Summer Desserts

now? And why in God’s name did she look so right, so temptingly right, curled on his sofa with pillows at her back? “You must be hungry,” he said, astonished that he needed the defense of words. “If you’d tell me what you’d like, the kitchen will prepare it. Or I can get you a menu, if you’d prefer.”
    “A menu won’t be necessary.” She sipped more cold, frothy French champagne. “I’d like a cheeseburger.”
    Blake watched the silk shift as she nestled into the corner of the sofa. “A what?”
    “Cheeseburger,” Summer repeated. “With a side order of fries, shoestring.” She lifted her glass to examine the color of the liquid. “Do you know, this was a truly exceptional year.”
    “Ms. Lyndon…” With strained patience, Blake dipped his hands in his pockets and kept his voice even. “Exactly what game are you playing?”
    She sipped slowly, savoring. “Game?”
    “Do you seriously want me to believe that you, a gourmet, a cordon bleu chef, want to eat a cheeseburger and shoestring fries?”
    “I wouldn’t have said so otherwise.” When her glass was empty, Summer rose to refill it herself. She moved, he noted, lazily, with none of that sharp, almost military motion she’d used when cooking. “Your kitchen does have lean prime beef, doesn’t it?”
    “Of course.” Certain she was trying to annoy him, or make a fool of him, Blake took her arm and turned her to face him. “Why do you want a cheeseburger?”
    “Because I like them,” she said simply. “I also like tacos and pizza and fried chicken—particularly when someone else is cooking them. That sort of thing is quick, tasty and convenient.” She grinned, relaxed by the wine, amused by his reaction. “Do you have a moral objection to junk food, Mr. Cocharan?”
    “No, but I’d think you would.”
    “Ah, I’ve shattered your image of a gastronomic snob.” She laughed, a very appealing, purely feminine sound. “As a chef, I can tell you that rich sauces and heavy creams aren’t easy on the digestion either. Besides that, I cook professionally. For long periods of time I’m surrounded by the finest of haute cuisine. Delicacies, foods that have to be prepared with absolute perfection, split-second timing. When I’m not working, I like to relax.” She drank champagne again. “I’d prefer a cheeseburger, medium rare, to Filet aux Champignons at the moment, if you don’t mind.”
    “Your choice,” he muttered and moved the phone to order. Her explanation had been reasonable, even logical. There was nothing which annoyed him more than having his own style of manuevering used against him.
    With her glass in hand, Summer wandered to the window. She liked the looks of a city at night. The buildings rose and spread in the distance and traffic wound its way silently on the intersecting roads. Lights, darkness, shadows.
    She couldn’t have counted the number of cities she’d been in or viewed from a similar spot, but her favorite remained Paris. Yet she’d chosen to live for long lengths of time in the States—she liked the contrast of people and cultures and attitudes. She liked the ambition and enthusiasm of Americans, which she saw typified in her mother’s second husband.
    Ambition was something she understood. She had a lot of her own. She understood this to be the reason she looked for men with more creative ability than ambition in her personal relationships. Two competitive, career-oriented people made an uneasy couple. She’d learned that early on watching her own parents with each other, and their subsequent spouses. When she chose permanence in a relationship—something Summer considered was at least a decade away—she wanted someone who understood that her career came first. Any cook, from a child making a peanut butter sandwich to a master chef, had to understand priorities. Summer had understood her own all of her life.
    “You like the view?” Blake stood behind her where he’d beenstudying her for a full five minutes. Why should she seem different from any other woman he’d ever brought to his home? Why should she seem more elusive, more alluring? And why should her presence alone make it so difficult for him to keep his mind on the business he’d brought her there for?
    “Yes.” She didn’t turn because she realized abruptly just how close he was. It was something she should have sensed before, Summer thought with a slight frown. If she turned, they’d be face-to-face. There’d be a