Summer Desserts

That, too, would change.
    “Not bad, my love.” Carlo took down a large chef’s knife and checked it for weight and balance. “You have the rudiments here. It’s a bit like getting a new toy for Christmas and having to assemble it, sì ?”
    “Hmmm.” Absently she picked up a skillet. Stainless steel, she noted and set it down again. The pans would have to be replaced with copper washed with tin. She turned and thudded firmly into Blake’s chest.
    There was a fraction of a second when she softened, enjoying the sensation of body against body. His scent, sophisticated, slightly aloof, pleased her. Then came the annoyance that she hadn’t sensed him behind her as she felt she should have. “Mr. Cocharan.” She drew away, masking both the attraction and the annoyance with a polite smile. “Somehow I didn’t think to find you here.”
    “My staff keeps me well informed, Ms. Lyndon. I was told you were here.”
    The idea of being reported on might have grated, but Summer only nodded. “This is Carlo Franconi,” she began. “One of the finest chefs in Italy.”
    “ The finest chef in Italy,” Carlo corrected, extending his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cocharan. I’ve often enjoyed the hospitality of your hotels. Your restaurant in Milan makes a very passable linguini.”
    “Very passable is a great compliment from Carlo,” Summerexplained. “He doesn’t think anyone can make an Italian dish but himself.”
    “Not think, know.” Carlo lifted the lid on a steaming pot and sniffed. “Summer tells me she’ll be associated with your restaurant here. You’re a fortunate man.”
    Blake looked down at Summer, glancing at the lean, tanned hand Carlo had placed on her shoulder. Jealousy is a sensation that can be recognized even if it has never been experienced before. Blake didn’t care for it, or the cause. “Yes, I am. Since you’re here, Ms. Lyndon, you might like to sign the final contract. It would save us both a meeting later.”
    “All right. Carlo?”
    “Go, do your business. They do a rack of lamb over there—it interests me.” Without a backward glance, he went to add his two cents.
    “Well, he’s happy,” Summer commented as she walked through the kitchen with Blake.
    “Is he in town on business?”
    “No, he just wanted to see me.”
    It was said carelessly, and truthfully, and had the effect of knotting Blake’s stomach muscles. So she liked slick Italians, he thought grimly, and slipped a proprietary hand over her arm without being aware of it. That was certainly her business. His was to get her into the kitchens as quickly as possible.
    In silence he led her though the lobby and into the hotel offices. Quiet and efficient. Those were brief impressions before she was led into a large, private room that was obviously Blake’s.
    The colors were bones and creams and browns, the decor abit more modern than his apartment, but she could recognize his stamp on it. Without being asked, Summer walked over and took a chair. It was hardly past noon, but it occurred to her that she’d been on her feet for almost six consecutive hours.
    “Handy that I happened to drop by when you were around,” she began, sliding her toes out of her shoes. “It simplifies this contract business. Since I’ve agreed to do it, we might as well get started.” Then there will be only three hundred and sixty-four days, she added silently, and sighed.
    He didn’t like her careless attitude about the contract any more than he liked her careless affection toward the Italian. Blake walked over to his desk and lifted a packet of papers. When he looked back at her, some of his anger drained. “You look tired, Summer.”
    The lids she allowed to droop lifted again. His first, his only, use of her given name intrigued her. He said it as though he was thinking of the heat and the storms. She felt her chest tighten and blamed it on fatigue. “I am. I was baking meringue at seven o’clock this morning.”
    “Coffee?”
    “No, thanks. I’m afraid I’ve overdone that already today.” She glanced at the papers he held, then smiled with a trace of self-satisfaction. “Before I sign those, I should warn you I’m going to order some extensive changes in the kitchen.”
    “One of the essential reasons you’re to sign them.”
    She nodded and held out her hand. “You might not be so amiable when you get the bill.”
    Taking a pen from a holder on his desk, Blake gave it to her. “I think we’re both