“I don’t know. It hasn’t come out yet.”
Mitch came from a town where one could get the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times and just about every other major paper on any street corner. Daily. “You’re kidding me.”
“It won’t come out until tomorrow.”
Exactly his point about this place, Mitch thought as everyone smiled with fondness for their little town with only one newspaper once a week.
Dimi rushed into the conference room, a suspicious, mysterious mass in her arms covered with a black towel. “Sorry I’m late.”
“What do you have there?” Leo asked.
Dimi shot a look at Mitch. “Nothing.” She shoved the thing under the table, sat and folded her arms. The picture of calm.
Unless one looked deep enough, which of course Mitch did. She looked ruffled, unnerved and damned distracting while doing it.
“Thirty minutes to air,” Gracie announced, checking her watch.
“Okay, anyone have anything else before we disperse?” Mitch asked, keeping his eyes on Dimi, but no big surprise, she wouldn’t look at him.
“Just maintain the status quo,” Suzie said, consulting her clipboard. “Yesterday’s calls topped our record. They’re loving it all.”
“The new recipes?” Dimi asked, coming to life.
“Well, yes. Among other things.”
“Such as?” Mitch asked.
“Such as you and Dimi and your chemistry. They loved yesterday’s bread-making show.”
“The recipe,” Dimi said, shining with pleasure. “I knew it. It was a fabulous one, from Romania-”
“Uh, no.” Suzie shook her head and laughed. “What they really enjoyed was watching you and Mitch and how you kneaded the dough together, remember?”
Mitch remembered. Their hands had gotten entangled in the gooey, sticky mess Dimi had so expertly created, and at the touch, the two of them had nearly gone up in flames. Startled, they’d stared at each other like two star-crossed, unsatisfied lovers, and the camera hadn’t missed it.
Not that, and not later, when every time they accidentally touched-which he perversely made sure was as often as possible-it had only upped the heat. They’d shaped the dough, stroking and stretching and pulling, and every motion had become a sensual sort of dance.
Indeed, as he already knew, the phones had rung off the hook, people wanting more. Hell, he wanted more. And no, he had no idea where his this-was-just-a-job mentality had gone.
“People are definitely really into this new look for Dimi,” Leo agreed. “They keep tuning in to make sure she doesn’t revert to her earlier dowdiness- Er, um, I mean…”
“Thanks,” Dimi said dryly. She rose. “Thanks a lot.”
“Well, look at the time,” Suzie said, glancing at her watch and rescuing a miserable Leo. “Dimi, you need costume and makeup, pronto.”
A perfect mix of fear and reluctant thrill crossed Dimi’s face. “How bad is the costume today?”
Suzie looked at Mitch and managed to keep a bland face. But both of them knew today’s costume was the best yet. “Not bad at all.”
A squeal startled them all. Dimi jumped, blushed and tried to look innocent.
But Mitch knew that squeal. Frowning, he looked at her, suddenly recognizing the lump beneath the towel. “You brought Brownie to work?”
“I had to. Tanner’s painting my kitchen, and she hates the fumes.”
“We’ve got to get rolling, gang,” Suzie said, tapping her watch.
“I’ll take Brownie,” Mitch offered. “She can hang out in my office.”
Dimi looked concerned. “But-”
“But what? Do you think I’d terrorize your hamster?”
“She won’t strut and smile and dress on command.”
“But will she be nice to me?”
Dimi smirked. “No, she’s shy. And very serious about her food. Don’t put your finger in the cage. She doesn’t know you, she might bite.”
“Got it.” Mitch shook his head when Dimi was gone and pulled Brownie out from beneath the table. “Hey, girl,” he said softly. “Remember me?”
Brownie rushed out of her little hideaway and wrinkled her nose, eyes bright.
“You do, don’t you?”
She waited patiently, a serious look on her face.
Mitch had to laugh. “Look at that, she’s even got you mimicking her expressions. Want something to eat?”
She wriggled her nose solemnly.
He bought a granola bar from the vending machine and fed a corner of it to the hamster, making her stand up on her hind legs for it, which she did willingly. “I’ll be back later to teach you more tricks,” he told her. “Just to annoy Dimi.”
Making sure Brownie was comfy, he headed to the set, ready to face another show that would leave him sweating, frustrated and trembling like a baby.
Not to mention as hard as a rock.
6
“YOU HAVE TO wash them first.” Demonstrating for both the camera and the enraptured crew, Dimi ignored Mitch and turned on the faucet.
Mitch said nothing, which made her nervous. He always had something to say. In fact, he’d had plenty to say just before they’d started, reminding her to smile once in awhile, reminding her to banter with him-as if she needed reminding!-and also to wear her new clothes, not let them wear her.
Yeah, yeah, she’d responded. Sex kitten. I know.
God, she knew. He didn’t need to say it, she felt it. It wasn’t the sexy clothes, either, or her new smiles, or the way she walked.
It was him. He made her feel it, and everything she did in the kitchen became languid, sensual. By the end of every day she was one big trembling, frustrated mass.
But she was on the air now, live, and she couldn’t lose her concentration, not when they’d been doing so well.
She dumped the vegetables in the sink. Luckily her sleeves wouldn’t get in the way. How could they when she was wearing a cropped sweater with short sleeves and not nearly enough material to suit her?
And let’s not get into the skirt she had on. It had to be illegal to show this much leg during the family hour.
She reached for the zucchini, running her fingers over the long, thick length to clean it. Mitch made a low, unintelligible sound, too quiet for the camera but not too quiet for her ears.
Her heart picked up speed. Her breathing quickened.
Hands still running over the zucchini, she looked up and found her gaze locked with hot, hot, hot eyes.
“You have a way with that thing,” he murmured.
She froze, instantly realizing her mistake, but it was too late. Mitch had found his humor and was daring her with a lifted brow to continue.
So she lifted her chin, set the zucchini aside and reached for…a yellow squash. A deformed yellow squash that looked even more like a phallic symbol than the zucchini had. She stared at it, wondering how on earth she’d chosen these pieces just that morning without realizing how…naughty they looked.
Mitch let out a laugh. “You going to stare at that all day, or cook with it?”
“Cook with it,” she said between her teeth. “It’s got terrific flavor this time of year, sliced a certain way and set over the open flame of a barbecue.”
“I was thinking,” Mitch said conversationally.
“Oh, really?”
Mitch grinned.
The camera ate them up. Dimi knew it and tried not to think about it because it had been so much easier when it had been just her, alone on the set, doing as she pleased without this big, confident hulk of testosterone standing around making her lose her train of thought every time he so much as looked at her.
Which he did disconcertingly often.
“I was thinking,” he repeated, still amused. “That the show should be called ‘Now We’re Cooking…With Heat.”’
She was absolutely not going to let him bait her on the air. “That sounds a little-”