Some Like It Hot (7 page)

“But we’re locked in a small space.”

“Not that small. We could lie down in here. Make a bed
of those flour sacks. It’s okay. We have food and water, and someone will be along in the morning to let us out. It’s okay.”

It didn’t feel okay, but Robert’s eyes were full of sympathy. He was right. She needed to get a grip on this thing before it pulled her down completely.

But she didn’t know how. She was trying to take deep breaths, but it wasn’t working. Her mind kept fixating on the walls, how narrow they were. They seemed to be closing in on her.

Stop freaking out.

“Help!” she cried, and pounded on the door with both fists. “Help, help, we’re locked in. Get us out of here!”

“Hey, hey.” Robert grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. He didn’t understand. She felt like she was on the
Titanic
and dark, icy waters were rolling in over her head.

“I have to get out, I have to get out,” she babbled, unable to stop.

Still gripping her by the shoulders, Robert smashed his mouth against hers, taking control. She knew he was kissing her in an attempt to shock her out of her panic attack, and the hell of it was, his ploy worked. His brashness comforted her.

Involuntarily, her body softened in his arms and she opened her mouth, letting him in.

Lip therapy as a cure for claustrophobia.

Who knew?

Of course, a kiss had started this whole mess. If he hadn’t been kissing her in the first place, they wouldn’t be locked in here.

Their lips fit so perfectly together, snug as the right lid on a pot, that Melanie stopped trembling. She kept her eyes open because she was afraid closing them would make the claustrophobia worse.

His eyes were open, too, whereas before he’d closed them. He was watching her intently, gauging her reaction, trying to see if she was calming down. That alone was both strangely reassuring and wildly arousing.

A scorching heat flashed through her, hot and fast, incinerating everything in its path—her tongue, her throat, her chest and beyond. She burned from the glorious pressure of his lips.

Ached for him

She was almost thirty years old and she’d been married and divorced. She’d had her fair share of admirers.

But this kiss!

It was even more powerful than the one they’d shared the night before.

He groaned low in his throat. His body strained and pushed against hers.

Melanie met him measure for measure, reaching up to cup his face in her palms, marveling at the feel of his warm skin.

He breathed her name, and she moaned quietly.

Melanie’s need was out of control. Excitement warred with guilt and passion. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run. That’s what she’d always done when she got in over her head.

Except this time there was nowhere to go. This time she had to face her fears and deal with them.

Okay. She could do this. Resolutely, she pulled her lips away from his and drew in a shuddering breath.

Robert ran his hands down her arms and stepped back, almost bumping into the green metal dolly. “Feeling better?”

“Much. Thank you.” Strangely, she did feel better. His kiss had knocked her right out of the panic zone.

Robert moved the dolly over into the corner and rearranged the sacks of flour that had been stacked under the bottom shelf to make a pallet for them on the floor.

“Come sit down,” he said, and held out a hand to her.

She eased down beside him and took a shaky breath. They sat with their backs propped against the wall, legs stretched out over the fifty-pound sacks.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“I wish I had my cell phone. Normally I carry it strapped to my waistband, but since I was leaving for the night I stuck it in my purse. Then I found the boxes at the service entrance.”

“Hmm.” Robert looked thoughtful.

“What?”

“I’m wondering if the boxes being left outside for you to find, and us being locked in, wasn’t a coincidence,” he said.

“You’re thinking it might have something to do with the problems we’ve had lately with some of our other orders?” There had been mix-ups with coffee deliveries that Robert had blamed on their supplier, but now Melanie wondered if someone else had intentionally interfered with the orders. And obviously the person who’d locked them in here didn’t want to be identified.

Robert draped an arm over her shoulder. “Now you’re starting to sound paranoid,” he teased her, freeing her hair from its ponytail and weaving his fingers through the silky strands to shake it loose about her shoulders. He looked at her, his irises darkened with pleasure.

Melanie stared back, hardly able to breathe, then had to look away. She curled her hands into fists, but couldn’t resist glancing furtively at Robert. He was still staring at her.

Incredulous.

There was no mistaking the spark of sexual attraction on his face. Desire shadowed his eyes, giving him a lean and dangerous look.

This had nothing to do with her attack of claustrophobia. Robert seemed quite turned on by the fact that they were locked up tight in the supply closet.

Melanie could smell the delicious kitchen scent on his skin and wondered how many women before her had been this close to him.

“Robert…”

What was she going to say? She reached out, not knowing what she intended to do, caught up in the crazy push-pull battle inside her.

What did she want from him? Did she want them to be colleagues with a good relationship, working together to make Chez Remy an even better restaurant than it already was? Or did she want to get rid of him so she could run the place by herself?

Or did she want to be his lover?

The thought of the last option both scared and excited her.

Who was this man?

She didn’t know much about him. All she knew was that when she was with him, she felt a sense of something larger, something beyond them both. She felt a connection that had been missing in her life, and yet she was afraid to trust the feeling. She thought she’d found it once before with David, and she’d been so wrong.

Yeah, but that was different.

With her ex-husband it had been all about the red-hot sex. They’d burned brightly, but reality had quickly snuffed out the passion. With Robert, she saw that there could be so much more. He possessed so many layers…so many secrets. She yearned to explore them all, bit by bit, peeling back each one until she found his core and understood who he really was.

It was a gripping idea. One she seemed powerless to fight. She had an overwhelming urge to know him inside and out but why?

Helplessly, she reached out to touch his scar.

Robert raised an arm, blocking her hand. He was breathing hard and didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. She could read the message in his eyes loud and clear.

I want to take you to bed.

The thrill that raced through her body was so powerful she almost orgasmed right there on the spot.

There it was. They’d been avoiding this for months, trying to ignore this burning attraction.

His eyes were inscrutable, giving nothing away, but he was still combing his fingers through her hair, lulling her.

She had to find a way to distract him. If he kept touching her like that she was going to get naked with him real quick, and as appealing as that seemed, she wasn’t ready. Not this way. Not here in the supply pantry.

Not yet.

Not until she resolved for herself what it was she really wanted from him.

She opened her mouth to tell Robert this, but then he kissed her again and all her resistance vanished.

L
IKE AN ADDICT IN NEED OF
a fix, Robert was compelled to take another taste of her, even though the smart side of his brain was hollering at him to stop.

How could he stop when she was so eager and responding so sweetly? When his body ached to be melded with hers?

She touched him eagerly, easily, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other sliding around his waist.

Melanie was kissing him back. Kissing him as if it were the end of the world and they the only two survivors. It would be so easy to make love to her right here, right now.

Too damn easy.

Her soft fingertips were like instruments of delicious torture, tracking up the skin of his bare forearms, coaxing open the buttons of his shirt, reaching inside to playfully tug at his chest hairs.

He groaned when she pulled her lips from his and began nibbling her way down the length of his throat, planting fire-brand kisses with her hot mouth.

“Robert,” she murmured. “Robert.”

Her sigh of need was an arrow straight through him, and the whisper of his name on her lips, said with such ecstasy, let him know that she was his for the taking.

In the past, he hadn’t had much luck with long-term relationships. The problems lay as much with him as with the women he picked. A month or two into it and he would grow bored and restless, knowing there should be so much more, but too afraid of losing control to let himself go for it.

But over the course of the last four months, working side by side with Melanie, he’d found himself spellbound. He’d never felt anything like it. No woman had ever challenged him the way she did. None had jettisoned his arousal to such heights, leaving him weak-kneed and desperate for more. Quite simply, he had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Melanie.

Hold on to your control, LeSoeur.

But holding on to his control was difficult to do when he was locked in a closet with the sexiest woman he’d ever come across. Especially when he wanted so badly to let go. He’d been holding on tightly for so many years. Keeping his emotions bottled up inside, too afraid of the potential pain to allow himself to feel too deeply. Using his journal as a release valve. But it was no longer working.

She kissed his bare chest and brushed her fingertips past the flat of his belly to the zipper of his pants. He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to his last shred of control.

He groaned.

“Do you like that?”

“I like it too damn much. You’re going to have to stop doing that.”

She just giggled and ran her tongue around his navel.

Robert hissed in a breath and closed his eyes.

Fight it off.

But he was just a man, and what she was doing felt so
good. This wasn’t just any woman. It was Melanie, the woman he’d been harboring secret fantasies about for months.

“Oh my,” she said. “Look what just popped up.” She started inching his zipper down with her index finger and thumb.

He clamped his teeth together and forced himself to grab her wrist. If he didn’t halt her now, he could not be held accountable for what happened next.

“You’re going to have to stop doing that,” Robert rasped, barely able to breathe. He felt as if he was going to explode.

“Why’s that?” she murmured, her voice thick and husky with emotion.

“No condom,” he said simply, although his reasons for asking her to stop were myriad. Lack of protection was the one argument she could not refute.

“Oh.” She took in a shaky breath. “I hadn’t thought that far in advance.”

“Obviously not.” Truth be told, neither had he. The way he was feeling, if he’d known an intruder was going to lock them in the supply pantry together, he would have crammed his pockets full of condoms.

“You know,” she said, wriggling her eyebrows and looking completely adorable, “there are other things we can do. If you get my drift.”

“I know.” He swallowed hard.

“But you don’t want to do those things, either?”

“I want to. Very much.”

“Me, too, Robert. I’m hot for you.” She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, giving him a scrumptious view of her pink lace bra and lovely cleavage.

He forced himself to avert his eyes. “I’m hot for you, too, babe, but I’m not sure this is what either of us really wants.”

“Trust me on this. I want you. Bad.”

“It’s just the proximity.”

“It’s not. I’ve been having X-rated dreams about you for weeks.”

“So you
were
dreaming about me.” He smiled.

“Every friggin’ night. Now come on, please, put me out of my misery.”

“Sorry. You’re too vulnerable. Ten minutes ago claustrophobia had you flipping out.” He wished she’d stop trying to convince him. Couldn’t she tell he was hanging by a thread?

“I’m all better now.”

“I don’t want you regretting this in the morning.”

“Life’s too short for regrets. That’s my motto.” She was still kissing him, running her tongue along the inside of his jaw.

“Melanie,” he said sharply. “You’re killing me here. You might not regret it tomorrow, but what if I do?”

“Oh,” she said, and blinked at him.

“I like you too much. I don’t want to ruin that.”

“So once you sleep with me, you can’t like me anymore?”

“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying. Look, if it happens between us, I want it to be right. I don’t want it be something we do just because we’re locked up together with nothing else to do.”

“I see.”

“I’ve hurt your feelings.”

“No. I get it. You don’t do spontaneous.”

He started to argue, but maybe she was right. Maybe the reason his conscience wouldn’t let him follow through with
this was because it felt too fast, too spur-of-the-moment. Mentally, he needed more time. Convincing his body of that was a whole other issue, however. But it was up to him to put on the brakes. He was the rational one here.

“Let’s just get some sleep.” He took her by the shoulders and moved her away from him so he could button up his shirt.

“You’re probably right,” she said, but the expression in her eyes told Robert that she thought he was totally wrong. “No worries. I’m officially not turned on anymore.”

He wished he could say the same, but then he caught the furtive look in her eyes and knew she was lying.

“Will you be all right, claustrophobia-wise, if I turn off the overhead light?”

“I think so,” she said. “I hope so.”

Me, too,
he thought.
I’d hate to have to keep kissing you all night to stop you from panicking.

He knew he couldn’t do that. His self-control had been tested to its outer limits and if they did any more kissing, he would slip right over the edge.

He got up, walked to the wall and switched off the light, plunging them into blackness. He heard Melanie’s sharp intake of breath and realized she was struggling not to panic again.

“You okay?” he asked, reaching out to run his fingers along the wall shelving to guide him as he headed back toward her.

“I’m okay,” she echoed. “I’m trying to pretend I’m at home in my own bed. Except if I were at home, you wouldn’t be there, of course.”

“Sounds like a solid plan. Go with that.” His foot bumped into a flour sack.

“Here,” she said. “Take my hand and I’ll help you down.”

That was exactly what he was afraid of. That she would pull him down to a place where he had no business being. In the inky blackness, she reached toward him and touched his hip.

He took her hand and slowly sank down. The flour sacks were short and he ended up having to bend his knees to keep his legs from hanging over the edge.

The quarters were cramped. He and Melanie had to touch, it was an inescapable reality. He lay on his back beside her, feeling the cottony material of her blouse against his shoulder, hearing the sound of her uneven breathing, smelling the sweet womanly scent of her.

He was more aware of her than he was of himself. He wanted to roll over and nuzzle her neck so badly he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from doing so, holding tight to his last shred of control. Turning off the light hadn’t been such a hot idea, after all.

It’s for her benefit, not yours. Be a man, suck it up.

And he did, because that’s what he was good at—sucking up his pain, holding out in the face of powerful temptation. It had gotten him this far in life, why mess with a sure thing?

“I’m trying hard not to think about it,” Melanie murmured. “But I keep imagining that the walls are closing in on us, getting smaller and smaller. Like in a haunted house.”

“Picture something else. Visualize a new recipe. What’s your next great creation?”

“I was thinking cherry salmon.”

“Hmm…sounds interesting. Tell me about it.”

“Rainier cherries and wild Pacific Coast salmon poached in a nice Riesling, then garnished with slivered chestnuts
and crumbled Roquefort cheese.” Her breathing slowed as she spoke. “I’m thinking it’s past time for a Northwestern influence here in New Orleans. We could call it salmon LeSoeur.”

He didn’t know why he found the idea of Melanie naming her recipe in honor of him so touching, but he did. “Have you tried it out?”

“Not yet. Maybe you could come over to my apartment sometime and we could make it together.”

“Are you inviting me on a date?”

“Do you want me to invite you on a date?”

Did he?

The sound of her breathing picked up. Went raspy and irregular. He figured she was giving in to her claustrophobia again.

“Stop visualizing the walls closing in on you,” he commanded.

“How did you know that’s what I was doing?” Her voice sounded odd. Was it fear? Or something else?

“I’m getting pretty accomplished at reading you, Melanie Marchand.”

“Now that’s a scary thought.” She sounded like her old self.

“Would you like me to turn the light back on?”

“No, no, that’s okay. I can handle it.” Her breathing chugged faster.

“Melanie, are you all right?”

“Could I…um…just…,”

“Just what?”

“Would you mind if I rested my head on your chest? I hate being such a baby, but I think I would feel safer.”

“Sure,” he said, even though he wanted to tell her no for
the sake of his sanity. He dropped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. She shifted her head, her silky hair trailing over his skin.

She
might feel safer, but
he
didn’t. Robert had to bite down on his bottom lip to hold back a groan of pleasure as her body heat warmed him. The last thing he wanted was to get things stirred up between them again.

“May I ask you a personal question?” she ventured several minutes later.

“You can ask.”

“But you might not answer.”

“That’s right.”

“Fair enough.”

“What’s the question?”

“Why did you move to New Orleans?”

“Your mother offered me my dream job.”

“There’s more to it than that,” she said, tracing a circle over his heart with the tip of her finger.

Stop doing that,
he wanted to shout.
Please stop doing that. You’re pushing me to the edge of reason, woman
. But he said nothing, not wanting her to know exactly how much power she had over him. Revealing your weaknesses was never a good idea.

“I needed a fresh start,” he said.

“Fresh start? From what?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but I’ve worked with you for four months and I hardly know anything personal about you—well, except for how you lost your virginity—and I’m curious what makes you tick. Was there something you were running away from? Say, a scandal, perhaps?”

He laughed. “A scandal? Me? Sorry to disappoint you, but no scandal. I guess I’d finally just had enough rain in my life.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he lied.

The thing of it was, Robert didn’t like talking about his past. It was over and done with. No use crying over spilled milk and all that.

“Oh. I forgot to tell you,” Melanie said, before he could decide what and how much to divulge to her about his past. “I need to switch my day off from tomorrow to Thursday.”

“No problem. I’ll cover for you.”

“You’re sure it’s okay? Because I have to do this thing for Charlotte.”

“We’ll be fine. Go do what you need to do.”

“I don’t want to do what I need to do,” she said glumly.

“What is it that you have to do?”

“I told Charlotte I’d be her stand-in at a silly bachelorette auction.”

“A bachelorette auction?”

“It’s for a charity that my grandmother Celeste runs, so it’s pretty difficult to get out of it.” Melanie groaned. “I really hate these uptight, stuffed shirt, high society shindigs. My sisters were all debutantes, but not me. Luckily, by the time I came along, my grand-mère had gotten it out of her system and pretty well let me be.”

“Men will be bidding on a date with you?” Robert’s voice rose slightly. He hated the idea of Melanie being up for grabs to the highest bidder, worthy charity or not.

“Yes.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Why, Robert, are you jealous?”

He heard the levity in her voice. Was she laughing at him? “Jealous? No, why would I be jealous?” He gritted his teeth.

“Because I’ll be spending the evening with another man.”

“Maybe we can’t spare you in the kitchen, after all,” Robert said. “Come to think of it, we’re going to be very busy on Thursday night.”

“Nice try, but I really do have to go to this thing. I have to prove to my family that they can depend on me to do what I say I’ll do.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m the baby and I have something of a reputation for being irresponsible. I call it youthful indiscretion. My family calls it a pattern.”

“You’re very lucky to have a family who cares so much about you.”

“I know, but sometimes being part of a big family can get a little…well, claustrophobic, which is why I left New Orleans the day I turned eighteen. How about you? What did your family think about you moving to New Orleans?”