Blind Date Disasters & Eat Your Heart Out (22 page)

“Dimi—” He reached for her, but she backed up and grabbed the only weapon available to her, a tampon. Still, she wielded it with honor. “Out.”

He very wisely did not comment on the tampon in his face. “We're going to have to discuss this.”

“Over my dead body.”

Then, unladylike as it was, she pushed the
beautifully naked man over the threshold of the bathroom and slammed the door.

This time she locked it.

Her only regret was not having a freezer in the bathroom. She sank to the edge of the tub and thought about that. With a freezer, she'd at least be able to have ice cream at her own pity party.

“C
AMI
.” Dimi gripped her cell phone tightly. “I know it's the crack of dawn, I'm sorry.”

“What's the matter?” Cami croaked, obviously half asleep. “It must be bad. This is way too early for anything but very bad.”

“I terrified a man in my bathroom last night.”

“What did you do, threaten him with perfumed shampoo?”

“Funny.” Dimi blew out a breath, merged into traffic and headed toward the studio with what felt like bricks in her stomach. “I told Mitch I was revoking my no-man rule. You should have seen him. He turned green, like he needed to puke. Flattering, huh?”

“Dimi, did you do this before or after you knocked it out?”

“Who said anything about knocking it out?”

“In the bathroom…
please.
What else would you guys do in there together? So…did you? In the shower?”

“On the counter,” she muttered, swiping a hand down her face as her sister cackled with wicked delight. “Listen, you're missing the point here.”

“No, I'm not. You revoked your no-man rule in a moment of passion. Understandable. There's not a woman on the planet who wouldn't get it. A man, however—they're a different breed. They don't want to hear such things while they're still breathing like a racehorse. They need to process their emotions, and honey, it takes them awhile. They are men, after all.”

“Great. In the meantime I'm left feeling like an idiot.”

“Oh, no. You can still turn this around,” Cami promised. “All you have to do is stick to your plan to drive him crazy, remember? Don't lose focus here, Sis. Sidetrack him with your body, and he'll forget that you terrified him in the bathroom with all that after talk he's not ready for.”

“Well, dammit, that's just embarrassing.”

“Trust me on this one, Sis. You're still in the driver's seat.”

 

B
Y THE TIME
Dimi arrived at the studio, she'd come around to Cami's way of thinking. Mostly
because she could only wallow in humiliation for so long. She had to do something, and it might as well be to continue to drive Mitch as crazy as he'd driven her.

If he thought she'd let loose of her passion before for the show's sake, watch out! She'd learned her powers well. After all, she'd had the best teacher—him. Tease for tease, she was going to give it back. Starting today.

She was woman, hear her roar.

A good amount of the wind went out of her sails when she got to the set and heard the latest rumor. Mitch was leaving in just two days.

Two days.

Okay. Good. No more being on edge throughout the day, wondering if he was going to look at her, touch her, make her crazy with wanting.

No more fretting over their future, because obviously there was nothing between the two of them except for a slightly out of the ordinary heat they couldn't control to save their lives.

No problem.

She got ready for the day's show, and when Mitch came in with only two moments to spare, without his usual time to talk to her, she smiled grimly.
He's just one big chicken,
she decided,
which really worked in her favor and gave her even more courage.

She waited until the countdown. At the fifteen-second mark she sidled in close to him, missing her own mark to stand nearly on his toes. Sliding her hands up his body, she cupped his face and brought his ear down to her mouth, all on the guise of whispering some last-minute direction. “I'm not wearing plain white cotton panties today,” she whispered. “I'm not wearing panties at all.”

Whipping his head to face her, his eyes wide, he opened his mouth, but she put a finger to his lips. “Our little secret.”

“Five seconds!”

Their lower bodies were hidden from the camera by the counter they stood behind, which gave her the courage to slide her hand down his spine as she stepped away. Down his back to his butt, which she squeezed.

He jumped and looked at her as if she were an alien.

She winked, and when she noticed his very unmistakable erection beneath his nicely fitted slacks, she grinned, satisfied.

“You're on!” shouted the director, pointing at them.

“Welcome to
Food Time.
” Dimi stepped around the counter and reached a hand for Mitch to do the same.

He pulled his hand back and shook his head. It was the first time she'd seen him not quite in control.

She knew perfectly well why he didn't want to step around the corner and show off his erection, but it still made her want to giggle. “Shy today, Mitch?” she teased. “A bit silly after all we've been through together on the show, don't you think?”

For once completely speechless, he studied the ingredients she had scattered on the countertop and refused to speak.

She bit back her laughter and faced the camera. “Today we're creating sauerkraut balls, but first we need to whip up the frosting for our dessert so it can sit and thicken.” Ignoring Mitch completely, she curved one hand around a large bowl, with the other whipping the contents of her frosting. “I chose to do this by hand because there's a slim chance I can work off some of the calories before I even eat the thing,” she said, smiling as she worked the whisk, and in the process shaking her tush wildly from side to side. “What do you think, Mitch?” she asked
over her shoulder, turning her head to smile at him sweetly, knowing that by standing behind the counter, as he was, he was getting quite the show.

All shocking intensity, he just looked at her, his dark, dark eyes promising passion, mutual pleasure…and retribution.

Somehow she managed to break eye contact. She worked diligently preparing the sauerkraut balls, though she was very aware of Mitch's gaze on her.

He's leaving,
she reminded herself ruthlessly.

Remember that.
“Don't forget to preheat the fryer for the balls,” she told the camera.

Mitch stirred and lifted a brow.

Do not blush,
she instructed herself.
This is all about revenge.
“Roll each ball in flour.” She demonstrated, and had never in her life been so painfully aware of being watched as she was with Mitch there, tall, dark, silent and simmering with tension. “Then dip your balls into the egg sauce, letting them drain slowly into your bowl.”

“Pretty hard on those poor guys, aren't you?” Mitch murmured, wincing when she pinched the ball into shape.

“Roll it into the bread crumbs,” she said, trying to ignore him.

He leaned over her shoulder, once again grimacing. “Hey, treat those things with more care, would you?”

“After the bread crumbs, drop it into the hot oil.”

“Ouch.”

“Fry for two to three minutes until golden brown.”

“Whatever happened to tender?”

She refused to look at him. “Serve immediately, or they'll wither.”

Mitch broke into laughter.

When they cut to commercial break, Dimi whirled on him. “I don't appreciate the comments.”

“I don't appreciate the choice of today's menu. Frying balls, Dimi? Gee, is there a message in there somewhere? And what was that with the frosting, huh? Are you
trying
to drive me crazy?”

“It's a short drive,” she told him, sounding superior.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What's your problem, anyway?”

“What's
my
problem?” They were nose to nose, and nearly yelling. “Nothing. I have no problem.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Okay, how about this? When exactly were you going to tell me you were leaving in two days? Maybe after tonight's trip to my house to see what you could…
cook
up?”

That took him aback. His voice was much quieter. “I meant to tell you last night, but you sidetracked me.”

“Because I forced you into the bathroom and had my way with you?”

“Well, you didn't exactly kick me out! Not until you were finished, anyway.”

Most of the crew had given them a wide berth, though they were watching every move from just off the stage in utter fascination.

“That's what this is about, right?” Mitch said. “Last night.”

“Oh, you're quick, Mr. Ace Producer, I'll give you that.”

His eyes were fire, his jaw tight. His entire body was tense and practically shimmering with barely restrained…something.

God, she hoped it was lust. She so wanted
them to be even in this amazing, overwhelming frustration.

“Dammit, Dimi…” He shoved his hands through his hair and finally seemed to realize they had an audience. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her into a relatively private corner of the set. “Last night you kicked me out when you were done with me like unwanted garbage.”

“What was I supposed to do? When I said I was revoking my no-man rule, you nearly fainted.”

“Yes, because you've been so adamant about that damn rule. I'd grown to count on it to keep us sane, because we both know how this is going to end, Dimi. I'm going back to Los Angeles.” He stopped, frustration and heat pouring off him. “Now is a hell of a time to tell me about the rule thing not being valid.”

“Maybe I just decided. Did you ever think of that?” She stopped and looked at him. “Mitch, why didn't you tell me how soon you were leaving? You should have told me.”

He looked at her with such…longing, it stole her breath. “It's not that easy.”

“So last night was a goodbye?” The word hurt, and her voice caught.

His gaze softened, and so did his voice. “Last night was a necessity, and you know it.”

“Yes, because you thought you were safe from the clutches of anything serious.”

“Okay. Yes. Yes, I thought I was safe from anything serious.”

Stunned, she stared at him. God, the truth hurt. She was hugely sorry she'd asked for that truth. “You're a jerk.”

“Oh, fine. Now I'm a jerk.” He tossed up his hands. “I can't keep up with you!”

“It's not that hard!”

“Are you kidding?” He ticked off his complaints on his fingers. “You
don't
want a man, you
do
want a man. You like being the serious queen, yet you like being the sexy chef. Look at you. Today you're—” He waved a hand down her very snug, very chic, very sexy pantsuit. “Looking like that, and licking your lips at me, talking in my ear about not wearing any underwear—I'd like to know how a man is supposed to concentrate on anything knowing that! And you even grabbed my butt!”

“I didn't mean to.”

“But you did!”

“I know,” she said miserably.

“I can't take it, Dimi. I just can't.”

She'd wanted him every bit as teased and tormented as she was, and it appeared she'd been successful.

What now?

She hadn't a clue. But she couldn't leave it like this. There was only one thing left to do.

Call Cami, of course. “Hold on,” she said to Mitch. “I need a second.”

“Now?”

“It's important.” Turning her back, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed. Thankfully Cami picked up.

“Okay, I'm in a bit of a bind,” Dimi whispered, plugging her other ear with a finger. “So think quick. I've done what we discussed and I have him as frustrated as I am.” She glanced at Mitch over her shoulder, then whipped around because he was watching her with a growing intensity she didn't know how to face. “Now what?” she pleaded. “Help me.”

Before Cami could answer, Mitch grabbed the phone, pulled out the battery and tossed it over his shoulder. “You're on your own in this, baby. Look at me.” He turned her around. “Look at me and tell me what you want from me, because I'm confused as hell and need a clue.”

Dimi looked into his glimmering eyes and
knew the truth. She knew what she wanted from him. She wanted him to love her.

As much as she'd come to love him.

Talk about screw-ups.

“You're on the air in two seconds!”

Mitch was staring at her, his breathing erratic, his expression charged. Lord, he was magnificent, but he was leaving, and he didn't want her to want him for anything other than what they'd already had.

Saved by her own show, Dimi went to her mark, intending to go on with life.

I
T WAS
very male of him, he knew this, but all Mitch could concentrate on was Dimi's lack of underwear.

And that had been nearly two days ago.

He was dying to ask her if she'd spoken the truth about not wearing panties, or better yet, to find out for himself, but given the dark expression on her face whenever he caught a glimpse of her, he figured it was a bad idea.

In fact, everything about her was a bad idea. Coaxing her out of her seriousness. The new and wild clothes. Showing her the passion that simmered just beneath her surface.

Now everything she did made him want her all the more. Every look, every touch, every word. He'd been reduced to nothing more than one big, aching hormone.

Hell of a spot to be in for a man who'd been there, done that and figured there were no surprises left to be had.

He'd told himself all he wanted from Dimi had been sex, but really, it was far more complicated than that. He wanted in her head. He wanted to share her hopes and dreams. And dammit, he wanted another chance to have her naked in his arms, to make more wild, passionate love.

Love.

How was that for terror?

Because it was what she seemed to want, and because he had no idea what the hell
he
wanted, once the show had been taped he stayed as far away from Dimi as he could.

She obliged him by returning the favor.

It should have made him happy as a clam, knowing he could leave Truckee, that he'd not broken any promises or left behind unfinished business.

So why then did his business feel extremely unfinished? It shouldn't have. He'd had his last day at
Food Time
today. The staff had given him a pizza party, which was where he stood now, saying goodbye to each and every one of them.

He'd hugged Gracie.

He'd shaken Ted's hand.

He'd smiled until his jaw ached, and now Leo came up.

Mitch thrust out his hand, but Leo threw his arms around Mitch's neck. “It was a wild ride,” Leo said tearfully. “We'll never forget you.”

Mitch wondered if he was going to have to stand there all night patting Leo's back but Suzie tugged him free. Then she gave him her most direct stare. “You're really going,” she said, shaking her head, hugging him tight. “Thanks for saving my job. Thanks for saving the show. Thanks for everything. Especially for putting all the life and spunk into Dimi's eyes.”

He closed his for a moment. “I didn't do that. She did.”

Suzie's smile went sad as she pulled back. “Denial is a sad thing in a man, Mitch.” Squeezing his hand, she went to the food table and grabbed another slice of pizza.

Which pretty much left Dimi. No one had gone home, which meant they had quite the audience, as per the norm. No one felt the need to give them any privacy at all. In fact, as Dimi finally acknowledged him and drifted toward him, everyone seemed to shift closer in anticipation.

She smiled at him, a very nice smile, really, but he could see right through it to all the stuff beneath, and suddenly he didn't care who was
watching. Reaching out, he took her two hands in his. “Hey,” he said softly.

“So this is it,” she murmured. “Goodbye.”

“Yeah.”

“Goodbye, Mitch.”

“I'll miss you, Dimi.”

She nodded. “You'll be missed here, too.”

“By you?”

Their audience seemed to hold their collective breath, but Dimi didn't waver. She looked him right in the eyes and nodded. “Yes.” Then she leaned close, kissed him softly, right on the lips. But before he could so much as taste her, she was gone.

Like a fool, he raced to the door, but she'd vanished. Tempting as it was to chase after her, he didn't. Mostly because he didn't know what to say or how to say it.

“Fool.”

Startled, he looked around and found Suzie at his side, but she snorted in disgust and left, too.

Unsettled, and feeling as if he'd forgotten to do something really important, he went to the cabin the show had rented for him during his stay and packed up his stuff. It wasn't difficult, and it all fit into one duffel bag.

A sad commentary on his life.

A knock on his door surprised him. It was late, and he'd already said goodbye to everyone. He wasn't feeling friendly.

But when he opened the door he got an even bigger surprise.

“Just me,” Dimi said with a shaky smile.

She stood beneath the faint glow of the porch light, wearing jeans and a sweater, looking lovely and vulnerable and sexy all at the same time. So much that he just stared at her stupidly. “Hi.”

“Did you teach my hamster to beg for food?”

So much for her being here to claim her undying devotion. “Yes.”

“I've had her for two years, and she's never done anything but stare at me.”

“I guess it takes the right touch to coax someone out of her seriousness.”

“Yeah.” She looked at her shoes, then into his face. “Can I come in?”

He stepped aside, and when she brushed past him, her hair catching on him, her scent filling his senses, he nearly forgot to shut the door behind her.

“I just wanted to clear some stuff up,” she said, walking into his living room, turning to face him. “You know, before you leave. First of all, I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For seeking revenge on you for making me, um—” She blushed. “Hot for you. I know you were just doing your job, bringing out the sexiness of the show and teaching me how to do it, and I'm sorry I turned on you like that. I wanted to make you hot back and…well, it was juvenile. I can see that now.”

Suddenly he felt very friendly. And very happy she'd come to see him. “I don't want your apology.” He stepped toward her, so relieved at having this last chance at seeing her again he felt weak.

“You…don't?” When he took another step toward her, her eyes darkened. “What do you want?”

“Isn't that just the million-dollar question?” He tipped his head back and pretended to ponder. “What do I want? Hmm… How about I want to know if you're as scared as me that this is over?”

“I—”

He put his hands on her hips and tugged her close. “How about I want to know if you really came here to apologize or to satisfy this unquenchable need we have for each other?”

“Um…”

“And how about I want to know if you meant
it the other day when you told me you weren't wearing any damn panties, and are you wearing any now?”

Her eyes flashed, and she slid her arms around his neck, putting her mouth on his before he could ask her the rest, before he could tell her he'd discovered the L word for the first time in far too many years and that he wanted to know if she could possibly feel the same.

He wanted to tell her he didn't want to leave—what a joke that was—but he really didn't want to go, he wanted to stay forever and become a small-town man who put his nose in everyone else's business.

But he couldn't say a word because she'd opened her mouth on his, deepening the kiss, and every single thought flew right out the window.

Then she wriggled and wriggled until she had enough room to yank his shirt out of his pants and over his head. Before he could so much as blink, she'd sunk to her knees before him and was working on his belt, which she promptly tossed over her shoulder.

Her fingers danced over his raging erection as she looked at him coyly. “I'd better be careful with the zipper.”

“Yeah, you'd—” His words were choked off
because she tugged down the rest of his clothing, leaving him with no blood left in his brain with which to formulate a sentence, much less a thought.

“There,” she said cheerfully, sitting back on her heels and looking at him with sleepy, sexy eyes. “You're the first one naked this time. I think I like that. A lot.”

With a growl, he lunged at her, sprawling them across the carpet. It didn't take him long to unbutton her sweater and tackle her jeans off, where he learned she had indeed gone commando. Rolling, wrestling, laughing, he finally caught her beneath him, grinning at her like the love-struck fool he was.

“You got anything more for me than that smile, Mitch?”

“Are you kidding?” In case she hadn't noticed his erection to beat all erections, he nudged her with it.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you plan to do with that?”

“You'll see.”

“Might I suggest you hurry?”

“Suggestion considered.” And finally, finally, he sunk into her glorious body.

Her smile faded, and so did his. Her quiet moan echoed his. And they clutched at each
other, his favorite part, feeling her nails bite into him, seeing her dazed, just-as-gone gaze meet his.

Mitch was damn glad it wasn't just him feeling this way. He was so glad it was almost enough to make him weep, but then she arched up and took him even deeper within her and he was lost.

Completely lost.

“Hurry,” she whispered again, and he was all too happy to oblige.

 

H
E LAY
on his back, staring at the ceiling, a contented, warm, sated Dimi curled at his side. “Okay,” he said. “We're definitely even.”

With a groan, she came up on an elbow to look at him. Her hair fell into his face, and though he blew it out, it hit him again.

He thought that just maybe he'd be content to have her hair in his face for the rest of his life. He should tell her that. Wanted to tell her that.

But she was looking at him with a good amount of wariness, and he sighed.

“What do you mean,” she said, “we're even?”

“I played low and dirty to get you to change your persona for the show. Remember?”

“Definitely. You teased and tormented me and basically made my life a living hell.”

“Uh-huh. Your show became wildly popular, you got a new contract and a great raise and you found you loved this wilder side of yourself, you poor, poor abused baby. Having me…what was it you said? Tease and torment you. Kiss and touch you. And you hated every minute of it, I know.”

She glared at him, making him laugh. “Don't give me that look,” he said. “Because in return you played low and dirty to drive me crazy with lust, and you know it. So we're even. And now…” He stroked a hand down her slim back, loving the feel of her against him. “And now it's time for a compromise so we don't kill each other.”

“Why?” Her eyes went a little flat. “You're leaving, remember?”

“Yeah, about that.” He sat, slid his hands up her arms and tried not to get distracted by the sight she made sitting there tousled and naked and annoyed. “That's the compromise part.”