Some Like It Hot Read Free Page A

shifted inside her. Something brilliant and bright and inexplicable.
    She had a scar of her own.
    It seemed portentous somehow, his scar. A harbinger of things to come. A warning. And she knew it held a secret to which she wasn’t privy.
    She had no conscious intention of touching it, but touch it she did, reaching up to feather one finger along the outer border.
    He’d suffered.
    Just as she had.
    Quick as a kid who’d poked a lit match, Melanie jerked her fingers back, afraid of the intimacy. Wanting the connection, but terrified of it.
    His lips parted, and for one crazy, glorious moment she thought he was going to kiss her. But instead, he simply asked, “Are you all right?”
    “Get off me.”
    Rattled by an inexplicable need to bond with this man, she pushed against his chest with the flat of one palm, when what she really wanted to do was snatch the front of his T-shirt in her fist and pull his body down flush against hers.
    One of the prep cooks snickered.
    Robert scrambled to his feet, shot a quelling glance at the curious trio and then reached down a hand to help her up.
    But Melanie would be damned if she would take any help from him. Ignoring his outstretched palm, she sprang effortlessly to a standing position. She didn’t run four miles a day and do strength training exercises twice a week for nothing.
    She looked around for the turkey. Robert’s gaze followed hers. The bird had landed with freaky precision on a hook where the staff hung their aprons when they went outside for a break.
    It dangled there, a testament to her failure.
    Melanie’s eyes met Robert’s. He pressed his lips together, suppressing a grin.
    It was funny, but she refused to laugh, refused to encourage him.
    “I was going to offer to let you design the stuffing,” Robert said, his eyes dancing, “but looks like it’s a moot point, since the turkey’s been hung out to dry.”
    “You know what you can do with your stuffing,” she said sweetly, taking off her apron and tossing it at him.
    Then without another word, she pivoted on her heel andmarched out the employee entrance, trying not to let him see how much he disturbed her equilibrium.
    Clearly, it wasn’t the turkey that didn’t fit at Chez Remy.
    It was her.

CHAPTER TWO
    T OUCHING M ELANIE HAD BEEN a grave mistake, and Robert knew he shouldn’t have done it. Not only was it unprofessional, but it shot his desire for her right out of firing range.
    What in the hell had he been thinking?
    You weren’t thinking. That’s the problem.
    He was holding the apron she’d tossed at him, caught in midair and clutched tight in his fist. It smelled of food and Melanie, two of his favorite scents.
    Suppressing a guttural sound of animal appreciation, Robert pressed his lips together as he watched her storm from the kitchen.
    What a woman.
    The kind of woman who could get a man into deep trouble without even trying.
    You don’t need the hassle.
    Melanie put him in mind of rich French truffles—precious and musky, heavy with the fragrance of a rumpled mattress after a night of torrid love. Robert would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that she was the source of the buzzy tingling at the base of his brain. He had an overwhelming desire to yank her into his bed and make slow, hot love to her all night long.
    The sunlight streaming through the back door as shejerked it open gave a golden glow to her skin. She possessed nicely defined muscles—developed from years of lifting forty-pound turkeys—over slender bones. Her ebony hair swung in a thick ponytail, and her perfectly shaped tush twitched enticingly in those skin-hugging blue jeans.
    No one, but no one, had a caboose like Melanie Marchand’s. The image of her cute little butt was branded into his brain.
    Stop it! You’ve got no business lusting after her. She’s far too good for the likes of you.
    The door slammed, putting an end to the delightful view, but not his wicked thoughts. The very essence of her—zesty,