What's Cooking? by Sherryl Woods
Authors: Sherryl Woods
Tags: United States, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, series, Contemporary Fiction, Harlequin Special Edition
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want me to stick my hands in there?"
"Yes."
"Why not throw 'em in a food processor?"
"There's none here."
"A blender?"
"Sorry. And even if we had one, in my family we do this the old-fashioned way. My father's Italian. He's taught us all how it was done in the old country. We try to follow tradition. Of course, if you're afraid to get your hands dirty..." She let the unspoken challenge trail off.
"I am not afraid of anything," he said, sticking his hands in and squishing the tomatoes. He hadn't done anything this disgusting since he'd made mud pies when he was a toddler. "Like this?"
58
WHAT'S COOKING?
She watched him for a moment, shook her head, then stepped up and gingerly took his hands in hers and showed him what she wanted him to do. His body promptly stilled, even as his pulse took off like a jet seeking altitude. His response was poking her in the hip. There was no mistaking the moment she became aware of his arousal. She shuddered, then stepped carefully away, clearly trying to pretend she hadn't noticed.
"I think you have it now," she said, her voice shaky.
"I definitely have something," he responded, keeping his expression innocent.
"Rick!"
"Yes, Maggie?"
She gave him an impatient look, then muttered, "Never mind.v She turned her back on him.
Rick regarded her with amusement. She was trying so blasted hard to keep things cool. She didn't seem to get the fact that heat was what life was about. All the rest was marking time.
"Okay, the tomatoes are properly squished," he said at last. "Now what?"
"Now you go for a walk or something and stay out of my way," she replied.
"Afraid I'll steal your trade secrets?"
"Hardly. I think we can both agree that you're no gourmet chef."
Rick had to bite back a laugh. "Oh, really?"
"It's obvious."
"Just because I asked you to show me how to squeeze a few canned tomatoes?"
"That was definitely one clue. Then there was the comment about getting spaghetti sauce from ajar."
59 !
SHERRYL WOODS59
"I said it would be easier, didn't I? Did I say anything about better?"
She regarded him with a quizzical expression. "What are you getting at? Do you actually cook?"
"A few things," he said modestly. He'd been a bachelor for too long, and somewhere along the way he'd developed a cultivated palate. He knew his way around the kitchen. In fact, he suspected he was a more than even match for her, when he chose to be.
"You want to make the sauce?" she inquired in a way that implied she was throwing the suggestion out as a challenge she was confident he wouldn't accept.
"Sure."
Looking startled, she stood back and made a dramatic sweep of her hand. "Be my guest."
"Are you sure?"
"Why not? I have a cast-iron Stomach."
"There's no need to be insulting." And just for that remark, he intended to test her mettle. He'd make an ar-rabiata sauce that could match the fires of hell.
With practiced movements, he tossed the ingredients into the saucepan, then began deftly adding spices. Next thing he knew, Maggie was at his shoulder, peering into the pot.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"What did you get out of the cabinet?"
"Another spice or two."
"Which ones?"
"I think I'll wait till you taste it and see if you can guess."
She reached for the spoon, but he held it away. "Not now. It has to simmer for a bit."
60 60WHAT'S COOKING?
"There's nothing worse than a testy, controlling cook," she muttered, retreating to her place at the table.
"Something for you to keep in mind," he said. "Any wine in the house? You could pour us a glass." One was usually his limit, but tonight he might make an exception.
"Oh, goody. An assignment for the little lady," she mocked.
"Pouring the wine is a macho thing, a very big responsibility, in fact. I didn't ask you to set the table, did I?"
"Good thing," she muttered.
Rick laughed.
Twenty minutes later dinner was on the table. The fragrance of the sauce was rife with garlic, oregano and other spices. When Maggie had been getting the wine,
"Yes."
"Why not throw 'em in a food processor?"
"There's none here."
"A blender?"
"Sorry. And even if we had one, in my family we do this the old-fashioned way. My father's Italian. He's taught us all how it was done in the old country. We try to follow tradition. Of course, if you're afraid to get your hands dirty..." She let the unspoken challenge trail off.
"I am not afraid of anything," he said, sticking his hands in and squishing the tomatoes. He hadn't done anything this disgusting since he'd made mud pies when he was a toddler. "Like this?"
58
WHAT'S COOKING?
She watched him for a moment, shook her head, then stepped up and gingerly took his hands in hers and showed him what she wanted him to do. His body promptly stilled, even as his pulse took off like a jet seeking altitude. His response was poking her in the hip. There was no mistaking the moment she became aware of his arousal. She shuddered, then stepped carefully away, clearly trying to pretend she hadn't noticed.
"I think you have it now," she said, her voice shaky.
"I definitely have something," he responded, keeping his expression innocent.
"Rick!"
"Yes, Maggie?"
She gave him an impatient look, then muttered, "Never mind.v She turned her back on him.
Rick regarded her with amusement. She was trying so blasted hard to keep things cool. She didn't seem to get the fact that heat was what life was about. All the rest was marking time.
"Okay, the tomatoes are properly squished," he said at last. "Now what?"
"Now you go for a walk or something and stay out of my way," she replied.
"Afraid I'll steal your trade secrets?"
"Hardly. I think we can both agree that you're no gourmet chef."
Rick had to bite back a laugh. "Oh, really?"
"It's obvious."
"Just because I asked you to show me how to squeeze a few canned tomatoes?"
"That was definitely one clue. Then there was the comment about getting spaghetti sauce from ajar."
59 !
SHERRYL WOODS59
"I said it would be easier, didn't I? Did I say anything about better?"
She regarded him with a quizzical expression. "What are you getting at? Do you actually cook?"
"A few things," he said modestly. He'd been a bachelor for too long, and somewhere along the way he'd developed a cultivated palate. He knew his way around the kitchen. In fact, he suspected he was a more than even match for her, when he chose to be.
"You want to make the sauce?" she inquired in a way that implied she was throwing the suggestion out as a challenge she was confident he wouldn't accept.
"Sure."
Looking startled, she stood back and made a dramatic sweep of her hand. "Be my guest."
"Are you sure?"
"Why not? I have a cast-iron Stomach."
"There's no need to be insulting." And just for that remark, he intended to test her mettle. He'd make an ar-rabiata sauce that could match the fires of hell.
With practiced movements, he tossed the ingredients into the saucepan, then began deftly adding spices. Next thing he knew, Maggie was at his shoulder, peering into the pot.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"What did you get out of the cabinet?"
"Another spice or two."
"Which ones?"
"I think I'll wait till you taste it and see if you can guess."
She reached for the spoon, but he held it away. "Not now. It has to simmer for a bit."
60 60WHAT'S COOKING?
"There's nothing worse than a testy, controlling cook," she muttered, retreating to her place at the table.
"Something for you to keep in mind," he said. "Any wine in the house? You could pour us a glass." One was usually his limit, but tonight he might make an exception.
"Oh, goody. An assignment for the little lady," she mocked.
"Pouring the wine is a macho thing, a very big responsibility, in fact. I didn't ask you to set the table, did I?"
"Good thing," she muttered.
Rick laughed.
Twenty minutes later dinner was on the table. The fragrance of the sauce was rife with garlic, oregano and other spices. When Maggie had been getting the wine,
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