“You’re a miracle worker, lady. I can’t tell you how much better I’m feeling already.”
She rose. “Good! Then I’ll be on my way.”
He caught her hand. “Don’t go. Stay.”
She started to pull away, but he grabbed her other hand. He forgot his ankle and started to haul her back, rising out of the recliner with the force of her resistance. Too late, he remembered he shouldn’t put any weight on his foot. His hesitation cost him his balance, which sent him hurtling backward.
“Uh-oh!”
Reese tried to pull him toward her, but lost her balance as well, tumbling along with him. They wound up sprawled over the recliner, Nick on the bottom, Reese on top.
She was right there in his arms, so close, so intimate, her body the nicest, warmest blanket he could think of. What was a guy supposed to do other than give in to the moment?
Her eyes like Bambi’s, she protested, “Nick, we can’t.”
He covered her lips with his, cutting off the rest of her statement. She returned the kiss fervently, allowing his tongue to enter and twine with her own. Her pelvis strained against his, all the invitation that part of his body needed to spring into action.
He slipped his good hand inside her jacket, barely stopping long enough to touch the petal-soft smoothness of her back before unclasping her brassiere.
Coming up for air, she gasped, “We de…cided not…to do this.” Then she took over the kissing, hitting the top left corner of his lips first, then nibbling the bottom lip, next a cheek, then just below his ear.
He tried to relax, let her do the work, enjoy the sensation of those feathery lips becoming increasingly more demanding. But her growing frenzy couldn’t be ignored. He felt compelled to reciprocate, give in to temptation. This was a bad idea, the tiny part of his brain that was still rational told him, just like Reese had tried to point out. But damn! Who could resist this? He wanted her. Not just any desirable female. He wanted Reese. Pain be damned.
His hand skimmed around her side to light on a breast, still partially encased in the bra. He gently drew it into his palm. How could mere flesh covering tissue give a man so much pleasure just to grasp and squeeze and…ah, hell. He needed…had to have…more.
All that existed was Reese, himself and the recliner. A feverish compulsion to get her naked—fast—seized him. Not just to see, but to feel, clutch, rub, and do almost everything in his power to turn her inside out to pleasure her. And have her.
The challenge of stripping her from beneath with only one functioning hand and a bum ankle only fueled his smoldering passion. “Not my usual approach,” he breathed into her ebony hair as he struggled without much success to pull down her jogging pants.
She wiggled her hips to assist his efforts.
The rocking motion of her body undulating over his hurtled shock waves through him. Her jogging pants and lace thong slithered down the curve of her buttocks. He stopped to knead the firm, rounded flesh. God, she felt good. He could linger here forever, if it weren’t the knowledge that there was so much more treasure awaiting him.
She lifted limpid eyes to gaze into his. “You stopping there?”
“Shh. I’m enjoying the journey.” He slid a hand from her backside to the front mound. She was wet. His fingers reveled in the moist, filmy nest. Such a powerful aphrodisiac. Reese clung to his neck and wriggled against him. “You’re torturing me, Nick.”
“Thought you’d like that.”
“I do. But it’s…doing…wild things to me.”
“Yeah?”
She lowered her eyes. “You know it does. I…want…need to…finish this.”
He kissed a spot on the side of her neck. “Me too.”
Her actions followed her words as her hands went to the zipper on his slacks, undoing it. She was getting pretty good at that.
He quickly relieved her of her pants and shifted their bodies so that they were lying across one of the massive arms of the chair with their legs over the other. Reese was still on top, but at least his bad ankle was no longer cramping his style.
She gazed down at him, a mischievous gleam in her dark brown eyes. “Looks like I’m in charge again.”
“You think?” he breathed out huskily. “Since those new pain pills kicked in, I’m perfectly capable of running this operation.” He entered her and she welcomed him eagerly, straining against him to get closer.
Aroused beyond rational thought, his animal instincts emerged, fueling his urge to drive deeper, faster. Pure sensation took over, sending him beyond the limits of his physical body.
Finished, exhausted, they settled back in the chair. “You’re the best medicine,” he told her when at last he could speak. They lay there, too drained to move but satiated.
“We should dress, clean up,” Reese said, starting to climb off him. “That aide could be here any minute.” She started to disengage herself from both him and the chair, but he caught her by the arm.
“I don’t know how we’re going to do this, Reese. But that silly keep-our-distance pact has to end.”
She swung around to face him. “Agreed.”
“So? What do we do?” He kicked himself mentally for even asking, he should simply be telling her what he was going to do. But he’d never felt like this. He couldn’t get enough of her. He didn’t know where this attraction would take them, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He just wanted it to continue.
“I’m in free fall, Nick. Joining you as co-host is challenging enough. Joining you in bed is mind-blowing.”
He started to reply, but she held up her other hand. “But not knowing, testing myself at each step is the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever experienced. No. I take that back. You’re the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever experienced. Despite all the complications facing us, I don’t want it to end, either.”
Chapter Seventeen
“That camera angle makes Nick look like an invalid,” Leonie protested.
The
invalid
leaned into his new cooking partner and whispered so only she could hear. “A week ago she walked off the show. Today, she’d have you believe this was her idea.”
“A real Queen of Denial,” Reese agreed.
Their eyes met and locked, sharing the private joke, as they’d shared so many other intimacies of late. Behind the kitchen counter, so that no one else could see, Nick’s hand skimmed her thigh, raising her pulse rate.
Reese returned a look that attempted to convey, “Later.” Though they’d agreed to keep their relationship under wraps, especially from Leonie, Nick was becoming increasingly more daring. She had to be strong for both of them, she had more to lose.
Nick emitted a small groan and busied himself realigning the casserole dish before him.
“He
is
an invalid, Leonie. At least for now.” Jasper’s biting words crackled over the PA system.
Leonie squared off, facing the control booth “Get over yourself, Jasper. The technical part has become much more, uh,
technical
these days with the host having a live assistant. I forget myself at times.”
Assistant?
Before Reese could respond to the woman’s latest putdown, Nick grabbed her knee under the counter. Under his breath he said, “Don’t let her get to you.”
Again, her pulse rate spiked, only this time it was due to frustration rather than Nick’s touch. “She’s doing this on purpose.”
“Of course, she is. We knew she’d retaliate. But jabs like that we can live with.”
“
We
? They’re not aimed at you, sainted nephew. I’m totally the brunt of her barbs, which I find tiring. And offensive.”
“I’m sorry she’s making this so difficult for you.”
“Then tell her to let up.”
A strange expression swept over his face. Fear? Distrust? No, neither. Regret. That was it. “It’s not that easy to do, Reese.”
“Really? Give it a try. Here’s your chance.” She nodded in the direction of the approaching executive director.
Coming up to them, Leonie said, “Reese, dear, I’ve been viewing today’s tape. I’m afraid you’re fading out on camera.”
Not again. Hardly an hour went by without the woman finding fault with some aspect of her performance. Thus far, Reese had held her annoyance in check, though she’d probably need to see her dentist soon after the grinding to which she’d been subjecting her teeth. Mouth rigid, she replied, “What do you suggest we do about it, Leonie?”
Leonie tapped her index finger, today featuring a spit-shined garnet nail, against her chin. “Let’s see. I suppose we could change the make-up. But no! It’s the chef’s jacket. That stark white washes you out. Let’s try street clothes instead, like Nick wears. A nice neutral color. Beige perhaps.”
“Beige? That color looks horrible on me.” Reese examined her garment. “I could wear a blue jacket. Or something blue at the throat? Like a scarf or T-shirt?” Another thought occurred. “Why doesn’t Nick wear a jacket like me?” She expected Nick to react to that, but he remained silent.
Leonie blinked several times. “Nick? Wear a chef’s jacket?” Strangely, though, her voice lacked its usual strident tone.
The executive producer’s change in attitude prompted Reese to press more. “I know a lot of television chefs wear more informal clothing, but the jacket would lend a certain credibility to the show, don’t you think?”
Leonie’s eyes searched for something over Reese’s shoulder. “Never mind,” she said airily, switching gears yet again. “It was just a thought. Besides,” she paused long enough to summon a dazzling smile, “it won’t be long before Nick has recovered and we’ll be back to one host.” Over her shoulder, she called to the control booth, “Fifteen-minute break, Jasper.” To Deborah, who’d been standing off to the side, she said, “Where is that breakdown for next week’s show?”
In a flash, she was off, harassing her own
assistant.
Reese blew out a breath. The anger she’d been restraining burst forth, mounting with each punctuated step of the retreating woman. “Where were you in that exchange?” she asked her partner. “That was the perfect opportunity to tell her where to get off.”
“You beat me to it.”
She’d let that remark go, because the old dragon’s parting comment had caught her attention more. “Was she right? It won’t be long before you’re ready to take over full hosting duties again?”
Nick turned away, rearranged the food items in front of him. “I guess. The doc didn’t say exactly when. Why?”
“Why?” she repeated with more volume than she intended. She shot a glimpse around her to see if she’d drawn attention to their exchange and lowered her voice. “Because I’m out of a co-hosting job when that happens.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Really?”
“This twosome approach is working, but we need to be more successful to convince Leonie. That means a larger audience.”
She gave his comment some thought. “The only way to enlarge the audience is to get more people watching.”
“Well, yeah. That’s pretty obvious.”
“We have to do more promotion,” she said, arriving at a solution.
“That’s Leonie’s job.”
She rolled her eyes. “And one heck of a job she’s done. This show is one of the best-kept secrets on cable.”
“True, but she takes great pride in being our spokesperson.”
“What do you want, Nick? A happy executive producer or a highly-rated show?”
“Good point. What do you suggest?”
Her mind sifted through various possibilities. “For starters, we have to get ourselves some good publicity. Do you have any reporter friends?”
“Used to. I could give them a call. And Jasper should still have some contacts from his theater days.”
“Then let’s get going. We just got a fifteen-minute reprieve.”
As she started to transport him away from the kitchen set, Nick raised a hand. “Hold on! Jasper and I may have the contacts, but you’re the big news.”
“Me?”
“We need an angle, a hook, to snag the media’s attention. That’s you. My new co-host.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “Eeuw! I always hid in the kitchen whenever the press visited the restaurant.”
“Those days are over, my dear, if you want to keep co-hosting.”
The thought of talking to press types unnerved her. But he was right. She needed to hone that skill if she was going to successfully launch her own show. But it wasn’t something that came easily to her. “How do you deal with the press?”
He screwed up his face. “Never given that much thought. It just happens.”
“Talking to strangers doesn’t
just
happen
for me.”
“I don’t believe that. At
Solange
, when a junior chef asked you a question, you didn’t run for cover, did you?”
“No, of course not. I just answered the question.”
He shrugged. “Dealing with the press is the same. You’re still the expert, like you were at
Solange
.”
She pulled at her jacket hem, recalling her days at her previous job. “That was different. The junior staff had to take orders from me. When I answered their questions, they listened. But members of the media are under no such restrictions.”
He raised a brow. “How can I help you relax?”
“I need some coaching.”
“Then I’m your boy. We can meet after the debriefing Saturday.” He offered a suggestive leer.
“Nice idea. But I didn’t have you in mind as my coach.”
“No? I’ve got competition?”
“Not for certain things,” she teased, batting her eyelashes, “but I’ll take a rain check for Saturday. I’m going to pay my mother a visit instead.”
****
“I’m glad the guys all had other plans today,” Reese told her mother following a leisurely lunch on Saturday. The weather had gone balmy on them, providing the opportunity to dine outside on the patio. Late spring and its attendant sweet fragrances surrounded them. “This has been nice, just the two of us for once.”
“I’ve certainly enjoyed it.” Slight hesitation. “Not that I don’t appreciate your visit, but what really brings you home again so soon?” her mother asked, having saved that question until now. Her tone was warm, pleased but definitely curious.