What's Cooking? (10 page)

"I'm on vacation," Rick repeated. "Don't even tell me about it. I'm not taking it."

"I'll back off when you tell me you have no interest in going to the Greek Isles," Frank said. "Can you do that?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism. "Isn't that the one place you've always wanted to go?"

It was, and for an instant Rick suffered a little twinge of regret. But as he compared that prospect with a few more days or weeks with Maggie, to his amazement, he really wasn't even tempted to say yes.

"Not unless we're talking a month from now," he told Frank.

"This is next week."

"Too bad. They should have thought of me sooner. Obviously they had someone else lined up who bailed. I'm nobody's second choice."

"Come on. This is a great opportunity. Actually, they did ask for you first, but you were booked. When they changed the schedule, they called me first."

"Then I'm flattered, but I'm busy, Frank. I'll be in touch when I'm ready to go back to work."

"Rick!"

"Bye." He hung up before his agent could dangle any more tantalizing offers in front of him.

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Since he was giving up this dream assignment for her, he rolled over, grabbed his cell phone and dialed Maggie's number. He needed to hear the sound of her voice. He needed to make sure that little kick to his gut was still there. He'd hate to have turned down Greece, then realize that the attraction had faded, lit erally overnight. After all, that sort of thing had hap pened before.i

"Hello," Maggie said, soundiag breathless.

There it was, the groundswell of anticipation. Rick leaned back in bed with a contented sigh. "Good morning."

"You're up early," Maggie said.

"I had a call from my agent."

"Oh?"

There was no mistaking the disappointment in her tone, Rick concluded happily. "He had an assignment for me next week."!

"Really?"

"In Greece."

There was a long pause. Rick waited it out.

"Greece," she repeated with obviously forced enthusiasm. "How fabulous! When will you have to leave?"

If he hadn't believed he'd made the right decision before, he did now. He was making progress with Maggie. Leaving now for any reason would have destroyed the fragile inroads he was making.

"I turned him down," he said at last.

"Why on earth would you do that?" she asked, sounding genuinely shocked.

"Because I'm on vacation with you," he said simply. "We have a deal."

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"But I would never hold you to it, if it means missing out on a chance like this."

"There will be plenty of other chances," he told her. "But I might have only this one chance with you. I'm not blowing it, Maggie. It's too important."

This time the silence went on so long, Rick began to worry. "Maggie, you okay?"

She sniffed. "Fine," she said, her voice oddly choked.

"Are you crying?" he asked, stunned.

"Just a little."

"Why?"

"Because it's so damn hard to keep you at arm's length when you say such sweet things."

He bit back a chuckle. "You don't have to keep me at arm's length, you know."

"Yes. I do."

"It's not like we haven't slept together before," he reminded her.

"Believe me, I know."

"Well, then?"

"I want to get it right this time, Rick."

If anyone else had said that, if Maggie herself had said it a few weeks ago, Rick would have been on the first plane to anywhere in a heartbeat. Now, instead, he felt like dancing a little jig.

"So do I, darlin'. So do I."

It had been ten days, and to Maggie's amazement Rick didn't appear to be bored yet, not even after he'd sacrificed a trip to Greece to stay here with her. Even after their conversation the morning his agent had called, she still wasn't convinced his attentiveness

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would last indefinitely without sex being thrown into the equation, but so far he'd seemed reasonably content to live within the ground rules.

Not that he hadn't continued to test her resolve from time to time with some kisses that curled her toes, but he hadn't pushed for anything more than she was prepared to offer.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected to feel during the same self-imposed period of celibacy, but it wasn't this amazing sense of having finally found someone who was on the same wavelength about so many other things. Maybe the real test here hadn't been for Rick at all, but for her. She was beginning to discover that there was more to her?more to the way she could relate to a man?than being clever in bed.

She was enjoying the routine they'd worked out. While Rick spent the mornings roaming the area, camera in hand, taking photographs of the region, she puttered around the kitchen trying out new recipes, which he was more than happy to taste when he got back from his wanderings.

When they weren't playing one of the games she'd found tucked in a box upstairs, they talked about their days like an old married couple.

When she'd asked what he intended to do with all the pictures he was taking, he'd told her he planned to convince some splashy magazine to combine the shots with a travel article he'd been urging her to write.

"Trying to draw more people to the middle of nowhere?" she inquired, lips quirking.

"Something like that, at least in small numbers. Have you seen the osprey around here? They're amazing.

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There's so much undisturbed land. It needs to be protected. The bay's already in trouble. I read a report this morning on the impact pollution is having on the fish, the crabs and, worst of all, on the oyster harvest."

She laughed at his indignation, not because she didn't agree with it, but because even away from work, he'd found something to become passionate about, a cause she shared, as a matter of fact. Only since coming back to her grandmother's cottage had she rediscovered the magical beauty of this place, and she didn't want thoughtless people destroying it for generations to come. Maybe she would write that travel article and make it a plea for preserving some of the pristine land that remained and saving the bay for the watermen who worked it for a living.

In the meantime, though, she was trying to plan the food pages for the magazine's September issue. Just because she was on vacation didn't mean she could delay her deadline. Her editor was sending almost daily e-mails begging for some clue about what she had in mind.

Back-to-school lunches had been done to death. What was wrong with peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, anyway? Nor could she get excited about doing yet another spread on football tailgate menus. September was too late to focus on summer vegetables and too early to write about soups. She needed a fresh angle, something entirely new, at least for Cityside readers, and it wasn't coming to her.

Thoroughly frustrated by the lack of ideas, she waited anxiously for Rick to arrive. Maybe he could inspire her. He usually did, though his form of inspiration had less to do with food than it did with other passions she was trying to resist.

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When he walked in the door, he crossed the room, dropped a kiss on her forehead and sat down on the sofa beside her. Before he could even say hello, she said, "Picture this. It's a cool September evening and you've just come home from a long day at work. What's on your mind?*'

He gave her a long, lingering look that set off sparks and spoke volumes.

"'Not that," she said impatiently. "I mean for dinner. WTiat do you want? What food says fall to you?"

He stared at her blankly. "Huh?"

"Oh, come on," she said, nudging him in the ribs. "You know what 1 mean. In summer we wait for the first tomato off the vine or the first watermelon or the first peach pie. At Christmas we can't wait to start baking cookies. See what I mean?"

He nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. "Apples." he said at last. "Apples for school lunch boxes. Apple cobbler. Bobbing for apples. Sweet apples. Tart apples."

"Bingo." Maggie grinned as the spread began to take shape in her mind. "1 knew we'd make a great team. Want an assignment?"

"Doing what?"

"Pictures of apples for the September issue of the magazine. I'm not asking for a freebie. I can call your agent tomorrow."

"Don't worry about Frank. What kind of pictures did you have in mind?"

"Maybe you can find some orchards around here someplace. That would provide a great backdrop for the pictures. We could do a red-checked tablecloth on the

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ground with apple pies and cobblers. I'll start looking for recipes tonight."

"Hold on a minute," he said, his expression thoughtful. "Forget all those cookbooks of yours. I know the perfect recipe for you to use."

"You do? How?"

"Remember that pie I brought home a while back? I told you about the restaurant where I got it."

Maggie recalled that pie. It had been heavenly. "Is it baked there?"

"No, it's baked by an eighty-year-old woman who lives over toward Reedville. Seems to me she could be at the heart of your story."

Maggie considered the idea. "Does she have an orchard?" she wondered aloud.

"I never asked. I only know she bakes like a dream."

"Can you find out?"

"Sure."

She beamed at him. "This is perfect. It's probably some old family recipe that she used to make for her children and grandchildren, then the neighbors. Now it's a community favorite. It'll give new meaning to the idea of the apple pie as an all-American dessert. Do you think the restaurant is open now? Can you call and get this woman's name?"

"Not until we do this," he said, drawing her into his arms. "All that talk of food has made me hungry."

She gazed into his eyes and saw the unmistakable heat. Unless she was very much mistaken, it wasn't food he was hungry for.

"Rick?"

"Sssh," he said. "Don't talk. Just let me taste you."

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His mouth covered hers. His hands began to roam, following the curve of her hip, the gentle swell of her breast.

She was breathless by the time he released her. Regret washed over her. Why had he quit? she wondered, but it wasn't what she asked. Instead, trying to keep her voice steady, she asked, "What was that for? You've been following the ground rules so carefully. What happened tonight?"

He grinned. "You're so sexy when you talk about work and food. You get ail passionate and excited. It makes me want to be part of it."

She laughed, though there was a nervous edge to it. The temperature in the room had escalated by a good ten degrees. She'd been in saunas that were cooler. Her willpower, so carefully nurtured up till now, was withering faster than a daisy out of water.

"That must mean you're starving," she said, making one last desperate attempt to pretend that she didn't know that the rules between them had suddenly changed. "Can I assume you want dinner? Here or out?"

"Out's safer," he said, his expression solemn.

It was, but Maggie was suddenly feeling reckless. Impulsiveness had always gotten her into trouble, so she made one last attempt to tamp it down.

"Probably wise," she said, but without much convjc-tion.

"Are you feeling particularly wise?" Rick asked quietly, watching her intently.

"Not really," she admitted. In fact, wisdom had pretty much flown out the window about ten minutes ago. She

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gave herself a minute to see if it would come surging back, but it didn't.

"In fact," she said eventually, "let's eat in." She bounced up to get started before wisdom could kick in, but Rick caught her hand.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "We had a deal. I need to be perfectly clear here. This is about more than dinner, Maggie. I want you."

She nodded slowly. It was time to be honest. It was time to trust the feelings that hadn't gone away, feelings that had only gotten stronger.

"And I want you," she admitted. "I think we've both been patient long enough."

He stroked a finger along the curve of her jaw. Her pulse jumped, then skittered crazily. She was making the right decision. She had to be.

"Be certain, Maggie," Rick begged. "I'd rather be patient days or even weeks longer, if it means you won't wake up in the morning with regrets."

"No regrets," she promised. Whatever happened, she wouldn't regret it. Not this time.

And morning would be soon enough to worry about whether or not her impulsiveness was going to set the experiment back. Or whether it even mattered anymore.

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I

Chapter Seven

.Kick fought off the sense of urgency that had his blood pumping hard through his veins. He intended to take it slow and easy with Maggie tonight, to savor every moment of anticipation. Now that she'd agreed to sleep with him again, he planned to let the evening unfold at its own pace.

The risk, of course, was that she'd change her mind, but it was a risk worth taking to savor this sweet anticipation. Watching the color rise in her cheeks each time their hands brushed, feeling the leap of her pulse when he skimmed a finger along her wrist, made every second of the delay worthwhile.

He stepped up behind her as she rinsed lettuce in the sink and trapped her there with his body, his arms linked loosely around her waist.

"What are you up to?" she asked, a breathless hitch in her voice.

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"Helping," he said, all innocence.

"Really?"

"Sure. I'll wash the vegetables for the salad for you," he offered.

"Then I can get the chicken ready to go in the oven," she said, though she didn't try to move away.

"Why would you want to do that when this teamwork is going so well?" he asked, picking up the vegetables she'd dropped and holding them under the running water. To do it, he had to press his body even more tightly to hers.

She laughed. "Is that what you call this? Teamwork? Now that you've got the lettuce, peppers and tomatoes under the faucet, I'm just standing here. That's not much of a contribution."

"Sure, it is. You're providing inspiration."