Free The Perfect Dish by Kristen Painter Page B

air.
    “C’mon, then.” He pushed off the bar and started toward the kitchen.
    “Where?” She didn’t move.
    “Back to the bike. So I can give you a lift home.”
    “No, thanks. I’ll take a cab.”
    He wanted to push it, wanted to feel her wrapped around him again, her tight thighs cradling his backside, but let it drop. She’d be back tomorrow night. “Don’t forget Tuesday.” He waggled his brows. “You do want to know if you figured me right, doncha?”
    She snorted out a soft breath. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I figured you right.”
    “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He offered his arm. “Let me walk you out?”
    “Okay.” She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. “You get points for being a gentleman. Very unusual for...”
    If she knew his thoughts, she wouldn’t think he was much of a gentleman. He patted her hand and finished her sentence. “A guy my age, huh, doc?”
    “I was going to say ‘for this day and age’.”
    “Sure, doc. Whatever you say.”
    She slanted a smile at him. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
    He glanced down and caught a glimpse of her scalloped pink lace bra beneath the vee of her sweater. His groin tightened. “And you’re sexy as all get out. But I guess all the guys tell you that.”
    He reached to open the door but she stopped him. “Nobody’s told me that in a long time.” She smiled wistfully. “Thank you. You really are sweet.” She went up on her tiptoes, her hands on his chest, and kissed his cheek. “See you Tuesday, Chef.”
    With his mouth hanging open, Kelly watched her push through the door and leave. As many times as he’d been called chef, never in his life had it made his heart gallop as when she said it.
    The door swung shut and he slumped down onto the bench in the lobby. He drove his fingers through his hair and tipped his head back against the wall.
    She made him plum crazy.
    He whooped at the top of his lungs and stomped his boots on the rough wood floors. Damn if he wasn’t loving every minute of it.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    What had she been thinking? Regardless of her situation, she could not date that man. He was too...too...male. She’d find someone safer. Someone who didn’t make her work so hard at keeping her head on straight.
    She got a few steps away before she realized she had to go back.
    Her hands pushed the door of Gauchos open just as a loud “yeehaw” rang through the air. Kelly sat on a bench just inside the door, stomping his feet on the floor. She raised her brows. “What was that all about?”
    His feet stilled and his face went as red as a little boy caught stealing cookies. “Nothing,” he mumbled. The embarrassment faded into a happy grin. “Miss me already?”
    “Not exactly.” She crossed her arms. “My purse is locked in your office at Sedona.”
    “Oh.” The smile diminished slightly then brightened once again. He stood and offered her his arm again. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
    The motorcycle ride back was almost pleasant, now that she felt more confident about not becoming a stain on the macadam. Still, she was grateful to hand the helmet back and call the ride over. Being so close to Kelly made her question her decision to dissuade him from chasing her. The man was flat out sexy. But he was also twelve years younger than her.
    She followed him into the restaurant. The soft strains of new age Spanish guitar provided enough background noise to mute the conversations of the few tables of early lunch patrons. She hoped no one recognized her.
    Once inside the elevator, Kelly spoke. “You liked the ride back better.”
    “What makes you say that?” Mercy, he was hot.
    “Saw you smiling in my side mirror.”
    “Shouldn’t you have been keeping your eyes on the street?”
    He grinned. “We were parked at a red light.”
    The doors opened. She got off and headed for his office. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t be riding that accident waiting to happen again.”
    He slid his card