Blind Date Disasters & Eat Your Heart Out (19 page)

“Sorry!” she gasped, backing up, horrified at her ineptness.

But he didn't let her go far, instead sliding a thumb over her frustrated frown. “It's okay. Breathing is optional,” he assured her.

One second Dimi sat there staring at him, humiliated to the core, and the next she'd garnered her courage to try again.

Go for the moon,
she told herself, and pressed
against him, her mouth on his. She was kissing him, kissing him as if she was starving for it.

And he was kissing her back, his mouth opening, making her let out a little whimper of need. She wanted more. She took more, losing herself in it until he let out a hissing breath. His fingers reached up and entangled with hers, making her realize she'd fisted them in his hair, tugging hard on the silky strands.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, face flaming as she pulled back. God, what had she been thinking? What had Cami been thinking? She couldn't do this! “I think,” she said shakily, “I'm ready for dinner.”

“Are you sure? Because I've got your hands now, so we could just try the whole thing again—”

“I'm sure.”

He searched her gaze, then sighed and stood, pulling her up, as well. “Next time,” he muttered, “I'm going to go bald before stopping you again.” He stroked her cheek. “Remember that.”

She would do little else.

“M
ESSAGES
!” Suzie called to Mitch in a whirlwind the next day. As she ran past him, clipboard in hand, she slapped a stack of pink message slips in his palm. “The one on top is a doozy.”

She was right. It was from his home office.

Shocked, he stopped dead in the busy hallway and stared at the words.
Now get back here as soon as you can.

Someone plowed into him from behind, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Hey!” yelled the clerk, paling when he saw who he was yelling at. “Oh! Sorry, sir.”

Stunned, Mitch looked up from his message.

“You might want to step aside, though,” the clerk said more gently. “You'll get killed standing here during rush hour like that.”

Only a week ago the message he'd just received would have been cause for celebration. Now all he felt was a confusing mix of things, though a great part of that could be the way he kept getting jostled standing there like an idiot in the middle of the hustling, bustling hallway.

“Hey, boss!” Suzie came down the hallway on another mission, grabbing his arm when she saw him. “You gotta move out of the way, honey, or someone is going to plow into you.”

“I know.” He allowed her to pull him to the side, where the pace was more suited for an epiphany.

He was going home.

Yet he couldn't seem to work up any happiness about it, because somehow, someway, when he hadn't been paying attention, he'd started to fall for this show, this town.

The people.

One person in particular—Dimi of the serious eyes and amazingly talented mouth.

Still in a daze, he walked onto the set with three minutes to spare and found Dimi sitting on
the counter in a hot little sundress, swinging those long, long legs as she read, totally absorbed in the newspaper she held.

It was yesterday's edition, the one that screamed Sex Kitten Cooks!

“Five minutes, people!” called the director.

Dimi used that as an excuse to ignore him, which she'd done fairly successfully ever since their kiss.

“You're going to have to talk to me sooner or later.”

Her feet swung faster, but she didn't look at him.

“Dimi, say something.”

“Okay.” She looked up. “I heard you're leaving.”

He sighed, not bothering to point out he'd only just gotten the message three minutes ago himself.

Thanks, Suzie.

Was Dimi angry that he was going? Or so happy she couldn't speak? With Dimi, he couldn't be sure. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

She kept reading.

Okay. Well, she
had
to do the show with him,
he thought with evil satisfaction. She couldn't ignore him there.

“I understand we're preparing leg of lamb today,” he said conversationally, hooking his mike to the front of his shirt.

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. An assistant handed her a mike. She held it in one hand, obviously at a loss as to where to pin it.

His mood lightened considerably.

“Looks like you have a problem there, finding a place for that thing.” Before she could protest, he took it and stepped close, as if he was going to pin it on her collar, but as they both knew, her dress had no collar.

He let out a slow smile. “This is going to be tricky.”

“I can do it,” she said through her teeth, the serious queen once again, making him want to laugh.

“No, I've got it.” He studied the spaghetti straps that held up the bodice of the sundress, which dipped low between her very appealing breasts. “Nope,” he said, gliding the backs of his fingers across her collarbone. “Not here.”

At his touch, she sucked in a breath.

“Maybe…” He slid his first finger along the edging of the dress just above the curves of her
breasts, touching her creamy skin. He actually trembled like a damn baby at that, but he took heart in the fact that she did, as well. “Here,” he decided, slipping his fingers beneath the strap where it connected with the bodice near her armpit, just above her left breast.

She sucked in another breath at the intimate touch. “Are you getting your kicks out of this?”

“Oh, yeah.” He wiggled his fingers. Her nipples hardened, strained against the material of the dress, making him let out a soft groan. “Definitely getting my kicks out of this. Cold, Dimi?”

“No, I—” She slammed her mouth closed and glared at him when he laughed softly, triumphant that he'd made her admit to being turned on.

He bent his head to the task, his back to the various crew members milling around so that no one could see what he was doing. If anyone looked over, they saw a producer helping out his host with her mike, that was all. Innocent stuff.

They were in their own little world.

Which was how he found himself concentrating, not on the job in front of him, but on the sweet scent of her, the mind-blowing feel of her soft, warm flesh.

He made sure to take his time.

The pulse at the base of her neck throbbed, and he nearly moaned again. “I have to taste you,” he whispered, and closed the rest of the distance, putting his open mouth against her neck, sucking.

It was her turn to let out a low moan. She lifted her hands, probably to push him away, but he quickly soothed the spot he'd bitten, using his tongue, and she ended up fisting her hands on his shirt instead.

“Twenty seconds!”

Dimi wrenched free and stared at him, wide-and wild-eyed, chest heaving as if she'd just run a mile.

He was breathing like that, too, and starting to sweat to go along with it. “Wow,” he whispered, which made her let out an agreeing noise as she turned away to stand on her mark. She tossed back her hair, rubbed her glossed lips together and took a deep breath, obviously desperately struggling for composure.

She probably had no idea that her hair was tousled and gorgeous, her face was flushed and gorgeous, and her mouth… Lord, her mouth. Wet, luscious and gorgeous. She'd never looked the part of kitchen goddess more convincingly.

“Ten seconds!”

“Is it true?” she whispered. “You're almost done here? You're leaving?”

“Yeah.” Regret roughened his voice. “I've been called back.”

She nodded and looked away.

Mitch found his mark, but he was off balance, and knew it would be impossible to gain it back in time. The line between this show and the pleasure he found in Dimi was blurring badly. He was starting to have the sinking feeling that the heart he'd frozen after Daniel's death was defrosting.

Hell of a time for it.

“Five, four…”

It was also a hell of a time to realize what was
really
bothering him about going back to Los Angeles.

The fact that he didn't want to go.

 

“T
HREE, TWO
…”

Dimi dragged in a deep breath, but it didn't clear her head. Nothing could clear her head after having Mitch's hot, open mouth on her.

“And…you're on!”

She smiled for the camera and prayed it was a good one. At least it wasn't cold and forced,
but then again, nothing about her had been cold and forced since the day Mitch Knight set foot in Truckee.

But soon he'd be gone, and she'd be free to go back to being herself—only somewhere along the way she'd lost that woman.

“Welcome to
Food Time,
” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “We have some great recipes coming up. Tomorrow we'll do
borlenghe
with pancetta and rosemary.”

Beside her, Mitch looked totally blank. “Bore what?”

She imagined another hundred viewers falling for that helplessly confused expression on his innocent face. Only she knew he was no innocent! “Crispy crêpes from Modena,” she translated. “But for today, we're cooking roasted leg of lamb.”

Somehow she finished her intro, but she was painfully, vibrantly aware of the tall, powerful, far too magnificent man standing next to her, unusually quiet and speculative.

She should have known
that
wouldn't last.

“We're also introducing a new element to the show today.” He broke in, surprising her.

His gaze was deep and fathomless and full of
heat—for her—and every complaint flew right out of her head.

“We're going to take call-ins on the air,” he said, and when that sank in, Dimi nearly fell off her high heels.

“What?”

“Later,” he said, going to the refrigerator and taking out a tray of meat.

But that was
her
move, so she stalked right up to him and reached for the tray.

“Just trying to give you a hand,” he said with an innocent smile. “Don't want you to catch cold in that itty-bitty dress here in front of this blast of cold air.”

That she already had goose bumps all over her body was his fault, but she didn't point it out. “Thanks, Mitch. You're going to make someone a very considerate wife some day.” Smiling for the camera, she pulled the tray in front of her, which she hoped would hide the fact that her nipples were still at urgent attention.

Mitch followed her to the counter and watched with interest as she handled the meat. When she lifted a tenderizing mallet he leaned back in horror. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Tenderize the meat.”

He shuddered. “Remind me never to make you mad.”

“Too late,” she said sweetly, wielding the mallet and making Mitch wince. One strap fell down her shoulder, and with a sideways disgruntled look at the man who'd picked the dress out, she shoved it back up. She concentrated on her task, on talking to the camera and on keeping her dress up all at the same time, until the lamb was ready for the oven.

Dimi carried the tray to the opened appliance and stood there, rooted by sudden indecision.

How was she supposed to bend over to put the food in without flashing her panties to every single viewer?

“What's the matter?” Mitch asked, lightly of course, since
he
didn't have a care in the world.

She shot him a look of panic and saw laughter swimming in his eyes. He knew exactly what the matter was. In fact, given his sick, twisted sense of humor, he'd probably planned it! “I've decided to let you be chivalrous today,” she said, thrusting the tray at him, yanking on the hem of her dress as casually as she could.

Mitch put the meat into the oven and then took their first phone call. “Hello,” he said into
the camera. “You're on the air with
Food Time.
”

“Oh! Oh, how exciting! This is Millie from Fernley!”

“Hello Millie from Fernley!” Mitch said, speaking in exclamations, as she had. He smiled sweetly. “How can we help you today?”

Though the woman sounded as if she'd been smoking for sixty years, and had maybe driven a truck for much of that time, she giggled. “I was wondering. Do you and Dimi date?”

Mitch tucked his tongue in his cheek and deferred the question to Dimi with a lifted hand.

“Um…that would be negative,” Dimi said quickly.

“What a shame! You do know how handsome he is, right, dear?”

Dimi did not look at Mitch. “Did you have a cooking question, Millie?”

“Well, sort of. I was wondering, if you don't date Mitch, and you gave up all other men, who've you been cooking with, girl?”

Dimi's eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you've been kissing someone.”

Dimi let out a little laugh. “Millie, maybe you have the wrong channel. This is a cooking show. You know that, right?”

“Yes, and my question stands. Who've you been cooking with, because lordie, that hickey on your neck is making me weak in the knees. I want one of them. Did Mitch put that there?”

Dimi looked at Mitch. And mercifully, they cut to commercial.

Suzie ran up to Dimi, wisely keeping her laughter to herself as she handed her a little mirror. Doing contortions, Dimi was just able to catch a glimpse of said hickey at the base of her throat.

“Oh. My. God.”

Suzie's cell phone rang. She answered it and looked at Dimi as she said, “Yeah, she's here, and she only has sixty seconds, so make it fast.” Then she handed Dimi the phone.

It was Cami, and she got right to the point. “Holy cow, that hickey is amazing! Please, oh, please tell me you finally did the deed with that man.”

“Cami!”

“Tell me you did it right there on your darkened set against the refrigerator, so hot and needy for each other you didn't even care that anyone could walk in on you at any moment.”

Dimi looked skyward, then made the mistake of looking at Mitch again. He was studying a
spreadsheet his assistant had shoved in his hands, but as if he sensed her gaze, he looked up. Right at her.
Through
her, to the inside, where she was wondering if he really
might
have taken her against the refrigerator.

His gaze heated.

Oh, yeah, he would have, and her thighs clenched at the thought. Her tummy tightened, too. “Cami, I gotta go.”

“You did! Against the refrig! Oh, my God, Sis. That's so cool.”

“We didn't. It's just that…” She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “He's driving me crazy, Cam.”

“You mean he's making you hot?”

“Yes!” she cried miserably.

“Well then, beat him at his own game, would ya? Stop letting him get the better of you. Make him hot right back!”

“But…”

“But nothing, just do it.”

Once again she looked at the tall, dark, mesmerizing man getting the best of her and admitted the truth. “I don't know if I can.”