"I'll be right here."
A slow smile curved his lips. "Then it seems I have you right where I want you." He grabbed his keys and left, whistling slightly off key.
Standing in his kitchen, Melanie heard the front door click shut.
He was gone.
But definitely not forgotten.
When Chris walked into his condo half an hour later, he was greeted by the heady aroma of fresh brewed coffee, the soft sounds of Elton John on the stereo, and the woman of his dreams wearing his favorite dress shirt, setting his table.
He stood in the doorway leading into his kitchen, feasting his eyes on the sight of Melanie giving his counter a swipe with a sponge. From the top of her curly head to her bare feet, she looked disheveled and well loved.
And by God, that's what she was.
Well loved.
She satisfied him more completely, fulfilled him more absolutely than any woman ever had.
The thing that surprised him was how calm he felt about loving her. He'd always thought he'd panic at the first sign of falling in love-find himself in a frenzy to escape and cling to his freedom.
But not with Melanie. He knew without a doubt that she was "the one." The one he wanted to spend his life with, wake up next to every morning, live with, love with, and share everything with. His plan hadn't been to find "the one" for another few years, but what the hell, he was flexible.
Now all he had to do was convince her.
She was understandably gun-shy of relationships, and he didn't want to scare her off. Yet, his pesky inner voice yelled that persuading her to continue their relationship would be damned hard to do if he screwed up her chances of getting her loan.
He firmly told his pesky inner voice to shut up.
"That was a great breakfast," Melanie said, leaning back and patting her full stomach. "Best cheese danish I've ever eaten."
Chris winked at her. "You should try my cinnamon buns."
She laughed. "I thought I already had."
"Are we still talking about breakfast?"
"Beats me." Melanie pointed to the unpacked grocery bag on the counter. "What's in there?"
Chris stretched out his legs and sipped his coffee. "Cake stuff."
"What do you mean, 'cake stuff'?"
"Stuff to make a cake. It's on your things-I-want-to-do-before-I-die list. Besides, you're a gourmet cook. You should know what cake stuff is."
Curious, Melanie peeked in the bag. There were three boxes inside. She reached in and pulled out a box of Duncan Hines chocolate cake mix. The next box yielded a mix for fluffy fudge frosting. She pulled out the last box and choked back a laugh.
"Condoms?" she asked, raising her brows. "What do condoms have to do with making cakes?"
He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap. "We have to do something while the cake is in the oven," he said, nuzzling her neck.
"The cake only has to bake for thirty-five minutes. This is a package of thirty-six condoms."
"So we'll have one left over," he said against her lips.
Melanie laughed. "Maybe we should try to pace ourselves."
"No can do. In case you can't tell, I want you again."
"I can tell, and I must say I'm amazed. And flattered." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his stubbly jaw. "Don't you ever get tired?"
"If you'd asked me that question last week, I would have said yes. Today, the answer is no. It appears that you are to me what spinach is to Popeye." He nibbled on her neck. "One taste of you and I have the strength of a thousand men."
"A thousand men? I think you're gonna need some more condoms, Popeye."
"Now you're talkin'," he said, chuckling. "But first we shower. Then we bake. Then… well, we'll have to see." He shot her an exaggerated leer. "I have a feeling we'll find something to do."
Melanie laughed at his expression and tried to ignore her racing pulse. Again she had to force herself to remember that this was an interlude. An affair. No commitments, no promises. She had to enjoy it while it lasted, then let it go. No more relationships for her. No way. Just fun and games.
Now all she had to do was convince her heart.
In an effort to control the emotions simmering on the surface, she asked, "Shower? Us? You mean like, together?"
"Absolutely." He wrapped his arms around her and stood. "Never let it be said that I haven't done my part in the global water conservation effort." He walked toward the bathroom, kissing her all the while.
"Besides," he added when they reached their destination, "we have to do something to keep up with our tradition of getting wet every time we're together."
"I've never done anything like this," Melanie murmured, watching him turn on the water spray.
The intense, burning look he sent her melted her insides to the consistency of maple syrup. He unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that." Opening the shower door, he held out his hand to her. "Come with me."
"Hmmm. Now there's a phrase that's ripe with possibilities," Melanie said, managing to keep her tone light in spite of the ever growing tightness in her throat. Her heart and mind were battling it out again in the Olympic love-versus-lust war. She had a sinking feeling that heart was going to win.
She slipped her hand into his and stepped into the shower.
Oh, well. Let the Games begin.
Chapter 13
"You look great," Chris said several hours later, leaning back to survey his handiwork. Melanie lay in the middle of his bed, naked except for several well-placed swirls of fluffy fudge frosting. "Fabulous, if I may say so myself."
"This is not how you decorate a cake," she insisted, squirming as he continued to "paint" her abdomen. "I've read dozens of cookbooks, and I've never seen instructions like this. If Betty Crocker even suspected what you're doing with that frosting, she'd fall down in a dead faint."
He drew a heart around her navel. "Who?"
"Never mind. And this may come as a shock," she added in a breathless voice, "but baking is normally done in the kitchen. Not the bedroom."
"This is not baking," Chris countered, dipping his finger into the glass bowl he held and spreading another dab of chocolate icing on Melanie's nipple. "This is decorating. We burned the cake. I wouldn't think of wasting all this great frosting." He leaned forward and sampled the delectable treat he'd just made.
"Delicious," he pronounced.
Melanie leaned up on her elbows. "We did not burn the cake," she informed him in a haughty tone that made Chris smile. "You burned the cake."
"Only because you wouldn't let me take it out of the oven when the timer went off."
"Wouldn't let you! How do you figure that?"
"You were on top," he reminded her in a calm tone. He suppressed a laugh at the bright red blush creeping up her cheeks. "I couldn't move."
She shot him a dirty look. "Oh. Well, you could have moved if you'd wanted to."
"Ah, but I didn't want to," he said, spreading a thin layer of icing on her bottom lip. "I was very happy where I was."
He watched her eyes darken with remembrance of their earlier lovemaking, and his heart squeezed tight in his chest. There it was again-that warm rush of love sweeping over him. It washed through him, nearly stealing his breath and leaving a lump in his throat that he had to struggle to swallow around.
Even though she hadn't said so, he knew she was feeling the same things he was. She had to be. He could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him, feel it in her touch, taste it in her kiss. He wondered how she would react if he told her he loved her.
You idiot. She'd run like a scared rabbit. And that was the last thing he wanted. It was too soon.