The Marriage Recipe (11 page)

“Thanks. Want the last cookie?” She dangled the container.

“I'm fine,” he said. What he'd like was to kiss her again. “I still have this one to finish.”

Rachel replaced the lid. “I certainly don't need the calories. Three is already over my limit. I can't believe I scarfed them down.”

“They're that good. I already told you everyone last night loved them.” To control his libido, he took another bite.

She leaned her hip against the counter. “They did turn out okay. I'm glad. Cookies are one of my favorite things. They're time-consuming, though. I did every one of them by hand.”

“You shouldn't tire yourself out,” Colin said, suddenly concerned.

She shook her head and he had an urge to remove her ball cap and run his hands through her hair. “I don't mind. Cooking is manual labor. Like a massage therapist's hands, mine are well trained.”

Colin finished his cookie and drank a large gulp of soda. Did she not know the impact of her words? He opened and closed his mouth.

“What? You were about to say something but stopped,” Rachel said, edging closer.

“I was imagining those hands on me,” he admitted. He grimaced as he realized he'd answered her aloud. She was now staring at him, her brown eyes wide.

“Sorry. You mentioned your hands, then massage. Just forget it. I'm a male. You know how testosterone works. My mind went somewhere unprofessional and it shouldn't have. Won't happen again.”

Could he not do anything right tonight? Already he'd coerced her into baking, and now he sounded like a pathetic sex maniac. He feared she'd think the worst.

“You've just been too long without dating someone,” Rachel said as the kitchen timer beeped, indicating the cupcake pans needed to be turned so the cupcakes would brown evenly.

Yep, she'd misconstrued his words. He certainly wasn't communicating correctly. The next few seconds didn't help. She took out a steel tester, opened the lower oven and bent over to check the batter.

“Don't do that again,” he said, his tone huskier than usual. The view had been way too enticing.

Rachel's brow creased and she frowned at him. “Do what?”

“Bend over. Whatever you do, don't do that.”

 

H
E'D BEEN LOOKING
at her backside. Of all the…She bristled. She and Colin had said they would be professional. Why was he staring at her like that? Good grief. Rachel's patience was wearing thin. She was doing him a favor and he was ogling her. Part of her liked the attention, but the other, more rational, side of her acknowledged his attention for what it was.

Lust.

She put the tester on the counter. “Well, I used the lower oven, so I have to bend over. Just stop looking. You're a man. You know how to turn around. Perhaps you need to go out on the prowl. Date some woman. Eject some hormones. This has to be a dry spell or something for you,” she said.

“I am not a playboy and that's hardly my problem,” Colin said with a knifelike edge in his voice that had her assessing him again. “Not in the slightest. I like sex as much as the next guy, but it's not something I can't live without. It's not like substituting chocolate for vanilla.”

“Actually, you wouldn't substitute those ingredients…”

His blue-eyed gaze intensified. “Poor analogy. It doesn't matter. The fact is, you've never given yourself enough credit where I'm concerned, have you?”

Surely he couldn't mean…“What do you mean by that?”

Colin closed the gap between them, invading her space. She could smell his aftershave, sense the tension he kept checked. “I don't think you realize the power you have over me. You are pure torture, Rachel Palladia. You're right under my nose and perfectly untouchable. I'm not sure how much more of this I can stand. I've tried to avoid you for two weeks. If I hadn't needed cupcakes…” He trailed off. “We've shared two kisses and they aren't enough.”

“You can't be serious. My words were to clear up the past, not make the present worse—for anyone.” She tried to make light of the situation. “You're being silly. Thinking too much. Being too deep. We're different people now. You kissed me. I kissed you back. We felt some heat. Chemistry. We're adults. Chalk the kiss up to curiosity.”

“Which still means, as you said that night, we ought to know better,” Colin said.

“I believe that's what I said,” Rachel replied. She turned to put the used mixing bowls in the sink. “You and I getting involved in any way beyond friendship would be…”

One of the stainless-steel bowls slipped out of her hand and dropped into the sink with a clatter. Her mouth couldn't form the word
mistake.
If they got involved, it would be fabulous. She'd be able to touch his skin, feel him pressed to her. His lips…oh, those on her lips would be divine. Like one of her sweets. Worth every calorie.

But that was the trouble with desserts. Too many made you gain weight. The momentary bliss wore off, to be replaced with long-term effects. “Well…friends. That's enough. Neither of us needs any more complication than we already have in our lives. Right?”

“I don't know,” Colin said. “For the first time, I'm pretty confused. Here. Let me help you.”

“I'll get it.” He'd come even closer, carrying a bowl in front of him like an offering. “You could take the cupcakes out,” Rachel said, relieved when the oven timer beeped. Fate had intervened—for once with perfect timing—to get her out of what was fast becoming a sticky situation. “Just put on those pot holders, remove the pans carefully and place them on the racks I set out. Don't turn the pans over.”

“Okay.” He handed her the bowl, their fingers brushing as he deposited it in her hands. Then he was the one bending over, removing the pans and setting them out to cool. Her throat constricted and she turned away, talking to him while not looking at him.

“We'll have to let the cupcakes remain in the pans ten minutes before we take them out.” She reached over and set the timer. “The cupcakes have to be totally cool before I can frost them, so I'm thinking I'll finish cleaning up now and come in first thing in the morning to ice them. I could have them all done by 10:00 a.m. You want them by lunch, right?”

She glanced at him. He'd removed the oven mitts. “I'm supposed to be at Libby's school at eleven.”

“Then that's what we'll do,” she said, settling the matter. “I'll leave a note for my grandma to let her know what's going on.”

“Okay,” Colin said. “I'll be in around ten-thirty to pick them up.”

“That would be fine.” She made her tone brisk…professional, but he'd returned to stand less than a foot away from her. He reached out and brushed her cheekbone. “You had something on your face.”

“Oh.” His mere touch had her body reacting, a little tingle that had sent an involuntary twitch through her shoulders. “Probably icing. You should have seen me at the end of making those cookies. I had green frosting everywhere.”

His eyes darkened and she realized her mistake. “I would have liked that,” he told her.

He reached for a beater she hadn't yet put in the sink. He ran his fingertip along it, scooping off the buttercream frosting left there. Then put his finger in his mouth. “Good stuff.”

“Glad you like it,” she said, far too aware of his proximity. She'd already placed the bowl of frosting in the refrigerator. “I'll add green food coloring tomorrow and…”

Her voice trailed off as Colin scraped the beater again, capturing more frosting. He pressed the frosting against her partially open lips. She automatically sucked his finger, tasting the morsel he'd offered her. “It
is
good,” she said, swallowing, trying to regain her composure.

“I'd like to see you covered with icing,” Colin said, his voice low and deep as he removed the last of the frosting from the beater, then decreased the gap between them to mere inches. “I could think of a lot of creative ways to clean it off you.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel mumbled, determined not to open her mouth.

She should stop him. Say no. Do something.

But she stood there, letting Colin spread frosting over her top lip, then her lower lip. She watched him, transfixed. Even with all the time she'd spent in Marco's kitchen, he'd never done anything this erotic.

He'd never touched her like this, making her quiver with anticipation.

Sex had been basic. Ordinary. Bland. Rote. Boring.

Nothing like the high intensity surrounding this very moment.

Time seemed to stretch as every one of her senses heightened, she waited to see what Colin would do next, even though she knew—he was going to kiss her. And no matter how resolved she was to just be friends, she was going to kiss him back. She couldn't resist him. Didn't want to. Never had. Wasn't sure why she was pretending otherwise.

He lowered his mouth to hers, and with the lightest of touches his tongue came forward and gently licked the frosting from her lips. Then somehow her hands were in his hair and she lost herself, let herself revel in the pleasure his touch provided.

His kisses tasted of sweet frosting and something more she couldn't classify. And then she stopped trying to figure everything out but simply gave herself to the moment. He'd pulled her toward him, cupping her bottom and pressing her body to his, his movement letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him and how much he wanted her.

She could kiss him forever, she thought hazily. She wouldn't stop with kissing, either. She wanted the whole thing—At that moment, the timer she'd set when he'd taken out the cupcakes from the oven started buzzing.

“I guess the cupcakes are ready to be stored,” Colin said, pulling away.

“They can wait a minute,” she said, not wanting the moment to end.

“Don't want to dry them out.” He stepped away from her, severing the connection.

“Uh, no. We don't,” Rachel replied, trying to regroup. She removed all the cupcakes from the pans and properly stored them so that they would cool some more but not dry out. Then she loaded a few last dishes. “We're done here,” she said flatly.

He shook his head. “No. Let's get something straight for once. We're done baking. You—me? We're not done. Not by a long shot.”

His words thrilled her. Wasn't this what she'd desired? Colin Morris wanting her? Still…“Look, we can't keep kissing each other.”

He waited, his posture daring her to continue.

“I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. I did,” she admitted, flustered that she couldn't find the perfect words for what she wanted to say. “But you and I can't get involved.”

“We already are,” Colin stated. “Trying to stop this…us…is like trying to save the
Titanic
from sinking. A failing proposition. Impossible. I've spent two weeks trying.”

“We're only going to hurt each other,” Rachel protested. “We both know I'm leaving. I'd hate to return in three years, meet your wife and feel all awkward and weird. Our families are friends. You know we'll run into each other. It's inevitable. This is so hard. I'm torn. I admit, I'd love to get together with you. It's like my childhood fantasy come to life.”

He stood there, mulling over what she'd said. Impatient, she added, “But we're geographically challenged. I'm not going to get hot and heavy with you every time I visit. I'm not going to be a weekend girl. You might have a plane, but flying up to New York to see me every so often is silly. We're doomed to failure, and neither of us wants that. Believe me, I've thought about it.”

He shifted his weight. “About ‘it'?”

She clarified. “You.”

“Me.”

“Geez. Do I have to spell it out? Making love with you. I've thought about it. Dreamed of it, actually.” She wrung her hands in frustration. “I don't believe we're having this conversation. This whole night has gotten surreal. It's like being on a bad sitcom where the writers have all disappeared.”

“It's probably a good thing we are talking,” Colin told her. “We failed to talk in high school after our first kiss and look where that got us. A big load of misunderstanding and BS that we both carried like bad baggage into every subsequent relationship.”

“Now who's giving himself more credit?” she quipped.

“You know I'm right.”

Rachel could tell he wasn't amused at her attempt to make light of the situation. “Okay, so you are. I was deeply hurt. You were my ideal.”

He shifted his weight, took a step forward and then stopped. “And what if I still am? What if you are mine? We might have let all this time go by, but what if this is our second chance? Do we let this chance slide by or do we grasp the brass ring, take our bonus ride and risk the chance the ride might not stop?”

“It has to stop. Nothing good lasts,” she said stubbornly. He was making way too much sense, and his rationality frightened her. He was Morrisville. She was New York. She clung to that.