refrigerator doors and rummaged around for a bowl of barbecue sauce. While he was looking, a smile touched his face. As much as he hated to admit it, educating Lauren was bound to be an education for him, too, one he had the sneaking suspicion he was going to enjoy—far too much.
“I had to draw the line at calling Zippo’s,” she was saying as he poured the sauce into a pan and put it on the stove to heat. “I mean, really, can you see a delicatessen catering Betsy Endicott’s wedding?”
“No,” he stated, considering the fact that Zippo’s had been closed down by the health department a few months back.
“And then there was Bad Bubba’s Barbecue.” Her smile brightened. “I liked the sound of their name, but, pardon me for saying this, I was a little hesitant about hiring a company that specializes in barbecues.”
“I specialize in barbecues.”
“I didn’t know that at the time, which is probably a good thing because if I had I wouldn’t have called you. And if I hadn’t called you, you’d still be stewing over what happened ten years ago.”
“Think you’re that unforgettable, do you?” he asked, stirring the sauce, cautiously testing its temperature with his fingertip.
“Well... no... but I would like to say once more that I am sorry and I hope we can move on.”
He flicked off the fire as he stared into her eyes. “I’ve moved on.”
She took a deep breath and he couldn’t miss the rise and fall of her breasts under her sheer silk top. “I’m so glad to hear that, because I had the distinct feeling you planned to make my life miserable from now until Saturday.”
Holding back his grin was difficult, but some how he managed. “I wouldn’t think of it.” He pulled a teaspoon from one of the drawers, and asked, “Ever had ribs?”
“Mrs. Fisk makes them occasionally, and they’re a lways on the menu at my brother’s ranch in Wyoming. Of course Crosby, that’s my brother’s cook, doesn’t have much of a flair for cooking. He’s been at the ranch since the thirties, when my great-grandfather hired him to drive the chuck wagon on cattle drives. From what I hear he was a lousy cook back then and he hasn’t improved with age, but he’s the dearest old man.”
“Like Mr. Hansen?” he asked, offering her a spoonful of the tangy sauce.
“I don’t recall Crosby ever walking around naked,” she said, taking the spoon, “but, just like your Mr. Hansen, the ranch wouldn’t be the same without him.”
Max watched the leisurely way she drew the spoon to her mouth, the way she slowly, gracefully placed it between her lips. His imagination ran wild, picturing her tongue swirling around the spoon, licking away the sauce. Slow. Real slow. His heart thundered in his chest until she finally withdrew the spotless spoon and smiled.
“Delicious.” She licked her lips in the same slow way she’d licked the spoon, and he was beginning to wonder who was going to educate who. “Is this one of your special barbecue sauces?” she asked, dipping the spoon into the pan for more.
“Hot and spicy,” he said. Hot and spicy—a hell of a lot like the woman sitting across from him.
“I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. Did you dream it up on your own?”
He nodded, once again watching her draw the spoon between her full luscious lips. God, the woman was going to drive him mad.
“You don’t do all the cooking for Born To Be Wild, do you?”
“Depends. Occasionally I hire other chefs, and I’ve got a part-time staff that help with parties. This place will be a madhouse Friday and Saturday, with people running every which way washing fruits and vegetables, carving meats, preparing hors d’oeuvres.”
“How soon will I get to try some of your creations?”
“You’ve already tried one.”
“The sauce is wonderful, but you brought me here so I could sample some of the foods you’ll be serving at Betsy Endicott’s wedding. I really would like to try something more...
“I had to draw the line at calling Zippo’s,” she was saying as he poured the sauce into a pan and put it on the stove to heat. “I mean, really, can you see a delicatessen catering Betsy Endicott’s wedding?”
“No,” he stated, considering the fact that Zippo’s had been closed down by the health department a few months back.
“And then there was Bad Bubba’s Barbecue.” Her smile brightened. “I liked the sound of their name, but, pardon me for saying this, I was a little hesitant about hiring a company that specializes in barbecues.”
“I specialize in barbecues.”
“I didn’t know that at the time, which is probably a good thing because if I had I wouldn’t have called you. And if I hadn’t called you, you’d still be stewing over what happened ten years ago.”
“Think you’re that unforgettable, do you?” he asked, stirring the sauce, cautiously testing its temperature with his fingertip.
“Well... no... but I would like to say once more that I am sorry and I hope we can move on.”
He flicked off the fire as he stared into her eyes. “I’ve moved on.”
She took a deep breath and he couldn’t miss the rise and fall of her breasts under her sheer silk top. “I’m so glad to hear that, because I had the distinct feeling you planned to make my life miserable from now until Saturday.”
Holding back his grin was difficult, but some how he managed. “I wouldn’t think of it.” He pulled a teaspoon from one of the drawers, and asked, “Ever had ribs?”
“Mrs. Fisk makes them occasionally, and they’re a lways on the menu at my brother’s ranch in Wyoming. Of course Crosby, that’s my brother’s cook, doesn’t have much of a flair for cooking. He’s been at the ranch since the thirties, when my great-grandfather hired him to drive the chuck wagon on cattle drives. From what I hear he was a lousy cook back then and he hasn’t improved with age, but he’s the dearest old man.”
“Like Mr. Hansen?” he asked, offering her a spoonful of the tangy sauce.
“I don’t recall Crosby ever walking around naked,” she said, taking the spoon, “but, just like your Mr. Hansen, the ranch wouldn’t be the same without him.”
Max watched the leisurely way she drew the spoon to her mouth, the way she slowly, gracefully placed it between her lips. His imagination ran wild, picturing her tongue swirling around the spoon, licking away the sauce. Slow. Real slow. His heart thundered in his chest until she finally withdrew the spotless spoon and smiled.
“Delicious.” She licked her lips in the same slow way she’d licked the spoon, and he was beginning to wonder who was going to educate who. “Is this one of your special barbecue sauces?” she asked, dipping the spoon into the pan for more.
“Hot and spicy,” he said. Hot and spicy—a hell of a lot like the woman sitting across from him.
“I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. Did you dream it up on your own?”
He nodded, once again watching her draw the spoon between her full luscious lips. God, the woman was going to drive him mad.
“You don’t do all the cooking for Born To Be Wild, do you?”
“Depends. Occasionally I hire other chefs, and I’ve got a part-time staff that help with parties. This place will be a madhouse Friday and Saturday, with people running every which way washing fruits and vegetables, carving meats, preparing hors d’oeuvres.”
“How soon will I get to try some of your creations?”
“You’ve already tried one.”
“The sauce is wonderful, but you brought me here so I could sample some of the foods you’ll be serving at Betsy Endicott’s wedding. I really would like to try something more...