Some Like It Hot (13 page)

Thoroughly, ravenously, he kissed her, and she kissed him back, and somewhere through his passion-addled brain came the realization that it had never been like this for him before.

Never.

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER
, Robert reached for her again.

“Come here, woman.”

Melanie rolled into his arms, her bare belly pressed against his flat, rippled abdomen his hard erection pulsating against her thigh.

An erotic electricity shot through her entire body when his mouth claimed hers and his hand strayed to explore. His fingers made large circles at the triangle of hair below her navel, while his mouth teased hers.

Then his tongue went traveling south to the peaks of her jutting breasts. His tongue flicked out to lick one nipple, while his thumb rubbed the other, making her ache. His thigh tightened against her leg and his abdominal muscles hardened to pure, smooth steel.

“Robert…” She whispered his name with a sigh. She loved his name. Robert, Robert, Robert. “Robert, that feels so good.”

Her eyes flew open and she lifted her head off the mattress. She had to see what he was doing to make her feel such exquisite pleasure and watched him draw her nipple into his mouth.

His tongue laved her sensitive skin as he suckled her deeply. She writhed against him, trying to push her body into his, needing more. Ribbons of sensation unfurled within her, and her inner muscles contracted with desire for him.

“Robert,” she whispered weakly. “Robert.”

“Yes, sweetheart. What do you want? Tell me what you need.”

“I need you inside me. Now.” She looked into his proud face, reached up to trace her finger along his scar, and felt something monumental move inside her. It was an emotion unlike anything she’d felt before. She couldn’t name it.

She stopped trying to figure it out, just let it sweep her away.

He was kissing her again. Her mouth, her nose, her eyelids, her ears. He was over her and around her and then, at last, he was in her.

“Melanie…” He whispered her name, soft as an ocean breeze, caressing her with sound as he rotated his hips from side to side, maintaining tight, intense contact.

Now, with him deep in her moist heat, she felt every twitch of his muscles. He lit her up, a match to gasoline. She had no thoughts beyond wanting him deeper, thrust to the hilt.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked him into her. Her fingers gripped his buttocks, drawing him closer. Her turn to own him. Her turn for control.

Frenzy.

She felt desperate, frantic need building inside her.

They came together and it was like pouring milk into milk. Infused with him, she could not tell where he began and she ended. No separation. Their connection was complete, and there was no space for anything else.

She bristled with joy. It rippled through her body, burning her to a crisp like a marshmallow in a campfire. She was warm and gooey and completely scorched, and she loved it.

When they separated and Melanie lay panting in his arms, the realization of what had just happened scared her witless.

H
OURS LATER
, Robert woke, squinted at the clock and saw it was four o’clock in the morning. The spot in the bed next to him was empty.

Melanie?

For one crazy moment, he thought she’d run out on him, and then he heard the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.

He rolled out of bed, put on her ex-husband’s blue jeans and ran a hand through his hair to tame it before padding barefoot into the kitchen as he wrestled the T-shirt over his head. He found her standing at the counter, waffle ingredients lined up beside a big stainless steel bowl and an expensive looking but well-used Belgian waffle maker. Robert pulled the T-shirt down and tucked it into his waistband.

Their eyes met.

Pink splotches stained her cheeks. She was embarrassed at being caught staring at his chest. After last night? Her
reaction surprised him and a rush of unexpected tenderness broadsided Robert.

“Your dream catcher’s working overtime,” she said. “I had a dream, about the ultimate waffle.” Quickly she detailed the ingredients.

He was so immobilized by the sight of her that when something furry and hot brushed against his leg, he yelped, startled by the unexpected contact. Then he remembered the kitten.

Melanie grinned, glanced down and rubbed the cat’s back with her big toe. “Stealth Kitty.”

“You really should name her.” Robert bent down to pick up the cat. “So you don’t turn into Holly Golightly.”

“But if I name her, I’ll have to keep her.”

“You’re not planning on keeping her?”

“I’d like to but…”

“I dare you to name her.”

Melanie rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about the cat, is it?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You want to change me.”

“I do not.”

“Liar.”

“You’re so off base,” he exclaimed, even though his heart crashed heavily against his chest. She was so damn right it hurt.

She studied him. “Your head isn’t filling up with cutesy, happily-ever-after thoughts as we speak?”

“No,” he declared.

“Okay, okay. I’ll name the cat.”

“What are you going to name her?”

“I don’t know.” Melanie glanced around the kitchen. “How about Waffle?”

“You certainly gave that a lot of consideration.”

“It’s a cat. She doesn’t care what I call her just as long as I feed her. Here. Watch this.” Melanie poured some milk in a bowl and set it on the floor. “Here Waffle, Waffle, Waffle.”

The kitten darted over and began lapping up the milk.

Melanie glanced back at Robert and lifted her shoulders. “Waffle it is.”

“Good thing you don’t have kids,” Robert said. “They’d have to go around with names like Banana and Cream of Wheat.”

“Hey, what can I say?” Melanie giggled. “I love food. Besides, whenever I call her, it’ll always remind me of our breakfast together.”

She said it as if it was the only breakfast they would ever share. But he didn’t want that to be true. When had he gotten to this point? He wondered.

“Speaking of food,” he said glibly, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s make some ultimate waffles.”

Melanie fried bacon while Robert mixed up her recipe and then poured the batter into the steaming-hot waffle iron and closed the lid. Delicious smells filled the air.

When the waffles were done, he garnished them with whipped cream, powdered sugar and pecans. Melanie brought the bacon to the table along with maple syrup and two cups of hot coffee.

It turned out to be the best damn waffle Robert had ever put in his mouth.

Melanie took a bite and moaned with pleasure. “Now that’s a waffle.”

“It is pretty darn good.”

“Not pretty darn good, Robert. It’s the ultimate waffle.”

Waffle meowed.

They laughed at the cat responding to her name, and Robert felt good inside in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. The tip of Melanie’s tongue flicked out to whisk away a dab of maple syrup at the corner of her mouth.

Robert’s gaze drifted lazily down along her chin to the hollow of her throat and then to her chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her thin T-shirt.

He couldn’t help himself. He reached over and cupped her face in his hands. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Her cheeks flushed. She was obviously embarrassed by his words.

His mouth took hers, and he tightened his fingers, on her warm skin. He wanted to touch her, hold her, love her.

The next thing he knew he had her in his arms and he was carrying her back to bed.

M
ELANIE LAY WITH HER FACE
in the pillow, pretending to be asleep as Robert got up and padded into the bathroom. She heard the shower come on. Now that her passion had been extinguished, the reality of what they’d done crashed in on her like a house of Madam Lava’s tarot cards.

Robert had told her he wasn’t into casual sex, but she’d pushed him into it.

You didn’t have to push very hard.

That was the scary thing. Did the fact that he’d been so easily persuaded mean he saw their relationship as much more than just sex? She thought about the way he’d looked at her in the throes of their lovemaking, and her throat tightened. There had been a lot of emotions in those sky-blue eyes.

What had she done?

They were such opposites. He was introverted, she was an extrovert. He liked to think things through, she preferred to plunge ahead. He wanted everything tied up in a neat tidy package, she was attracted to chaos.

If it’s chaos you wanted, it’s chaos you got.

She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Robert was in the shower, humming. Yes, humming.

Things were worse than she’d thought.

The humming told her that he cared about her. A lot more than he should.

And they had to work together. He was her boss.

Chaos.

Damn it. How had she gotten herself into this?

Passion. That’s what had done it. Passion would hamstring you every time.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

What was she going to do now?

Quit. She would just quit and go back to Boston. Or call the headhunter at Chefs-to-Go and set up an interview with that restaurant in Seattle. Let Robert have the executive chef job at Chez Remy. He was much more suited for it, anyway.

But, selfishly, she didn’t like the idea of not working around him anymore. She enjoyed their sparring and the way they’d learned to work together. It was fun, and now she’d gone and ruined it all by sleeping with him.

Just like she’d done with David.

What was the matter with her? Hadn’t she learned anything from her past mistakes?

Uncertainty, that familiar enemy, seized hold of her.

“Rise and shine, wild thing.” Robert came strolling from
the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He had another towel wrapped around his lean waist and a big fat smile on his face. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us. The Charboneaux-Long rehearsal dinner is this evening.”

God, he was acting all sweet and nice. Like a boyfriend. Like a husband. Melanie suppressed a shudder and forced herself to sit up.

Great. She felt like even more of a rat fink.

The sheet slipped and so did Robert’s gaze, right down to her perky pink nipples peeping out from under the covers. Quickly, she snatched up the sheet and brought it to her neck.

“A little late for modesty. I’ve seen you naked and then some,” he said.

It was a lot late, but better late than never, right?

“I’ve got to be honest,” he said, and perched on the bed beside her.

“Uh-huh.” She saw something in his eyes that made her heart lurch. Was that tenderness? Was he getting serious about her? He reached over and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, and her stomach took a swoony little dive.

“You were quite something.”

Damn that palm reader. Damn the rain that had stranded him overnight. Damn those sensational passionate waffles.

He looked so earnest, so happy. If only he weren’t her boss. If only they weren’t total opposites. If only she weren’t scared to death of committing herself to something and failing yet again.

“But as much as I enjoyed it,” he said, his smile fading, “I’m afraid you might have read more into this than there really is. I don’t think it’s such a good idea for us to do this again.”

What?!

He was dumping her? Jilting her before they’d really even had a fling?

“I hope this won’t affect our working relationship. I’m actually hoping that this got all the sexual tension out of our systems, and we can proceed as colleagues and friends.”

He was letting her down easy. What had she done wrong? She thought what they’d just shared had been pretty darn good. Better than good. It had been exceptional. At least for her. He, on the other hand, must have been disappointed.

Robert stood up, towel still wrapped securely around his waist. “I just want you to know I have the utmost respect and admiration for you, Melanie.”

Respect and admiration? She wanted to pummel him with her pillow. Respect and admiration? She wanted his undying love, not his frigging respect and admiration.

Love?
Now that was a stupid thought. Since when did she want him falling in love with her?

He smiled and the look he gave her was exasperatingly platonic. To hell with hitting him with a pillow. She wanted to double up her fist and punch him in his sexy, straight white teeth.

“Pstt.” She waved a hand. “We had a good time. Sex is just sex. Doesn’t have to mean anything more than that, right?”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Sure, sure. No biggie. In fact, I’m relieved you aren’t making this out to be some huge thing.”

So she was nothing but a booty call? That was it? She couldn’t figure out why that upset her. Two minutes ago, she’d been agonizing over how to break the news to him that he couldn’t think long term where she was concerned, and now he was saying exactly that to her.

Apparently she’d been quite mistaken. He didn’t harbor any deep feelings for her at all.

The beast.

“So we’re cool.” He looked relieved.

“Like ice, baby,” she lied. “Like ice.”

But if that was true, why did she suddenly feel as if her heart had melted into a puddle of tears?

“I’
VE GOT TO TALK TO YOU
.”
Breathlessly, Melanie grabbed Sylvie’s elbow and dragged her off into the corner of the art gallery.

If Chez Remy reflected their father’s Cajun heritage, the upscale art galley mirrored their mother’s Creole background. When Melanie was a child, an outside operator had rented the gallery from Anne and sold art pertaining mostly to the French Quarter. But now, under Sylvie’s influence, the flavor of the gallery had changed. Sylvie had been in touch with local artists and was featuring more contemporary painters and sculptors from across Louisiana. She’d also introduced jewelry created by a New Orleans artists’ co-op, and it had proven a big success.

The gallery took up two floors of the hotel and had both a street and hotel entrance. It was a long and narrow space with stairs leading up to a mezzanine and loft that gave the place a spacious, airy feel.

“I need help,” Melanie whispered, casting a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Sylvie’s assistant—who was in the process of setting up an exhibit featuring an up-and-coming local sculptor who made beautiful art from the debris left in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina—wasn’t listening.

“You? You’re asking for advice?”

“Yes, me. I know I haven’t taken advice well in the past, but I’m desperate, Syl. I feel so strung out.”

“Strung out?” A troubled expression crossed her sister’s face. “What do you mean, strung out?”

“Too much rum last night.”
And too much Robert.

“That’s right, the bachelorette auction was last night. How’d it go? Besides too much rum?”

“It was amazing.”

“The bachelorette auction was amazing?”

“No, no.” Melanie shook her head. “Not that. What happened after.”

“What did happen after?”

“The Phantom of the Opera and I went on a carousel ride, and it was so much fun and it started to rain and…”

“You’re not making any sense. Are you all right?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Melanie placed a hand to her forehead and paced the gallery. “I’ve never felt like this. I’m scared. I’m freaked. I’m in trouble.”

Sylvie looked concerned. “First, you have to calm down. Right now, you’re scaring me,” she said.

Melanie knew that she was babbling. She wanted to tell her sister about Robert. About how they’d made love last night and it had been incredible. How they’d made breakfast together and it had been freakin’ awesome, until, for no reason at all Robert had gotten weird on her and run away. But she was so full of these jumbled, crazy feelings she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to say. It was coming out all mixed up.

She thought about the way Robert’s mouth fitted over hers, the way his body made her feel—like she was worth a million dollars. She thought about how much fun she had
being with him, but he considered her nothing more than a casual fling. Then again, that was how she’d billed herself to him. What had she expected?

Still, she hadn’t expected it to hurt as much as it did. Somewhere along the way she’d started thinking about him as much more than a casual fling. She tried to pinpoint when it had actually occurred, but there didn’t seem to be one particular moment. It had just crept up on her gradually, until he dominated her every waking thought.

“Auntie Mel, Auntie Mel!” Sylvie’s daughter, Daisy Rose, red curls flying, ran to fling herself into Melanie’s arms.

Melanie caught her niece and swung her high in the air, her childish squeals of delight echoing off the walls. She wore an adorable pink dress with ruffles, and matching pink ballet slippers with white tights.

“Where did you come from?”

“I was in my playhouse.” She pointed to the adjoining cloakroom that Sylvie had converted into a playroom for Daisy Rose.

“How’s my favorite girl this morning?” Melanie asked, and chucked her playfully under the chin.

“One hundred percent,” she said in the cutest little singsong voice.

“One hundred percent?” Melanie looked at Sylvie.

“She picked that phrase up from Jefferson,” Sylvie explained, referring to her fiancé.

Melanie looked back at Daisy Rose. “Not fifty percent?”

The child shook her head.

“Not eighty-eight point six percent?”

“Nope.” Exuberantly, Daisy Rose shot her chubby little arms into the air and squirmed against Melanie. “One hundred percent.”

“She’s really wound up this morning, aren’t you, precious?” Sylvie leaned over to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “I’m having a dilly of a time trying to get any work done.”

“No babysitter this morning?”

“Mom’s taking her to be photographed.” Sylvie laughed. “As if we don’t have enough pictures.”

“But I’m pretty,” Daisy Rose said unabashedly.

“And stunningly modest.” Sylvie added with a grin.

How great it was that little Daisy Rose was growing up at the hotel, just as Melanie and her sisters had. Although as a child she hadn’t realized it, the Hotel Marchand was a very special place.

Melanie remembered how the gallery looked through preschooler eyes. A room that echoed nicely when she used to run up and down on the hardwood floors in her tap shoes and make all the adults frown. She thought of how she used to lie on the floor, and look up at the paintings and pretend she was in them—walking along country roads, boating down bayous, climbing the stairways of lush plantation homes.

Growing up here had spoiled her for the ordinary. Maybe that was one of the reasons she was always on the lookout for the next new adventure, the next new recipe to try, the next good-looking guy to flirt with. She was trying to recapture her exotic childhood.

Funny, everything she’d ever wanted was right here where she’d started.

“Sylvie?” The sound of their mother’s honey-coated voice and the click of her shoes echoed smartly against the hardwood floors.

“Back here, Mother,” Sylvie called out.

“I gotta go.” Melanie didn’t want her mom to see her like this, incoherent over a man. She knew Anne would remember how besotted she’d been over David.

“Wait, wait.” Sylvie put a restraining hand on her arm. “I thought you needed my advice.”

“It’s okay. I’m all right. I can deal with this on my own.” She slipped out the back exit, heart pounding, enveloped by the same panicky sensation that had caused her to leave home when she was eighteen. The same sensations that had kept her from coming back to New Orleans to live when everything and everyone she loved was right here. It weighed her down, heavy as claustrophobia.

Melanie was afraid of caring too deeply, of depending too much on those she loved. Because, rational or not, a part of her believed that total emotional commitment would stifle her passion, her creative drive. And without her passion for life, her creativity in the kitchen, who would she be?

Panic driven, she plucked the cell phone from her waistband, found a quiet alcove and made a call to the headhunter at Chefs-to-Go. Five minutes later, she’d scheduled a job interview in Seattle.

C
HARLOTTE WAS TRYING HER
best to remain cool, calm and collected on a day that promised to be insanely busy.

She glanced up to see Luc Carter striding across the lobby toward her, a look of concern on his face.

“Charlotte, could I have a word?”

“Let’s go into my office.” She led the way as an ominous feeling swept over her.

“We’ve got a big problem.” Luc plowed a hand through his hair once they were in her office with the door closed.

“What now?”

“There’s been a major snafu over the block of rooms reserved for the Charboneaux-Long wedding.”

“What do you mean by ‘snafu’?”

“The rooms have been double booked.”

“Oh, this is terrible.” Charlotte sat down at her desk and motioned for Luc to take a seat, but he remained standing. “How did this happen? The wedding has been planned for over a year.”

“I don’t know,” Luc said. “I’m trying my best to get to the bottom of it.”

“What have you done so far?”

“I’m working with reservations, but some of the guests are already here. We’ve put the wedding party in their assigned rooms and relocated the other guests to surrounding hotels. We’ll have to offer comps and we’ll need extra help shuttling the guests to their new locations.”

Thank heaven for Luc. He was a godsend.

“Good work,” she said. “I’ll start rounding up what employees I can find for shuttle duty.”

“I’m on it,” Luc said, and hurried from her office.

Charlotte dropped her head into her hands. What had happened with the Charboneaux-Long reservations? Was it an intentional screwup, or had it just been an oversight? It was becoming increasingly difficult to believe the latter.

Who would want to destroy the Hotel Marchand? It was a question Charlotte had been asking herself for the last few weeks.

You’re a Marchand,
she reminded herself.
You can handle this, and the family is counting on you.

Resolutely, Charlotte took in a shaky breath and ran a
hand over her hair to smooth it. The day was extra humid and her hair was starting to frizz. She’d have to pop up to her mother’s room and straighten it, because today was an important day. If she couldn’t control anything else, at least she could control her hair.

She stood and headed for the hallway, but she hadn’t taken two steps from her office when Sylvie came running toward her. “Charlotte,” she said breathlessly, “I think maybe you were right.”

“About what?”

“Melanie. She told me she was strung out. Oh God, Charlotte. Our baby sister’s using drugs!”

T
HE ATMOSPHERE IN THE
kitchen was strained. Everyone was tense over the extra pressure caused by the mix-up in the wedding party’s hotel reservations. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could go wrong with tonight’s dinner.

But Robert couldn’t seem to make himself care. The only thing that concerned him was making sure that he’d fooled Melanie about his true feelings for her.

His gut was twisted in knots and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to punch something. Good thing he was so adept at hiding his emotions. Otherwise, Melanie would have seen right through that bull he’d spouted back there at her apartment.

He barked orders to the prep cooks and yelled at the waiters who had come in early to help set up the private dining room. Plus, Charlotte was hovering in the kitchen, micromanaging the event and making him even jumpier.

Damn. He shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee. But he’d needed something to take his mind off what had
happened with Melanie. Unfortunately, overdosing on caffeine had the opposite effect of what he’d been shooting for. It both narrowed and highly tuned his focus, and all he could remember was what had gone on in the wee hours of the morning in Melanie’s bed.

Melanie appeared to be doing her best to avoid him, too. Whenever he came into the kitchen, she would disappear into the private dining room to fuss with something inconsequential like the napkin placements. Whenever business drove him into the dining room, she would pop back into the melee in the kitchen, head down, rarely glancing his way, as if she was embarrassed.

One way or the other, they would get through this. Time would pass and eventually everything would be all right again. He was pretty sure she’d bought his story. That she had no clue as to how he really felt.

So why did you tell her that sex was all it was?

To save face. To salvage his pride. To save her the trouble of dumping him later on.

Work. Just concentrate on your work.

But he’d been doing that for so long, and while it kept his mind busy, it never really seemed to fix the deep abiding loneliness he felt.

“How’s everything coming along?” Charlotte asked, peering over Robert’s shoulder, double-checking the food preparations.

“Perfect,” he said tersely.

“Seems a little chaotic in here,” she observed.

“Don’t worry. Kitchen on a deadline. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Could I speak to you privately?” Charlotte asked.

“What?” Robert was barely listening. He had an eye on Melanie, who’d just come through the door with an armful of fresh crawfish and was heading for the prep sink.

Charlotte nodded in the direction of his office. “Could we step out of the line of fire for a brief chat?”

“Right now?”

“Please.”

“Yeah, sure.” He wiped his hands on his apron and turned to follow her into his office. He noticed that Melanie was watching him from the corner of her eye.

Charlotte shut the door behind them. “I’m very worried about Melanie,” she said.

“Uh-huh?”

“She’s hasn’t seemed like herself lately, and this morning she told Sylvie she was strung out. Do you think she could be doing drugs?”

“Melanie’s not doing drugs.” Robert had to work hard to keep the irritation out of his voice. “It’s a tense day, Charlotte.”

“I know that.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m afraid she’ll make a mistake with the rehearsal dinner.”

“She’s fine. She’s not going to make a mistake.”

Charlotte reached out to touch his forearm. “You seem pretty tense, too, Robert. Is there something you need to tell me?”

Hell, yeah, I think I’m falling in love with your sister and she does not love me back.

“Rest assured, Charlotte, everything is going to be all right. Melanie will settle down. Now I really do have to get back to work if you want this meal to come off.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll let you do your job and I’ll go do mine,” Charlotte said, excusing herself.

“We got problems, boss,” Jean-Paul stated as Robert stepped back into the kitchen. “That ground turkey you ordered for the canapés isn’t here.”

“What do you mean, it’s not here?”

Jean-Paul shrugged. “Never showed up from the supplier.”

“Did you call them?”

“Yep. They said they delivered it last night, but we have no record of it.”

Robert swore under his breath. He glanced at his watch, saw how tight they were for time and swore again. He’d have to send someone to the grocery store to pick up what they needed. He looked around the room and realized he had little staff to spare. Everyone was working at top speed, doing several tasks at once. Even as they were talking, Jean-Paul was busy shucking the husks off fresh corn.