Secret Ingredient: Love (8 page)

He meant the kiss. Her stomach fluttered, followed by a sensory memory that gave new definition to the term spontaneous combustion. That touch of his mouth was like throwing kerosene on her simmering attraction. Now it threatened to burn out of control. This was a fine kettle of fish. What was she going to do? She
had almost two months left on her contract. She was locked in for at least that long. She had to see him every day at work. Meaning she was in so deep it would take more than an ice cream scoop to dig her out.

She had learned the hard way that if a guy was interested in her, he probably thought she could do something for him, or he wanted her to take the fall for something he had done. She had promised herself that no one would use her again. Now here was Alex. Vice president in the food preparation industry, with his professional reputation at stake, in front of his family, no less. What was she supposed to make of the fact that he hadn’t thrown her to the wolves? And he didn’t even pretend to be romantically interested in her. If her reaction to that kiss was anything to go by, she wanted him to be interested. She was on very thin ice here.

“I thought you were going to fire me.”

“For cheating at arm wrestling?”

“That,” she agreed. “And for what went wrong with that entrée. I thought you would hang me out to dry.”

He frowned. “What have I done to make you believe that?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “But I’ve got baggage.”

“Interesting share. Yet somehow incomplete,” he said. “Do you feel like telling me the whole story?”

“No. But I think I owe you an explanation.” She twisted her hands together. “In cooking school, I fell for this guy. He was charming and he turned it on full blast. I fell like a cake without baking soda. I didn’t know he was using me, copying my work, stealing my notes, et cetera. I thought he cared for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not the worst. We had an assignment to make bread. Instead of coming up with his own recipe, he bought a loaf of sourdough and pretended it was original. When one of the instructors caught on, he begged me to take the fall. He was in danger of being thrown out of school and I was at the head of the class. He said I could handle the heat. I did as he asked and was nearly kicked out. My career could have been over before it ever started.”

“He must have been grateful.”

“Yeah. Right,” she said bitterly. “So grateful he dumped me. I found out that he didn’t have time to do the work because he was involved with someone else.”

“Bastard,” Alex said angrily.

“I’ll buy that. But I blame myself, too. I was so unbelievably blind. Oh, he said all the right things, paid me compliments. Only later I realized that it was as if an alarm on his watch beeped, telling him it was time to patronize me with flowery words. It just makes me angry that I was so completely gullible.”

“Not all guys are insincere creeps.” Alex stuck his hands in his pockets.

Maybe. But it hurt too much to try, then be disillusioned. She preferred to take herself out of the game.

“It doesn’t matter whether they are or not. I’m not interested in anything serious. Every cloud has a silver lining,” she said, trying to smile. “That experience reminded me not to ignore myself in favor of a man. It underscored what I learned growing up—a relationship makes a woman lose herself.”

He shook his head. “That’s not the lesson. Two people who love each other are stronger together than they are separately.”

“Like you and Beth?” she asked.

When would she learn to think before she opened her mouth and let the wrong words out? She waited for the pained expression to cross his face, and was surprised when it didn’t.

“Yes, like that,” he answered. “The guy was a creep, Fran. It’s as simple as that.”

“The fact remains that I cared for him. I did things for him that I shouldn’t have. I lost myself because of love. And it won’t happen again.”

“Didn’t you tell me that your father knows nothing about this?” he asked.

“Do I have Stupid written on my forehead?” she retorted.

“Maybe he would get off your back about the whole marriage thing if you told him.”

She shook her head. “It would just make things worse. First he would track the guy down and defend my honor. Then he would turn over what was left of the jerk to my brothers. After that, he would assume the right to pick out a husband for me, since my judgment leaves something to be desired.” She shuddered. “Trust me, it’s better if he doesn’t find out.”

“I guess you know best.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “Wow, look at the time. I’ve got to clean up and get out of here. I have to shop for my mother. Tomorrow is her birthday and there’s a family get-together.”

“I’ll help you.”

“The only way you could help me is by coming along to take the heat off,” she said without thinking.

“Actually, I meant help you clean up here. But okay. I’d like to meet your family.”

Fran had started gathering up the plates and utensils. She stopped and stared at him. “You’re not serious.”

“Sure I am. I’m not too proud to help with the dishes.”

She shook her head. “No. I meant about meeting my family.”

“Yeah, I was serious about that.”

“But they’re all going to be there. My four brothers, Mom and Dad. That’s a lot of Carlinos.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I would sincerely like to meet the entire clan?”

She felt his forehead. “No fever. That means you need your head examined.”

“Why?”

“It would be like walking into matchmaking central. Voluntarily.” She shuddered at the thought as she put the dishes in the sink and went back to the counter for more.

“Hey, turnabout is fair play,” he said, picking up the dirty forks and putting them in the sink. He looked down at her. “You’ve put up with it from the meddling Marchettis. I think it’s my turn. Besides, after our triumph with the tasting, I owe you.”

She put her hand on her hip and shot him a skeptical look. “They’ll try to make us a couple. You will be pumped for information. How long have we known each other? What are your intentions? How far have you gone? Have you kissed me?”

“We both know who kissed who,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Okay, I cheated. I’ll do penance for it.” She was already paying. She could hardly look at him, at his mouth, without wanting to challenge him to a rematch in which she fully intended to cheat by kissing him for all she was worth. She would have to get over it. “But my family doesn’t need to know I cheated and how. In
fact, it’s best if they receive no encouragement. The slightest bit of information would produce a feeding frenzy.”

“What’s your point?”

“The Carlinos are not subtle.”

“And my family is?”

“Compared to mine? Yes,” she said, nodding.

He laughed. “They can’t be that bad.”

“You’d be surprised. They can be worse. You really don’t have to do this.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said too quickly.

Would she go to hell for the lie? Was lying worse than cheating? It was self-protection. She was trying to prevent emotional suicide. Bad enough that she had to see him every day at work. Somehow she would find a way to withstand his triple threat: laughs, looks and lots of sex appeal. To introduce him to her family was taking a step that scared her. It wasn’t business anymore.

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked. “If you’re looking for a bodyguard, I’m your guy. I’m the perfect man. The meddling Marchettis have trained me for this all my life. Who could understand better than me?”

“I’m just trying to warn you. My father and brothers have frightened off even the most intrepid man who mistakenly thought he could handle escorting me to a Carlino celebration. They can scatter suitors faster than you can say ‘Welcome to the family.”’

“I’m not a suitor. I had my shot at romance. I’ve built up antibodies. I’m immune to whatever the Carlinos can chuck at me.”

She put a fork in the automatic dishwasher. “You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

It would be nice to have some backup tomorrow. And he was right. There was no danger of losing herself, because he’d made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t on the make. So what was the problem?

“Okay,” she said. “You can come.” She wagged a finger at him. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chapter Seven

A fter picking Fran up at her apartment, Alex drove to her parents’ house in Woodland Hills, an exclusive area of the San Fernando Valley. He went slowly up the street, waiting for her to give him the high sign when they got to the right house.

Finally she pointed. “This is it.”

He couldn’t see the place. It was set back from the road. “Where?”

“Just make a left into the drive and park behind the last car.”

He followed her instructions. But the last car in the circular drive was a truck, in a line of five trucks that all sported Carlino Construction on the side. Correction: one was a sports utility vehicle, but still big enough to curl its bumper in disdain at his small, sporty two-door. His car looked like an insignificant, incomplete afterthought at the tail end of all the macho wheels.

After shutting off the engine, he looked over at Fran.
Wearing blue jeans and a pullover sweater in a deep shade of rose, she looked so cute he almost called her Frannie. He remembered Rosie telling him that she hated the nickname, but once again he had to admit his sister was right. It did fit his favorite chef. Although he wouldn’t say his sister was right about Fran being the perfect woman. He’d already lost Beth. Only once in a lifetime could the perfect woman find the way to his heart.

Which was why his profound reaction to kissing Fran the day before had shaken him to the core. It had taken all of a second after her lips touched his for his heart rate to zoom off the chart. It had taken him a lot longer to catch his breath. In fact, whenever he was around her, he couldn’t swear that it was back to normal.

During the sleepless night that followed, he’d told himself she’d just taken him by surprise with her kiss attack. And he almost believed that. In fact, he was choosing to believe it. Because he was tired of all the questions. It was Saturday. They were off work. And he found himself looking forward to spending the rest of the day with her, even if it was to run interference with her family.

“Are you ready?” Fran asked him.

“Not if cars are an indicator,” he said, pushing his glasses up more securely on his nose. “I’m definitely out of my league.”

“It’s not too late to back out,” she said, grinning.

For the umpteenth time since picking her up, Alex noticed her mouth. He knew now how sweet she tasted, how soft she was. And he wanted to kiss her again. That healthy dose of disloyalty to the love he’d lost was followed by guilt.

He shook his head. “Marchettis are not cowards.”

She opened her car door. “Okay. C’mon, hero. Let’s do it.”

Alex went around to her side. She was holding a plastic container with the birthday cake that she’d made for her mom, and he took it from her. Then she reached into the rear seat, a generous description for his car, he thought wryly, and retrieved the present she’d bought for her mother. With the cake in one hand, he rested his other at the small of her back, and a jolt of electricity zinged him from the innocent touch. It was a good thing he had only one free hand. That was all that prevented him from pulling her into his arms for a repeat kiss.

Fortunately it was just a short distance to the brick-covered front step. The sturdy-looking oak door was inset with leaded, beveled glass etched with flowers. Pretty impressive, he thought.

Fran knocked loudly just before she opened the door to let them in. “Hello,” she called out. “Ma? Daddy?”

“In here,” a female voice answered.

They walked over the wooden entryway floor. An archway to their left opened to a large kitchen with an oak table and eight ladder-back chairs in the nook. White shutters topped by a blue floral valance covered the windows. Country art and dried flowers decorated the walls. An older woman stood a few feet away by the stove, her wooden spoon poised over a steaming pot. She was about Frans’s height, but plump, with gray-streaked brown hair. She must have turned toward the doorway when her daughter had called out because expectation was clearly written on her face.

“Francesca,” she said, smiling with pleasure.

“Hi, Ma. Happy birthday.” She moved into the woman’s arms for a hug.

Her mother met his gaze. “This must be Alex. And he brought a cake.”

Fran half turned to include him. “Alex Marchetti, my mother—Aurora Carlino.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand. Then he set the cake on the counter beside the stove. “Fran made the cake, Mrs. Carlino.”

“I knew that. Call me Aurora.” She put her sturdy hand in his. “The pleasure is mine, Alex. Welcome to our home. I’ll get my husband and sons for you to meet.”

“Wait, Ma.” Fran put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Why don’t we give Alex a breather before we bring on Act Two?” She frowned. “The boys are here. Why are you in the kitchen?”

“Because the boys are here.” The woman shrugged, raised her eyebrows and managed to look nonchalant all at the same time. “Why wouldn’t I be in the kitchen? I’m cooking dinner for my family.”

“But it’s your birthday, Ma. Daddy and the boys shouldn’t be letting you work today. The least they could have done is order in. You should be pampered.”

“I don’t mind. It’s what—”

“Give me that spoon,” Fran said, taking it from her mother.

“About time you got here, Francesca Isabella.” A rugged, older-looking man stood in the doorway at the far end of the room. He was taller than Alex, about six foot three, and had a full head of thick, wavy gray hair. “You can take over for your mother. Put to good use what you learned at that hoity-toity cooking school.”

“Hi, Daddy,” she said. She walked over to him and
kissed his cheek, but Alex didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed, or the tight look around her mouth.

“How are you, cupcake?” he asked, giving her a fond bear hug. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your young man?”

Alex saw her stiffen more. Here we go, he thought. Time to throw a block. He walked forward. “Alex Marchetti, Mr. Carlino. Nice to meet you.” He felt his hand squeezed in a viselike grip.

“Leonardo Carlino,” Fran’s father answered. “How did you meet my Frannie?”

Alex glanced at her and wondered how she could stiffen any more without breaking. He wanted to push her behind him, or better yet, fold her in his arms for safekeeping. But he met her father’s gaze and said, “We work together. She’s creating recipes for my company.”

The older man pointed. “You’re the frozen food fella she told us about.”

“Will wonders never cease,” Fran muttered. “He actually listened.”

Alex shot a quick look at her, noticing that her tense shoulders were now nearly around her ears. He winked at her, then smiled at her father. “Yes, sir. I’m the frozen food fella.”

“How long have you and Frannie been going out?” Aurora asked.

Alex expected fireworks from his chef, but all he saw was steam. Or maybe that was from the pot she was stirring. But in the time he’d known her, she’d never been so quiet. She always spoke her mind loud and clear. It was one in a long list of things he admired about her. And he missed her biting wit now. But before he could answer the question directed at him, four
guys wandered into the room. Alex guessed that these were “the boys.” He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but four burly, athletic-looking guys hadn’t exactly come to mind.

“Hey, Frannie,” the first one said, grabbing her up in his arms. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Max,” she answered, giving him a squeeze.

One by one, each brother bear-hugged her, wooden spoon and all. They looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties, and every last one was at least as tall as their father. If Alex didn’t know better, he would swear all of them spent their waking hours working out.

In their Carlino uniform of T-shirt and jeans it was easy to see that each had impressive-looking upper body strength. Every last one had their father’s dark brown eyes and thick, wavy black hair. If the entertainment business had been their calling, he hadn’t a doubt that Hollywood would embrace them with open arms. Not to mention a good portion of the female population in general.

“Who’s this, Sis?” the one who looked to be oldest asked.

“Frannie, introduce your young man to your brothers,” her mother ordered.

“He’s not my…” She sighed heavily and shook her head. “I’ll go in birth order.” She pointed with her wooden spoon at a man with a small uneven scar on his chin. “This is my oldest brother, Max. Beside him is Mike, who got all the family charm and people skills,” she said, pinching his cheek fondly. “He reminds me of your brother Joe,” she said, glancing at Alex. “Next is Sam, the smart one.”

“And what are the rest of us? Chopped liver?” Max asked good-naturedly.

“Yes,” she said sweetly. “And last but not least is my brother John.”

“Hey, I’ve got people skills,” he said.

She grinned at him. “Yes, you do. As long as those people are female.” She met Alex’s gaze. “Johnny Carlino is the brooding bad boy of the family. Women love him and throw themselves at him on an annoyingly regular basis, in embarrassingly large numbers. But he’s not interested and he won’t tell me why.” She pointed her spoon at Alex. “Although if you have a change of heart about looking, he could give you a refresher course.”

“Why would he be looking?” her father asked. “He’s got you.”

“He doesn’t have me—”

Before she could finish her rebuttal or get a really good mad going, Johnny grabbed her around the waist and lifted her easily off her feet. “When I meet a lady as smart and pretty as my little sister, maybe I’ll think twice. And if she’s as good a cook—”

“Put me down,” she said, slapping his hands. “Women have more to offer than preparing meals, you know.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “You keep reminding us about that.”

“For all the good it’s done the lot of you. I don’t understand how you’ve all managed to stay unattached,” she said, smiling fondly at the group.

“Speaking of attached, you haven’t completed the introductions. Who’s the guy?” Max asked.

“We’re not attached. And this is Alex Marchetti—”

“The frozen food fella?” Mike Carlino asked.

“That’s me,” Alex agreed.

“Where are your manners, you guys?” Fran asked. “Were you raised by wolves? Isn’t it time to do the handshake thing? Or the grunting, bonding and back slapping that goes along with it?”

Sam tugged a lock of her hair. “You have to get over this need you have to stereotype, Sis.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a product of my environment.”

Alex wondered if he was the only one who got the hidden zinger. Her environment had been filled with love. No doubt about that. And not so subtle pressure, if the last few minutes were anything to judge by. Her parents wanted him and Fran to be a couple. But he’d been warned about that.

One by one “the boys” stuck out their hands for Alex to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, suppressing the urge to flex his fingers after the workout his hand had gotten.

Leo Carlino cleared his throat. “We’re missing the football game. It’s on in the other room. Come join us, Alex.”

Alex looked at Fran and almost winced at the anxiety, abandonment and anger that darkened her eyes. If he had to guess, he would bet she was fried about being relegated to the kitchen, as if by virtue of her gender that’s where she belonged. He also knew she wouldn’t walk away and leave her mother here to cook.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked Aurora.

Before she could speak, Leo answered. “Leave this to the women.”

“Thank you, Alex,” Aurora said. “My daughter and I can take care of things. You would just be in the way.
Join the men. Everything will be ready in about a half hour.”

He looked at Fran, studying her for a reaction.

She nodded. “It’s okay, Alex.”

But she didn’t look okay and he had to fight the urge to fix that.

After dinner, everyone withdrew to the family room for cake. On the tour of the house, Max had explained to Alex that this had once been a tandem, three-car garage. They had converted it into an L-shaped room large enough for a fireplace with raised, used-brick hearth, and a billiards table on the other side, sort of around the corner. There was a grouping of leather sofas and blue-and-green plaid wing chairs, with a coffee table in the center. In the corner was a big screen TV. They had almost completely remodeled the house, which was large and elegant, yet homey and comfortable. He could see why Carlino construction was so successful.

While they waited to do the birthday cake, everyone sat around chatting.

“Did you get approval on those plans you drew up for that office building in Santa Monica?” Leo asked. “Max is an architect,” he confided to Alex.

His oldest son nodded. “The CEO only had two or three changes. I thought it was going to take a couple more passes before we got the go-ahead.”

“Good.” Leo smiled approvingly.

“I had a really good week, too,” Fran said. She sat on the end of the sofa across from him, sticking candles in the cake. “The Marchettis approved my variation of their restaurant recipes for the launch of their frozen food campaign.”