Kiss the Cook Read Free

shut and mentally cursed the Dodge in six languages. Pulling herself together, she looked up at Mr. Mercedes. She couldn't see much through the crack in the window, but what she could see didn't scream serial killer . At least he didn't have crazed murderer tattooed on his forehead.
    Clearly h e was just a tired businessman trying to get home from work. Of course, he seemed irritated, but who could blame him? She was a bit out-of-sorts herself. Deciding her choices were to face Mr. Mercedes or rot in the Dodge, she opened the door. He backed up to give her room to get out.
    "Look," Melanie said, standing under his umbrella, trying to keep her impatience under control, "I'm really sorry about this, but now it seems that my car won't. . ."
    Her voice trailed off as she got her first good look at Mr. Mercedes. Whoa. Must be a trick of the light and the sheen of the rain. No man could be that gorgeous.
    He stood at least six two, and his face looked like something out of a Ralph Lauren ad. All sculpted planes and a firm, square jaw complete with sexy five o'clock shadow. She couldn’t tell exactly what color his eyes were, but even glittering with annoyance they were the sort that could reel a woman in like a fish on a hook.
    A stark white dr ess shirt contrasted with his dark hair and accentuated his broad shoulders. He'd loosened his conservative paisley tie and his shirtsleeves were rolled back, exposing muscular forearms. Gray dress pants hugged his lean hips. Her eyes traveled back up his long length. No doubt about it: The good-looks god had clearly favored this guy. He had to be married. She looked at his left hand. No ring. Probably gay.
    "Your car won't what?" he asked, bringing her thoughts back to her present problem.
    Melanie snapped her gaze back up to his face. He was scowling at her. "Start," she replied. "My car won't start."
    "Are you sure?"
    "Positive. I don't know much about cars, but I know when one won't start. It growled at me twice then died."
    His gaze shifted over her shoulder to look at the Dodge. " Can’t say I’m surprised. It looks like it was time for it to kick the bucket about ten thousand miles ago."
    Melanie drew herself up to her full five feet eight inches. "Hey, this car is a classic. It's in perfect condition. Almost. It might not be as fancy as your wheels, but it gets me where I've got to go… or at least it did until a few minutes ago."
    "Mind if I give it a try?" he asked. When she hesi tated, he looked skyward. "I'm not about to steal your car, okay? I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm soaked from the knees down, and I'd like to get out of here sometime before midnight. Until that piece of… er… your car gets moved, I'm stuck."
    Sheesh. What a grouch. And at least he was only wet from the knees down. She was soaked through to her skin. "Be my guest," Melanie said, sweeping her hand in a grand gesture toward the driver's seat .
    "Thanks. Here," he said, passing her the umbrella. "Hold this."
    He slid into the driver's seat and yelped in pain, pushing up his hips as high as the steering wheel would allow.
    "Watch out," Melanie warned. "There're a couple of broken springs in the seat ."
    He sent her a withering look. "Thanks."
    "No problem."
    He turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. "You said it growled at you?" he asked, looking up at her.
    "Twice. Then it died."
    "Well, I'd guess that your battery is dead. ”
    “Story of my life tonight,” she mumbled.
    “Do you have jumper cables?"
    Melanie shook her head. “ 'Fraid not."
    He muttered something under his breath that Melanie didn't catch, but based on the look on his face, she decided that was probably for the best.
    "Maybe the person who's parked in front of you or behind you will show up," she suggested, hoping it was true.
    "Based on the day I've had, they've probably gone on vacation and won't be back 'til Christmas." He took a deep br eath. "I might as well jump you-- "
    "Whoa, buddy. Hold it right there." Melanie backed up