lying next to her, gorgeous, naked, one arm flung over his eyes, the other upraised to pillow his head, he was the most incredible man she'd ever seen. And in the lover department-well, the man was definitely a ten. More like an eleven. Okay, he was a 2,435.

Now here was a candidate for cloning, she decided, her gaze drifting down, over his muscle-ridged abdomen, lingering momentarily on his relaxed but still impressive manhood, then continuing down over his long, strong legs. Why the hell waste time cloning sheep when there were guys like Chris around? What a waste of medical science.

Her emotions had bubbled to the surface several times during the night, but she'd ruthlessly beaten them back. This was an affair. A temporary arrangement with no regrets. Yet one emotion had refused to be bludgeoned into submission. This man, her lover, who was as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside, had made her feel something she'd never thought she'd feel again toward any man.

Trust.

She trusted him. Completely. When their affair ended, she could at least thank him for restoring her faith in the male species. He'd proven beyond all doubt that not all men were like Todd.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, but his deep, even breathing suggested that he'd dozed off. Besides, the mundane-mainly the need for food and drink-was intruding. Moving carefully so as not to wake him, Melanie scooted to the edge of the bed. She stood, stretched, and suppressed a groan.

Muscles she hadn't made use of in a long time tingled. A warm tenderness throbbed between her legs, and when she recalled the reason, a blush washed over her entire body. It amazed her that she still could blush. Heaven knew she didn't have any modesty left.

Instead of bothering with the wrinkled, lumpy mess that constituted her clothes, she opened Chris's closet and pulled out one of his dress shirts. Slipping it on, she made her way to the kitchen. The first thing she did was call home so Nana wouldn't worry. The answering machine picked up, which meant Nana was no doubt with Bernie. After leaving a message saying where she was and not to expect her anytime soon, Melanie opened the refrigerator.

True to bachelor form, there wasn't a whole lot on the shelves, but at least nothing appeared to fall into the science-experiment category. Humming softly, she set about preparing breakfast, her hands automatically chopping peppers and whisking eggs while her mind and her heart commenced a heated argument with each other.

Well, that was certainly a great evening, her mind commented. Great idea, using him for sex. Couldn't have picked a better lover. Hey, heart! You stayed in the other room, right?

Her heart pumped with indignation. No, I did not stay in the other room. I was right there, the whole time. Falling more and more in l-

Whoa! Hold it right there! mind interrupted. Don't even think of saying that. We had a deal. This is my gig. You're not supposed to be involved.

Too bad, said heart. I'm involved. Big time.

Mind rolled its eyes. Oh, that's just great. Well, I suggest you UN-involve yourself. Right now. Before you get hurt. Chris is a great guy, but you know he's not looking to settle down. He wants to lead the bachelor life. Besides, look what happened the last time you got all mushy. You broke into a thousand pieces. Why don't you just take a nice, relaxing vacation and leave Chris to me.

Heart shook its head. It's too late.

No! Mind yelled. It's never too late. You don't want a serious relationship anyway. I'm not going to let you ruin my fun! Go away!

I wish I could, said heart. Dear God, I wish I could.

Pull yourself together and just do it.

I'll try.

Atta girl.

Strong arms encircled her waist from behind, jerking her from her reverie.

"It sure smells good in here," Chris said, nuzzling the back of her neck with warm lips. "Whatcha' cookin'?"

A parade of tingles marched down her spine. "Your cupboard was sort of bare-"

"I am a bachelor, you know," he broke in, kissing the sensitive skin behind her ear.

Mind stuck out its tongue at heart and said, Nah, nah, told ya.

Melanie shook her head to shut mind up. "What we have here is my version of huevos rancheros."

"Wow. I love it when you talk French."

Melanie giggled. "That was Spanish."

He turned her around and laid one of those toe-curling, knee-weakening, slow, deep kisses on her.