Hot Blooded

thousand times."
    "What she did was worse," Mariann said, and Bastien knew she meant Arabella.
"We survived the restaurant scene in Boston, two women turning out hundreds of
plates a night with those stupid, ass-grabbing line cooks. She convinced me to
bring her here as my partner after Grandfather died. We were friends. I thought
she liked me. And then she pretends my grandfather's work is her own. 'A little
something I came up with,' she says on her show. The first time I heard it, I
thought my head would explode.
    "In all the time I worked with her, she never came up with anything. She
could cook, but she was lazy. Her first question was always, 'What's the
shortcut?' But good baking comes from love, from the desire to create something
your customers will really and truly enjoy. You can't take shortcuts with that!"
    Disgusted by the memory, Mariann rubbed her nose. When she went on, her tone
was resigned. "I never did want to share his recipes with her, but I thought,
'Well, she's not just my partner, she's my friend. I should learn to be more
trusting.' Hah. All I did was hand her everything I had."
    "Everything you have is here," he said, one hand reaching up to tap her
heart. "At least everything that counts."
    "Thank you, Zen Master Luce. I'm sure I'd agree with you if I were equally
evolved."
    "All right," he laughed, enjoying her acerbity. "You have a reason to be
mad."
    She blinked at him. "Why are you being so nice? You barely said 'boo' to me
before today."
    Her eyes were wide, her expression willing to hear. Sensing she would allow
it, he stroked his fingers through her curls. Though his power undid the
tangles, the little twists clung to his hand as if they liked the touch. "Maybe
I was waiting for you to think of me as more than a pretty weirdo."
    "Yeesh. I'm sorry you heard that. I—"
    "No." He touched her lips to hush her apology. "I'm sure I do seem strange. I
only hope you'll give me the chance to show you what else I am, what else I'd
like to be to you."
    "Be?" she repeated. "To me?"
    This time he could not miss her breathlessness. Arousal barreled through him
in a roaring wave. It was all he could do not to moan.
    Oh, Mariann
, he thought. I'm going to kiss you to kingdom come.

----
Chapter 3
    Â« ^ »
    SHE knew he was going to kiss her. Worse, she knew she was going to let him.
Never mind she'd sworn off unfairly good-looking men. Never mind her schedule
barely had room for her schedule. When his hands surrounded her face and his
dark, silky hair fell forward, her temperature sizzled like butter set to saute.
    Close as he was, his scent shot up her nose, sending her already buzzing
hormones into overdrive. His skin smelled of wood and earth, of mossy water and
Beaujolais. He had rolled up his shirtsleeves and opened his collar. She didn't
think she'd ever seen him without a jacket. For some reason, she found the sight
of his muscled forearms sexier than another man completely bare—not that she
hadn't entertained the thought of him that way as well.
    To her dismay, he was giving her the laser-beam look he shared with his
cousin, like she was the only woman left on the planet and he would give his
life to have her. Mariann didn't anticipate that kind of sacrifice being
required. She was going to topple quite easily.
    "Your hands are cold," she said in a nervous bid for delay. "I should teach
you
to make pie."
    "My hands will warm."
    He said this with such sensual promise she doubted he'd understood. Up close,
his eyes were a pale peridot green, their brilliance heightened by their
half-lowered frame of black. Their steadiness unnerved her, the way they seemed
to pierce her soul. It was probably her sex-starved imagination, but his gaze
looked sad, as if he longed for something he feared he would never find. Without
intending to, she held her breath as the look drew out.
    He broke the tension before she could.
    "Ah, Mariann," he said with an embarrassed laugh. "I've been dreaming of
kissing you for so long, I'm almost afraid to do it."
    "You better get over that. 'Cause I swear, if you leave me hanging, I'll
never give you another chance."
    His grin was a blinding flash. "I love your fight," he whispered, "most of
all."
    She didn't have time to wonder what this meant, because he tipped her head up
and lowered his. His mouth molded over her lips, a gentle, testing intimacy.
Whatever the test was, she passed it. He moaned low in his chest,