What's Cooking? (6 page)

Her breath came in ragged gasps. His kept the same rhythm, as he stilled, letting peace steal through him bit by bit. Even then he didn't let her go, didn't move to separate their slick bodies. There was something powerful about staying like this, intimately and literally connected. He barely noticed that she was growing heavy, not when holding her close was so wickedly wonderful.

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"Don't you think you should put me down?" she finally asked.

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"Because as long as we're together like this, I doubt you'll be thinking."

She laughed. "Definitely not thinking," she agreed.

She gave a little wiggle that made him hard all over again.

"Oh, my," she said when he began to stir inside her.

"Oh, my, indeed," he said. "See the advantages of staying like this now?"

"Maybe you should explain them," she teased.

He gazed into her eyes, saw the quick flare of heat once more, felt her body already starting to shudder. "Why, darlin', it's obvious. Without moving a muscle, we're already halfway there."

"Where?"

"Heaven."

"Rick, what do you know about me?" Maggie asked hours later. They were in bed now, but she was still wrapped in his arms. They'd barely left the room all day long.

"I know that you're amazing in bed."

Even though she knew he'd meant it as the highest compliment, tears stung her eyes. It was what she'd asked for, wasn't it? Wasn't she the one who'd let him think that was enough? Even so, she asked wistfully, "Is that all that matters to you?"

"Of course not, though it was damn important about five minutes ago."

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Irrationally angry, she crawled over him, dragging the sheet with her. She could feel his gaze burning into her, but she couldn't seem to halt the hasty exit. She had to get away from this, away from him. She'd done it again, done exactly what she'd sworn not to. She'd let passion trump any emotional connection.

"What did I say?" he asked, his voice tense. "Obviously you're offended."

"Not offended," she insisted. "What woman would be offended at being told she's great at sex?"

He snagged her hand, pulled her back to the bed. "Then talk to me. Tell me what's going on here. I can't read your mind, Maggie."

Maggie sat on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the fact that Rick's hand was on her thigh. She struggled to find the right words. She had to make them good ones, words powerful enough to match the passion that tended to rule the two of them.

"It's like I told you before, we rushed into this without knowing anything about each other," she began. "Compatibility in bed isn't enough."

"Which is why I'm here right now, to spend time getting to know you better."

"In bed," she retorted.

He sighed. "Not just in bed."

"Then why haven't we spent time anywhere else, not today, not in Boston, aside from that one event we went to. I had to do a lot of fast talking to get you to agree to that. You would have turned the limo around halfway there and gone straight back to your place," she reminded him.

"But we did go to the party," he said. "And there was the photo shoot. That lasted a whole day."

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She smiled despite her exasperation. "We'd just met. And practically the minute everyone else left your studio, we were on that cot in your back room," she countered.

He shrugged. "Just proves how powerful the chemistry between us is."

"Chemistry doesn't last," she said flatly.

Rick studied her for what seemed like an eternity. "And that's the real problem, isn't it? You figure it'll burn itself out."

"It will," she said with conviction.

"Probably."

"Then why bother?"

"What's wrong with living in the moment?" he countered. "I'd rather be a thousand percent alive some of the time than bored to death all the time."

"You don't think there's a middle ground?"

"Haven't found it yet," he said. "Have you?"

"No," she told him honestly. But that's what she wanted. She knew it existed because her parents had it. Melanie had found it with Mike. Maggie had already had enough of these whirlwind relationships to realize that she wanted more than this.

"What's the bottom line here, Maggie? Do you want me to take off?"

The sensible answer, of course, was yes. She couldn't seem to get the word out. As unrealistic as it might be, it seemed she wanted more with Rick, a man who obviously had no experience with making anything last longer than a few days or, at most, a few weeks.

"I can't think on an empty stomach," she said instead, keeping her tone determinedly breezy. "That bear claw wore off a long time ago. I'll go fix something."

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His gaze held hers. "And then?"

"We'll discuss it some more."

His lips twitched. "Till you talk it to death?"

"Maybe," she said defensively. "A little talking will be good for a change. It's not as if we've ever done much of it."

He laughed at that. "Okay, then, Miss Maggie, we will talk to your heart's content, as long as you don't mind if I do what I do best."

"What's that?"

'Try to convince you to shut up and come back to bed."

To her sincere regret, she shivered with anticipation. "You can try."

"Thank you," he said solemnly. "I promise you, I will give it my absolutely best shot."

She frowned at him. "Arrogance is not appealing."

"Then I'll be sure to let my actions speak for themselves," he said agreeably.

Maggie sighed. That was exactly what she was afraid of. When his actions challenged her willpower, it was no contest.

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1 o Rick's surprise after the intensity of the conversation they'd had upstairs, dinner was actually more fun than he'd ever had with a woman outside of bed. Maggie ran her kitchen like a drill sergeant, issuing commands and organizing ingredients with an impressive level of efficiency. He went along with it and found himself enjoying her bossiness, mainly because it was so much fun to tease her about it.

"You ever think about joining the military?" he inquired when he'd lined up a row of requested spices precisely according to her specifications.

She shot a daunting look at him. "Why on earth would you ask that?"

"It boggles the mind to imagine how many potatoes you could have peeled while on kitchen duty."

"Very funny."

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He gestured toward the row of spices, apparently intended for spaghetti sauce. "Wouldn't it be easier just to buy the sauce in ajar?" he asked, knowing she would consider the question to be bordering on blasphemy.

"If that's what your palate's used to, then prepare to be awed," she retorted. 'Trust me, there's no comparison."

"If you say so," he said, hiding a grin at the indignation in her voice and the patches of red on her cheeks. He'd discovered a whole new way to stir Maggie up that was almost as enjoyable as sex.

She frowned at him. "Why are you standing there? Aren't you supposed to be crushing those tomatoes?"

"Am I?"

"You said you wanted to help," she reminded him. "If you can't keep up with the instructions, maybe you should stand back and let me do this."

"No way. I said I'd help and I will." He eyed the bowl of canned tomatoes with exaggerated wariness. "You want me to stick my hands in there?"

"Yes."

"Why not throw 'em in a food processor?"

"There's none here."

"A blender?"

"Sorry. And even if we had one, in my family we do this the old-fashioned way. My father's Italian. He's taught us all how it was done in the old country. We try to follow tradition. Of course, if you're afraid to get your hands dirty..." She let the unspoken challenge trail off.

"I am not afraid of anything," he said, sticking his hands in and squishing the tomatoes. He hadn't done anything this disgusting since he'd made mud pies when he was a toddler. "Like this?"

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She watched him for a moment, shook her head, then stepped up and gingerly took his hands in hers and showed him what she wanted him to do. His body promptly stilled, even as his pulse took off like a jet seeking altitude. His response was poking her in the hip. There was no mistaking the moment she became aware of his arousal. She shuddered, then stepped carefully away, clearly trying to pretend she hadn't noticed.

"I think you have it now," she said, her voice shaky.

"I definitely have something," he responded, keeping his expression innocent.

"Rick!"

"Yes, Maggie?"

She gave him an impatient look, then muttered, "Never mind.v She turned her back on him.

Rick regarded her with amusement. She was trying so blasted hard to keep things cool. She didn't seem to get the fact that heat was what life was about. All the rest was marking time.

"Okay, the tomatoes are properly squished," he said at last. "Now what?"

"Now you go for a walk or something and stay out of my way," she replied.

"Afraid I'll steal your trade secrets?"

"Hardly. I think we can both agree that you're no gourmet chef."

Rick had to bite back a laugh. "Oh, really?"

"It's obvious."

"Just because I asked you to show me how to squeeze a few canned tomatoes?"

"That was definitely one clue. Then there was the comment about getting spaghetti sauce from ajar."

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SHERRYL WOODS59

"I said it would be easier, didn't I? Did I say anything about better?"

She regarded him with a quizzical expression. "What are you getting at? Do you actually cook?"

"A few things," he said modestly. He'd been a bachelor for too long, and somewhere along the way he'd developed a cultivated palate. He knew his way around the kitchen. In fact, he suspected he was a more than even match for her, when he chose to be.

"You want to make the sauce?" she inquired in a way that implied she was throwing the suggestion out as a challenge she was confident he wouldn't accept.

"Sure."

Looking startled, she stood back and made a dramatic sweep of her hand. "Be my guest."

"Are you sure?"

"Why not? I have a cast-iron Stomach."

"There's no need to be insulting." And just for that remark, he intended to test her mettle. He'd make an ar-rabiata sauce that could match the fires of hell.

With practiced movements, he tossed the ingredients into the saucepan, then began deftly adding spices. Next thing he knew, Maggie was at his shoulder, peering into the pot.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"What did you get out of the cabinet?"

"Another spice or two."

"Which ones?"

"I think I'll wait till you taste it and see if you can guess."

She reached for the spoon, but he held it away. "Not now. It has to simmer for a bit."

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"There's nothing worse than a testy, controlling cook," she muttered, retreating to her place at the table.

"Something for you to keep in mind," he said. "Any wine in the house? You could pour us a glass." One was usually his limit, but tonight he might make an exception.

"Oh, goody. An assignment for the little lady," she mocked.

"Pouring the wine is a macho thing, a very big responsibility, in fact. I didn't ask you to set the table, did I?"

"Good thing," she muttered.

Rick laughed.

Twenty minutes later dinner was on the table. The fragrance of the sauce was rife with garlic, oregano and other spices. When Maggie had been getting the wine, he'd switched the angel-hair pasta for a denser penne that would hold up to the chunky, flavorful sauce. It was a lesson he'd learned from a famous Tuscan chef. Not all pastas were created equal, and the selection could make all the difference in the success of a meal.

Maggie eyed the bowl in front of her with surprise as Rick grated fresh parmesan cheese over the top. He couldn't fault the quality of the ingredients in her pantry. Even though she'd just arrived a few days ago, she'd brought in only the best.

"This looks fabulous," she admitted. "Smells good, too."

"You sound shocked. It's just pasta."

She laughed. "There's no such thing as just pasta to an Italian. This is the food of the gods."

"The Italian bit slipped my mind for a minute," he

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said. "I was more panicked about performing to the high standards of the food editor."

She tasted her first bite, then sighed. "Not to worry. You passed with flying colors for both the Italian and the food editor. Even my father would be impressed, and he's a tough critic. He doesn't think anyone on earth cooks Italian the way his mama did, though it never stopped him from trying to teach all of us. To his regret, Ashley showed absolutely no interest. Melanie can barely boil water, and Jo likes to take shortcuts that make him insane. I'm the only one who took what he said to heart."

"I'll have to cook for him sometime, then."

"Sure you won't suffer from performance anxiety?" she teased.

"Performing for you is the only thing that ever makes me anxious," he responded. He gazed into her eyes. "I want to get it right, Maggie. I really do."

She swallowed hard, her gaze locked with his. "Are we still talking about cooking?"

He shook his head. "Not entirely."

A surprising hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "You brought sex up first," she gloated. "And after accusing me of wanting to talk things to death."

Rick sighed. "My mistake. Let's discuss what we're going to do tomorrow."

Maggie looked far more shaken than the suggestion warranted.

"Something wrong with that?" he asked.

"You're not leaving?"

"No, not as long as you're here."

"You said you'd only be here a few days," she said, sounding a little panicky.

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He shrugged. "I assumed you'd only be here a few days."

"Well, I'm not. I'm here indefinitely," she said with a note of belligerence.

"Then I guess I am, too," Rick replied. That was the blessing of a career in which he made his own schedule. He might have to call his agent eventually and shuffle a few assignments, but he could manage to stay for however long Maggie did.