Secret Ingredient: Love. Teresa SouthwickЧитать онлайн книгу.
he’d said he was here for two reasons, and he’d only accounted for one. “So what’s the second whammy?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You said you’re here because of a double whammy. Chef search is number one. What’s number two?”
“Matchmaking.”
Chapter Two
“Why would you assume Rosie was matchmaking?” Fran asked. “Because I’m a female chef?”
“Yes.”
Alex didn’t miss the defensive note in her voice or the way her gaze narrowed at his response. He’d been around the restaurant business long enough to know that women who decided on this career had a tough time. Attitudes were changing, but males still dominated the kitchens in a lot of four star restaurants.
He couldn’t resist adding, “If you were a guy, it would have been the single whammy.”
“Huh?”
“Chef search. No matchmaking.”
She nodded slowly as the corners of her mouth curved in a knowing smile. “Okay. But why would your sister try to fix you up?”
“Because she’s a hopeless romantic.”
“I wouldn’t think a guy who looks like you would have trouble finding a woman on his own.”
She offered the observation without embarrassment or evasiveness. A woman on the make wouldn’t be so straightforward. He found her refreshing.
And more, he thought. Sweat broke out on his forehead as she touched a finger to her full bottom lip. He wondered how it would taste. That thought came out of nowhere. He’d never felt such a strong attraction. Not since Beth, he amended. Guilt hit him hard and fast. Followed by the pain—dull now, but still there, every time he thought about her and what they’d lost. Love like that happened only once in a lifetime. And fate, karma or whatever you wanted to call it had dumped on him in a big way. He’d found the perfect woman, but chance had stolen from him the part where they would grow old together. Fate wouldn’t get another chance to kick him in the teeth.
“I’m not looking for a woman,” he said. With luck, in addition to being direct, Fran wasn’t inquisitive. This subject was off-limits. There was no point in discussing it.
Her eyes glittered, as if she wanted to ask more. But all she said was, “Then that’s why Rosie is trying to fix you up. It’s a delicious challenge. I just don’t understand why she would think I was matchmaking material.”
“There was that cute-as-a-button remark. Rosie said it, not me,” he stated, raising his hands in surrender.
He had to admit Rosie had been right about that. Funny, he could see buttons as cute, but not sexy. And Fran Carlino had sex appeal in spades. Especially her mouth. Straight white teeth showed to perfection when she smiled, which she did often. She had full soft lips. Kissable lips.
“I would prefer stunning or drop-dead gorgeous to cute, but at least she didn’t tell you I need to wear a bag over my head in public.”
He blinked and forced himself to switch his focus from her mouth to the words coming out of it. “Actually, she was right about you. You’re very attractive, Fran.”
“Be still my heart,” she said, touching a hand to her chest. “Now there’s a line to turn a woman’s head. You really are out of practice. You’re not kidding, are you—about not looking for a woman?”
“No.” It wasn’t even a matter of looking. He’d had his shot. It hadn’t worked out. End of story.
“Then if you suspected Rosie was matchmaking, but you’re not interested in participating, why are you here?”
“She said I couldn’t get you. And if I wanted to know why, I had to ask you myself.”
“Ah,” Fran said, with one emphatic nod that said she understood completely. “I get it. Brilliant strategy. And it worked like a charm.”
“What worked?”
“Reverse psychology.”
“What happened to no more amateur analyzing?” he asked.
“I forgot,” she admitted. “But this is too classic, too characteristic of reverse psychology.”
“How do you figure?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Unless this is the Twilight Zone it would be pointless to deny it. But I refuse to believe strategy played a part.”
“It’s so obvious.” She shook her head sympathetically. “Guys always want what they can’t have. If anyone knows about this it’s me. With four brothers, I’ve had lots of practice studying how the male mind works.”
“And how is that?”
“It has something to do with that whole prehistoric hunter-gatherer thing. Deny them, and they’ll go out with single-minded determination and intense focus to hunt it down and bring it back to the cave. So Rosie’s method worked. She said you couldn’t bag me. Now you’re here, spear in hand.” She watched him for a moment, then added, “So to speak.”
“You’ve been reading too many of the psychology books in Rosie’s store.”
Instead of taking offense, she laughed. “Probably. No doubt it’s nothing more than a man’s competitive nature.”
He nodded. “I’ll go along with that. So, I’ll bite. Why can’t I get you?” That sounded way too personal. “As in why can’t I get you to work for me?”
She set her empty teacup and saucer on the end table beside the sofa. As she leaned sideways, the lamp’s glow highlighted the flush on her cheek. She’d noticed his double entendre.
When she didn’t answer right away, he asked, “Do you have something against Italian cuisine? Either cooking or eating?”
She shook her head. “I love it.”
“So your schedule is tight? You’ve got more work than you can handle? You couldn’t fit me in with a shoehorn?”
“Nope. After the baby food contract is satisfied, I’m up for grabs.”
Did she realize she’d lobbed a double entendre of her own? “Then you’re taking some much needed time off,” he suggested. “Haven’t had a vacation in years?”
“Wrong again. In fact, just before you rang my doorbell, I was wondering where my next job was coming from. I had the want ads out, and marked a few things that looked promising.”
He reached over and picked up her marked up classifieds. Looking at the ads she’d circled, he read, “‘Experienced cook. Must know breakfast.”’ He lowered the newspaper and met her gaze.
She shrugged. “I know breakfast. Never met one I didn’t like.”
He glanced at the paper again. “‘Busy retirement resort seeks chef experienced in home-style volume production.”’
The corners of her tantalizing mouth turned up. “I lived in a home once, and believe you me, in my house you didn’t learn anything if not cooking food in volume. The Carlino boys could put it away faster than you can say hot and hearty.”
Another circled ad caught his eye. “‘Accepting applications for grill and taco bar positions.’ Isn’t this beneath you?”
“It’s honest work.” Her mouth pulled tight.
“Seems to me your family would help out if you’re strapped and between assignments for a while.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather not.”
“Why?” If he was