She crossed her legs, extending one gorgeous calf toward him and inviting memories of what her legs had looked like as she twirled around the kitchen before. He’d never forget the sight of her bright red panties against her dusky skin.
Although she hadn’t revealed any more than a woman wearing a bathing suit, the fact that the peep show had been so unexpected had his mouth watering for a repeat performance.
She tucked a strand of wavy brown hair behind one ear. “What do you do when you’re out of the country? Do you travel for your job?”
Busted.
He’d been too busy thinking about how much he wanted to distract her from this line of conversation, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit his profession to the woman who worked for the subject of his next article.
Now, caught without an alibi and unwilling to lie to a sexy-as-hell female sending him definite “do me” vibes, he had no choice but to go with the truth. “I’m a reporter for the Miami paper. I thought I’d check out the resort on an informal basis before I make an official visit for a story.”
Okay, so he only told a portion of the facts. She didn’t need to know he’d stumbled across her tonight as part of his spying routine. She’d write him off as creepy before he could say so much as “nice to have met you.”
The come-hither vixen in the sexy red dress paled a few shades. Backed up visibly. “A reporter? From the Herald?”
“What? You have an ax to grind with the media or something?” No skin off his nose. He just hoped she wouldn’t rule him out on the basis of his job.
Because one way or another, he wanted to learn everything there was to know about Giselle Cesare.
PLEASE SAY SHE DID NOT JUST just serve an erotic pastry to a potential food critic from the biggest newspaper in the southeast.
It simply wasn’t possible. Giselle had worked too hard to distinguish herself as an up-and-coming chef. She’d poured every last dime of her share of the family inheritance into a portion of the resort ownership. No way could she afford to lose that money by screwing up this badly.
Leaping out of her chair, she set aside all thoughts of seducing Hugh Duncan as she wondered what else she could feed him that didn’t involve naughty depictions of female body parts.
She could still salvage this meeting. Maybe.
“An ax to grind? Who, me?” Her laughter sounded a bit manic even to her own ears. Oh, God, he was surely going to think she’d lost her marbles, as well as her desire to succeed in the restaurant business. “You want to try some calamari? It’s a house specialty in our Mediterranean dining room.”
Did he know the resort boasted three different eating facilities? She had no idea how familiar he would be with the way her kitchen operated.
Tugging open the refrigerator she stared into it, waiting for culinary inspiration to strike while a nervous sweat broke out across her brow. How had her day gone from awesome to gut-clenchingly awful in the course of half an hour?
She jumped when Hugh appeared at her side.
“I’m not hungry for anything but conversation. Care to join me?” He held his empty plate in his hand.
Giselle hurried to take the plate and the fork, letting the refrigerator door close behind her. “That’s fine, too. Did you want to take a tour of the dining areas while we talk?”
Of course, taking a walk meant she damn well better put her shoes on. What if he included in his review the fact that he’d caught her in the kitchen in her bare feet? She’d be doomed to health-code-violation hell.
The health department would close her down, her partners would kick her out as an owner and she’d never escape the smothering shelter of the Cesare family clan who always insisted she couldn’t make it in the world without their help.
Hugh’s hands on her shoulders steadied her as she slid into the three-inch heels she’d kicked off after the nightclub closed for the night.
“Wait. Stop.” His touch permeated the silky fabric of her dress as if it wasn’t even there. His fingers curved around to her back, his thumbs dipping into the soft terrain at the base of her neck.
Ten minutes ago she’d longed for a chance to have his hands on her. Now she stood paralyzed, unsure how to proceed from here with a man who held the balance of her career in his hands as surely as he held her body.
Her hot, aching body that still longed for him.
She blinked up at him. Waiting.
Hugh shook his head, his brow wrinkled in obvious confusion. “What did I miss here? We went from racy flirtation to I-can’t-stand-the-heat-so-let’s-get-the-hell-out-of-the-kitchen in record time, and I’m not quite sure how it happened. You seem upset that I work for the paper.”
He hadn’t made it a question, yet he seemed content to wait for her to speak. To explain.
“I’ve been trying to get your paper out here for weeks to review my food.” She cleared her throat in an effort to remove the hesitant sound from her voice. She wouldn’t compound tonight’s problem by appearing ungrateful to the poor unsuspecting food critic who only wanted a taste test and wound up walking in on the chef flashing her panties in a moment of unbridled enthusiasm. “And while I realize it is often customary to make a surprise visit to a restaurant in order to sample the average food preparation capabilities on any given night, I can guarantee that my welcome would have been much different if you’d at least made your visit during business hours.”
Hugh’s hands slid from her arms. “I’m no food critic, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Yet you’re here from the newspaper and you’re working on a story about the club.” She lifted a skeptical brow. Just because she’d never seen the man’s name on a restaurant review didn’t mean he couldn’t write one.
“Yes.” He frowned, perhaps realizing how unconvincing he sounded. “But I haven’t even thought of what angle I’m going to take on the story yet, so I’m not sure that food will come into play.”
“Well, just in case, I’m going to make certain I don’t feed you any more X-rated cream puffs, okay?” She finished putting her shoes on and was surprised to find herself closer to eye-level with Hugh Duncan as she did.
The bright green of his steady gaze made her belly turn a little flip. What a waste that this god of a man had just happened to walk into her life at one of the few times she could have actually had some fun with him, and now she’d need to keep her hands off.
Fate had a really sadistic sense of humor.
Hugh peered over the progress of her spaghetti sauce on the stove. “Then how about we forget all about food and restaurants and go for a walk on the beach? Assuming you can leave the sauce, that is. I have no idea how much baby-sitting this sort of thing requires.”
A food critic who didn’t know much about cooking? Giselle couldn’t decide if he was putting her on or if there remained a chance he wouldn’t realize how much of a faux pas she’d committed by dancing around the kitchen barefoot.
Hope flared to life inside her along with remnants of desire. “It needs to simmer for hours. But isn’t there some sort of ethical problem with me…fraternizing with the reporter who’s doing a story on my resort?”
He shrugged. “If there is, it’s me breaking all the rules, not you.” He glanced down at the high heels she’d donned. “Those shoes will never cut it on the beach, though.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re really serious? You want to walk on the beach at this hour?”
Her brothers would have warned her that