"It's not a mess." Lucinda eyed the room. "Well, okay. Things look messy, but I haven't had the chance to clean up."
"You made a mess," Joe repeated, as if he were the King of Kitchen Cleanliness, "and you sat there and let me think you'd cut yourself, and all the time you knew it was nothing but a joke?"
Her smile faded. "My cooking is not a joke, Mr. Romano."
"A matter of opinion, Ms. Barry." Joe smiled thinly. "By the way, when did we revert back to formal address?"
"I thought it would be a good idea, now that we've agreed I'm to be your cook for the balance of the month."
"Ah. I see. You believe in getting into a part, is that right?"
Lucinda's gaze narrowed. His voice had gone cold, and there was a look about him that made her uneasy.
"Yes," she said, "yes, I do."
His smile was thin with undertones of danger. It sent her heart up into her throat.
"We also agreed that you would pretend to be my fiancée."
"I fail to see what that has to do with the present situation." He failed to see it, either. All he knew was that this woman had, from the looks of it, almost burned his house down a second time, that she'd whipped up something inedible and expected him to get excited about it-and that she'd almost given him heart failure when he'd come running into the room, thinking she was hurt.
And then there was that swift, exciting taste of her flesh, when she'd put the tip of her finger to his mouth.
Joe took a slow step forward.
"It has everything to do with it," he said softly.
"It doesn't." Why was he looking at her that way? "There's no connection at all."
"There is." He moved closer. "You said you liked to get into a part."
"I didn't say that." Lucinda swallowed dryly. She wanted to put some distance between them but there was no place to go, not with the counter at her back. "Not exactly."
Joe reached out, put a hand on the counter on either side of her. "What did you say, exactly, Ms. Barry?"
"I said..." She caught her breath as he bent his head to hers and nuzzled the hair back from her ear. "What-what are you doing?"
"Smelling you." His voice was low and rough. The sound of it sent a tremor up her spine. "I like the way you smell, Lucy."
"My name is Lucinda."
"Lucy suits you." It did; how come he'd only just noticed that? "Mmm. What is that scent?"
"It's-it's vanilla. Or chocolate. Or-"
"It's flowers." Joe brushed his mouth against her throat.
"You smell like a summer garden."
"Mr. Romano--"
"Joe."
"Joe. I-I don't think this is appropriate behavior between a cook and her employer."
He laughed softly, his breath warm against her ear. "Maybe not. But it's perfect behavior between a man and his fiancée."
Lucinda shut her eyes. ''I'm not," she said in a small voice that couldn't possibly be hers. "Not your-"
"You are." His arms slid around her; he linked his fingers at the base of her spine. "That's the deal, remember? You agreed to play the part."
"Exactly. I agreed to play it, not to--"
"Shut up," Joe said gently, and his mouth closed over hers. She held back. After all, she was prepared for this. For his attempt at seducing her. Hadn't she thought it through, just this morning? Hadn't she told herself this was going to happen?
Of course, she had. So she held back. She told herself the kiss was meaningless. That it was, as he'd already made clear, simply part of a game.
But his mouth was so hot on hers. His teeth so sweetly sharp as they nipped at her bottom lip. His arms so strong, his body so hard...
"Lucy," he whispered, "kiss me back." And she did.
She heard someone-could it be her?-make a sound that was half sigh, half acquiescent moan. She heard Joe's groaned response. And then she stopped thinking and she opened her mouth to his kiss.
He felt her surrender, and the thrill of it dazzled him. He wanted her now, with a ferocity he knew he'd never quench with a thousand cold showers. He could feel his blood pounding in his veins and he wanted to slow down, slow down, to undress her, to touch her, to watch her eyes as he brought her to the edge and kept her there.
Go slowly, he thought, but he was already pulling her arms free of the sleeves of the jacket. Slowly, he told himself, but his hands were undoing the zipper at the back of her dress.
Slowly, dammit, he almost whispered, but she was moaning his name, twisting in his arms, lifting her face to his...
"Lucy," he whispered.
He slipped his hands inside the dress, cupped her breasts.
He heard the catch of her breath as his thumbs moved gently against the raised crests.
"Lucy," he said again, as if her name were the only word he could manage. It was the only word he could manage. He slid his hands down her spine, under her panties, and cupped her bottom, lifted her into his erection.
"Please," she sobbed, "oh, please. Please, Joe, please..."
There was a sweetness in her desperation. For one timeless moment, as he swallowed her cries, as he caressed her, Joe let himself imagine he was the first, the only lover she'd ever known. The fantasy rocketed through him, blasting its way from the top of his head to his toes.
But that was all it was. A fantasy. And it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but what he was feeling, what he was making her feel.
He kissed her again, his tongue delving deep into the sweetness of her mouth as his fingers slid into the sweetness of her body. Instantly, she cried out; her head fell back and he watched her as she rode the crest of the wave.
He needed her, now. Right now, and he swept her up into his arms.
"Hold on to me," he said roughly, and she pressed her face to his chest, her open mouth against his sweat-soaked shirt, her teeth nipping lightly at his skin as he carried her up the stairs, towards the moment he'd hungered for ever since she'd come into his life, the moment when he was deep inside her and her legs were locked around him.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang. Had been ringing, he realized, for a while.
Lucy stiffened in his arms. "Joe?"
"It's the doorbell," he said, and kissed her. "It's all right. We won't ans-"
The front door swung open, hit the wall with a bang. Joe swung around, Lucy still in his arms, and looked down the steps. He saw a clutch of mylar balloons that said Happy Birthday and Congratulations, a huge bouquet of flowers and a magnum of champagne--and two shocked faces, staring back.
"Surprise," his brother said, and grinned.
"Surprise," his sister-in-law said, and blushed.
"Oh, hell," Joe said, and groaned.
The only one who shrieked was Lucy.
CHAPTER NINE
THE little group froze, Matthew and his wife at the door, Joe and Lucy on the steps.
No one spoke.
No one even took a breath. Everyone waited.
Joe was still holding Lucy in his arms. He knew this moment would be engraved on the interior of his skull forever. His brother, with a grin starting to tilt at his mouth. His sister-in- law, her cheeks turning crimson. And Lucy in his arms, her heart galloping.
She was going to bolt like a frightened rabbit. He knew it.
And he couldn't blame her. If the stairwell suddenly decided to swallow him whole, he'd have died happy.
But that wasn't about to happen, and running away wasn't the answer. It would only make things worse--he could see the devilment growing in Matt's eyes.
Joe put his mouth against Lucy's ear. "Easy," he murmured.
Easy? Lucy thought in disbelief. She was wrapped around the hated Joe Romano like a vine around a fence post. And he was telling her to take it easy?
Lucy pushed against his chest. "Put me down."
"I will. Just let me handle this, okay?"
His voice was low. She knew only she could hear it, that the goggle-eyed man and woman standing just inside the door probably thought h
e was whispering words meant to soothe her. But the look in Joe's eyes was anything but soothing. It was a cold warning, telling her that he was in charge here.
"Put me down, Romano," Lucy said again.
A muscle knotted in his jaw but he did as she'd asked, setting her on her feet, wrapping his hand around her wrist so that his fingers felt like a steel bracelet. He stepped in front of her and she thought, for one wild moment, how wonderful it would be if the action were really protective. It wasn't, of course; she knew that. He was just making sure she didn't say, or do, anything.
He had nothing to worry about. She couldn't think of anything that wouldn't make things worse than they already were. All she could do was hope that this wouldn't take too long, that she'd be able to go to her room, straighten her clothes and get out of this madhouse as fast as possible.
"We seem to have guests," Joe said. "Lucy, this is my brother, Matthew."
Matthew Romano grinned up at them. "Nice to meet you."
"And his wife, Susannah."
Susannah's blush deepened. "Hi."
Lucy searched frantically for an appropriate response. Her mother had spent years drumming what she'd called "deportment" into her head. She knew what to say to a grieving widow, to an elderly maiden aunt, to an unwanted suitor, but what on earth did you say to a pair of strangers who'd caught you-who'd caught you...
"Hello," she said faintly. It seemed to be the right choice.
Matthew Romano's grin widened, and the bright color in his wife's face seemed to lessen the slightest bit.
"I thought you two were in New York," Joe said.
"We were." Matt slipped his arm around his wife's waist. "But we got a call from the magazine." He looked at Lucy. "My wife's newest endeavor. It's gonna be terrific, if we can get all the distribution kinks ironed out."
"I don't think Lucy's interested in our problems with TEMPO right now," Susannah said, so pleasantly that it almost looked as if the elbow she dug into her husband's ribs was accidental. "We're-we're so sorry about this. We had no idea ... "
"We rang the bell. Several times, in fact." This time, Mattthew's grin was downright wicked. "I can't imagine why you didn't hear it."
Susannah shot him an icy look. "I told Matthew not to barge right in, but-"