his newcomer status, but it didn't matter what he had on. He wore it with such easy grace it could have been the latest Armani.
"You're using eggplant to make a sexual innuendo? That's pathetic, even for you." She hoped he sensed the humor in her voice. This time she was determined to be gracious.
"No, I'm not making innuendos, I'm merely offering advice on the proper selection of an eggplant. It's a critical decision important to the outcome of what you're making." He smiled at her, mischief apparent. She felt a rush of excitement, which she quelled firmly. She wasn't going to let him get to her. She positively would not look at his mouth, with those full lips.
"Oh, please. Eggplants have sex? That's ridiculous. How come Martha Stewart's never mentioned this?"
"Well," he winked at her, "if you promise not to stab me with that cucumber you're holding, I'll explain. We gourmet cooks consider the gender of an eggplant a serious matter."
She felt the heat in her face as she put the cucumber down. She hadn't even been aware she was holding it. Lordy, this man wrote the book on being charming, and, for sure, she couldn't resist something as bizarre as sexing an eggplant.
"Okay, you win, Mr. Martin. Explain, please."
"First of all, call me David." His smile dazzled her. She watched his hands; the way they roamed sensually over the pendulous fruit. He handled them like—never mind .
While willing the heat in her cheeks to go away, she saw him select four fruit and arrange them stem end down in the bin. In a fair imitation of a lecturer, he continued with a flourish, "Observe the blossom end of these four."
She looked and saw a dry brown spot. "So?"
"Notice how untidy the scar on three of them is? It's irregular and disorganized. Splotchy, you might say; just not able to get it together." He paused for effect. "They are females."
With a look that said, 'Watch it, Buster,' she waited for the punch line.
"Now, this one," he indicated the fourth scar, "is almost perfectly round, small but organized, and, I might add, the fruit is quite well shaped and attractive, with appealing firmness."
A good-humored wink took note of her skepticism. "This is a male. You'll find the females full of seeds and bitter tasting. The males are smooth and sweet." His smug look dared her to challenge him.
She was pretty sure this was some sort of come-on, but she was too intrigued to interrupt. Regardless, the riotous sensations his presence generated within her were making her uncomfortable. She wanted to leave. "Okay, I'm impressed. I'll let you know how it turns out." Placing the fruit in her basket, she started to pass by.
He moved in front of her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "If you'll allow me, I'll cook it and serve it to you for dinner tonight, at my house. I make an excellent Eggplant Parmesan."
A Greek god waggling eyebrows? She was right. It was a come-on after all, thrilling, but she didn't dare fall for it. Did he really think that suggestive caressing of a vegetable was going to get to her? Her inner voice clamored a warning.
"Sorry, Mr. Martin. I am neither interested nor available. I thought we covered that the other night."
"Damn, I did it again, didn't I? I have a sense of humor that gets me into trouble too often. I apologize, again."
The forlorn demeanor was enough to make her relent, a little. "You never apologized for the first time."
"A regrettable oversight for which I beg you to let me make amends. Can I buy you a cup of coffee, over there in the Deli section where we can get a table? Please, I apologize better when I'm sitting down."
Helplessly, she felt her sigh turn into a smile. What was it about this man, besides the obvious, that she found so appealing? She enjoyed him even when he behaved like a jerk. He was playing her, and she'd end up feeling like a fool again, but so what? There was the slightest glimmer of hope that maybe they could have something going between them.
"Okay. Just coffee and
"You're using eggplant to make a sexual innuendo? That's pathetic, even for you." She hoped he sensed the humor in her voice. This time she was determined to be gracious.
"No, I'm not making innuendos, I'm merely offering advice on the proper selection of an eggplant. It's a critical decision important to the outcome of what you're making." He smiled at her, mischief apparent. She felt a rush of excitement, which she quelled firmly. She wasn't going to let him get to her. She positively would not look at his mouth, with those full lips.
"Oh, please. Eggplants have sex? That's ridiculous. How come Martha Stewart's never mentioned this?"
"Well," he winked at her, "if you promise not to stab me with that cucumber you're holding, I'll explain. We gourmet cooks consider the gender of an eggplant a serious matter."
She felt the heat in her face as she put the cucumber down. She hadn't even been aware she was holding it. Lordy, this man wrote the book on being charming, and, for sure, she couldn't resist something as bizarre as sexing an eggplant.
"Okay, you win, Mr. Martin. Explain, please."
"First of all, call me David." His smile dazzled her. She watched his hands; the way they roamed sensually over the pendulous fruit. He handled them like—never mind .
While willing the heat in her cheeks to go away, she saw him select four fruit and arrange them stem end down in the bin. In a fair imitation of a lecturer, he continued with a flourish, "Observe the blossom end of these four."
She looked and saw a dry brown spot. "So?"
"Notice how untidy the scar on three of them is? It's irregular and disorganized. Splotchy, you might say; just not able to get it together." He paused for effect. "They are females."
With a look that said, 'Watch it, Buster,' she waited for the punch line.
"Now, this one," he indicated the fourth scar, "is almost perfectly round, small but organized, and, I might add, the fruit is quite well shaped and attractive, with appealing firmness."
A good-humored wink took note of her skepticism. "This is a male. You'll find the females full of seeds and bitter tasting. The males are smooth and sweet." His smug look dared her to challenge him.
She was pretty sure this was some sort of come-on, but she was too intrigued to interrupt. Regardless, the riotous sensations his presence generated within her were making her uncomfortable. She wanted to leave. "Okay, I'm impressed. I'll let you know how it turns out." Placing the fruit in her basket, she started to pass by.
He moved in front of her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "If you'll allow me, I'll cook it and serve it to you for dinner tonight, at my house. I make an excellent Eggplant Parmesan."
A Greek god waggling eyebrows? She was right. It was a come-on after all, thrilling, but she didn't dare fall for it. Did he really think that suggestive caressing of a vegetable was going to get to her? Her inner voice clamored a warning.
"Sorry, Mr. Martin. I am neither interested nor available. I thought we covered that the other night."
"Damn, I did it again, didn't I? I have a sense of humor that gets me into trouble too often. I apologize, again."
The forlorn demeanor was enough to make her relent, a little. "You never apologized for the first time."
"A regrettable oversight for which I beg you to let me make amends. Can I buy you a cup of coffee, over there in the Deli section where we can get a table? Please, I apologize better when I'm sitting down."
Helplessly, she felt her sigh turn into a smile. What was it about this man, besides the obvious, that she found so appealing? She enjoyed him even when he behaved like a jerk. He was playing her, and she'd end up feeling like a fool again, but so what? There was the slightest glimmer of hope that maybe they could have something going between them.
"Okay. Just coffee and
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