Читать книгу Her Mistletoe Magic - Kristine Rolofson, April Arrington - Страница 16

AL SMILED AT HER.

Nico pampered her.

The wine in her glass warmed her.

Oh, my. The man was dangerous. That kiss, well, she’d yet to put it out of her mind. He’d surprised her, and she’d surprised herself by how much that brief, intimate contact had affected her. She’d had to pretend it was nothing, of course, as he had. And now, with aching foot propped up on a chair, Grace watched the most handsome man she had ever seen—well, apart from Bradley Cooper—fix dinner. It was late, after nine o’clock, but he seemed to have limitless energy. On his television show he’d created a whirlwind of enthusiastic food preparations—chopping, slicing, tossing things into pans and hauling dishes out of immaculate ovens, all while he talked and explained and gave measurements.

Why had he left Hollywood, or wherever it was in California that these things were taped? She’d asked him yesterday, but he hadn’t answered the question. Grace reached down and patted Al’s head. “What are you making?”

“Something light,” he said. “Chicken medallions. With wine and lemon. You won’t have to obsess over calories. And you can skip dessert.”

“Dessert?” Do not think about dessert, she told herself. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since the Santa brunch, deciding it was safer to sip herbal tea at her desk and avoid Marie’s afternoon cookie offering.

“My mother left another platter of sugar cookies. She and the kids decorated them today. They’re for Christmas Eve, but she’ll never know if we eat a few.”

“She sounds like a wonderful grandmother.”

“She is.”

“Why did you come back? Was it to help your family?”

He took a sip of wine, put a lid on the pan of chicken and walked over to the table, where he pulled out a chair and glanced at his watch. “We’ll eat in just a few minutes, I promise.”

“Sorry, it’s none of my business,” Grace said. “Tell me about your nieces and nephew.”

“I came home,” he said, fiddling with the stem of his wineglass, “because I missed them.”

“You were homesick?” She tried to hide her surprise.

He winced. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s the truth.” Then he looked at her, the expression in his dark eyes unreadable. “What’s your definition of success, Grace?”

“A successful life or a successful job?”

“Life.”

She thought about that for a long moment. “To be financially secure, I suppose. And I’d like to have a family.” To love the same man until the day she died. To be a good mother. To surround herself with love.

“Are you happy with your work?”

“I love it. Don’t you love yours?”

He nodded. “I do, sweetheart. But California was not where I wanted to be.” Nico looked embarrassed. He reached over and caressed her hand but didn’t seem to realize he’d done it. “I had it all. A little fame, a lot of money, people catering to my every need. Most people’s definition of success, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “And then my show was canceled. That should have devastated me.”

“And it didn’t?”

He grinned. “I was thrilled. I bought a very expensive bottle of champagne and drank it with Al at my feet wagging his tail. I told him we were going home and I swear he knew what I was saying.”

He looked at the dog, who whined and wagged his tail.

“He wants dinner, too,” Grace said.

“He cries and whines like that no matter what I’m cooking. He loves pasta.” Nico shook his head. “He loves anything I put on a plate.”

“So you left Hollywood?” she prompted. She’d always thought he’d come home in disgrace, having lost his shot at the big time.

“I realized I no longer wanted to be in LA. I wanted to be around my family. I wanted to cook in my own restaurant. I wanted to train kids to work in the kitchen. And I missed skiing.” He hopped up and returned to the stove to lift the lid on the pan. “Ah,” he said with satisfaction. “You’re gonna love this. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” She watched entranced as he arranged the food on two plates, then chopped food for Al’s bowl. She waited for him to return to the table before asking the obvious question.

“So,” she said, inhaling the delicious aroma of lemon. He’d sprinkled freshly grated Parmesan on the buttered penne and arranged steamed asparagus to accent the chicken medallions. “This looks fantastic.”

“Thank you. More wine?” He lifted the bottle.

“No, thank you.” She placed the white cloth napkin in her lap, picked up her fork and knife and waited for him to finish topping off his glass. “Are you glad you came back? Do you miss LA?”

“In some ways, yes. I miss the weather. And a few friends. But I’m glad I came back. It was the right thing for me at the time.”

At the time. What did that mean? And why was it suddenly so important for her to hear that he was staying?

“You’re frowning again,” Nico said. “You haven’t tasted anything yet.”

His cell rang, saving her from having to answer. He got up and retrieved it from the counter and, with an apologetic shrug to Grace, turned it on. “Hi. What’s going on?” He listened for a moment while Grace cut a bite of chicken and tasted it. “Of course. No problem.” Pause. “No, not yet, but they look good.” Pause. “Mama,” he said, chuckling. “I will, if possible.” Pause. “Of course. I will ask. And I will call you tomorrow.” Pause. “Yes, yes, good night.”

Still laughing, Nico returned to the table. “My mother has heard that I have a new woman in my life.”

“Uh-oh. Your sister told her about this morning?” She took another bite of chicken. Heaven, she decided. The man was a genius in the kitchen.

“Marie couldn’t wait to share the good news, believe me.” He picked up his fork and stabbed at the pasta.

“I’m good news?” For some reason that struck her as funny. “Doesn’t she know you’re just helping me out for a couple of days?”

“My mother is hoping I’ll fall in love with you and she won’t have to worry about my being alone when I’m an old man.”

Didn’t his mother realize this man could have any woman he wanted? He’d charmed everyone on the staff and most customers. All he had to do was smile and women melted. Grace pushed her thoughts aside. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall in love with him, and she couldn’t risk that. She’d learned her lesson: stay away from men with charisma and commitment issues.

“That’s what she worries about? You being alone?”

“That’s one of many things.” He made a face. “I love them all—my mother, my sisters—but they worry too much.”

They sounded nice, Grace thought. “They care about you and they want you to be happy.”

“This is true.” He grinned. “You could make them—and me—ecstatic, you know, if you would do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” She looked down at her empty plate. How had she eaten all of that?

His eyebrows rose. “You do owe me, sweetheart. For room and board.”

Grace choked back a laugh. “Nice try, Chef Hollywood.”

Nico groaned. “Cheap shot.”

“That’s what they called you in the tabloids. Hot Hollywood Chef, Chef Hollywood, Naughty Nico.”

“I’m not the man the media made me out to be. I never was,” he insisted, taking a sip of wine. He waved his arm toward his vintage kitchen. “Does this look like Hot Hollywood Chef style to you? The stove is green, for heaven’s sake.”

She wasn’t sure what the color of the stove had to do with Naughty Nico, but she remembered his mention of remodeling. “You’re going to modernize the kitchen, aren’t you?”

“Not exactly. I like its charm,” Nico declared. “I’ve found a designer who understands what I want.”

“A kitchen that looks like it belongs with the house but with high-end appliances and all the amenities.”

“Exactly. How did you know?”

“I watch a lot of those house-remodeling shows on HGTV,” she informed him. “I have the lingo down.”

He looked at her empty plate. “You like my food.”

“Of course.”

Nico beamed at her, stood and quickly cleared the table. “You look happy. And relaxed. And you are not in pain.”

“I took another ibuprofen.” She’d removed the boot and Nico had draped her foot with one of those refreezable ice packs from the drugstore. “It doesn’t hurt as much as it did a couple of hours ago.”

“Then let’s talk about this favor you owe me.” He returned to the table and refilled her wineglass. Grace didn’t protest. She was warm and content and even though Chef Hollywood was flirting with her again, she knew that was just part of his personality. For a Tuesday night, this was pretty darn good, as long as she kept reminding herself not to take him seriously.

“It’s Tuesday night,” she said. “I usually watch Hell’s Kitchen. Or the show with the little kids cooking. Master Chef Junior.”

“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re changing the subject,” Nico warned. “But I like the show with the children, too. We could do something like that at the lodge, you know. Just for a day. Or maybe a weekend. With some local kids.”

“Really?”

“For charity,” Nico added. “This summer?”

“I like it.” She took a sip of wine. The idea had all sorts of possibilities, so many her head swirled. Or maybe that was the wine.

“It’s almost Christmas Eve,” Nico said.

“So I’ve heard. We have a lovely wedding to work.”

“We do,” he agreed. “But before that...” He paused. “Well, actually before, during and after that, is the Vitelli family Christmas Eve party.”

“All afternoon and night?”

“Just about. We’re Italian. The cooking and eating goes on for hours.”

“And you’re going to miss it?”

“Noelle’s wedding’s at seven, cocktails after and dinner at eight-fifteen, which leaves plenty of time for photographs. Michael is itching to prove himself and we’ll have the prep done. I’ll be at my parents’ from one o’clock until five or so. I hate to miss dinner, but they understand. Everyone has commitments, the little kids have to go home and go to bed early, but somehow we’ll manage to spend a few overlapping hours together in total chaos and with enormous amounts of food.”

“All right,” Grace said. “I can oversee the setup in Wildwood. I’ll be decorating in the morning—the florist is coming early—and will have everything ready for the appetizers. Michael and I can manage without you. It’s a simple wedding and the whole staff is pitching in.”

“Sweetheart, that’s not the favor.”

She couldn’t think what else he would need. And whenever he called her “sweetheart” her brain turned to bread crumbs.

“Quit frowning at me like that,” Nico said. “I’d like you—I need you—to come to the family party.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve. It’s family.”

“Precisely. If I don’t bring you they’ll do nothing but ask me questions about you.”

“Because I’m staying here.” Or because you’ve kissed me. Because sometimes you look at me as if you are totally enthralled with the person you see? Because I blush when you tease me and secretly adore it when you take care of me? She eyed her ankle. Had a sprained ankle brought her a hint of romance? “You told them why, though?”

“Well, sure. And they’d like to meet you anyway.” He smiled. “Come on, do me a favor. If they think I’m keeping you a secret, which they do, they’ll never leave me alone.”

“Nico...” She didn’t know what to say. His family would think they were a couple. She was living in his house, for heaven’s sake. And she needed to remind herself she was only there because he felt responsible for her. Assuming there was anything else going on could only lead to major disappointment. She needed to stop thinking about kissing him and start getting a grip on reality.

“Stuffed manicotti,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. “Lasagna. Meatballs that will melt in your mouth. We don’t always do the traditional fish courses, having been corrupted by three sons-in-law whose requests for meat have to be honored. Antipasto. Cheeses. Shrimp risotto. And wine.” He stroked her palm with his thumb. “Lots of wine. Only the best Chianti. And Pinots, too.”

She groaned, but she didn’t remove her hand from his. He’d held her hand before and she’d discovered she liked that gesture. She liked that gesture very, very much. “You’re trying to bribe me with food?”

“Tiramisu like you’ve never had it before, babe,” he growled in a mock-sexy voice.

“They’ll think I’m your girlfriend,” she cautioned. “Instead of a clumsy coworker who can’t climb stairs.”

“They’ll think you’re lovely,” Nico said. He released her hand. “You’ll be doing me a favor, remember?”

“Tiramisu?”

“Tiramisu.” They clinked glasses to seal the deal. “Now,” Nico said, “let’s talk about this shower. I’m thinking hot and cold appetizers, with red and white wines, some local beer and a chocolate-dessert bar. A friend of Noelle’s called me and said she’d bring chocolates from the Candy Man. How many people are coming?”

“Thirty, maybe a few more. I think it’s mostly staff and Noelle’s and Ted’s friends. More of a party than a typical shower.”

“No games? No bouquets made of ribbons?”

“I doubt it.” Grace chuckled, and then stifled a yawn. “But Patsy’s involved, so you never know. She has a wild side.”

“Can I help you get to bed?”

“I think I’ll use the crutch so I don’t have to put the boot back on.” Grace put her foot on the floor and wiggled her sock-covered toes. “I think it’s getting better. I should be able to manage my stairs tomorrow.”

“Give it another day or two,” Nico said, handing her the crutch. “Don’t risk hurting yourself before then. I’ll help you move back home after the wedding.”

She thought about that while he helped her to her bedroom and turned down the quilted comforter. She’d made her bed this morning by hopping carefully on one foot.

“Do you need help with anything?” He held her gently by the waist, ignoring the dog who had woken from his nap under the kitchen table and now pattered into the room.

“No. I’m fine.” She’d hung the flannel nightgown on a hook on the back of the bathroom door, tucked her makeup and toiletries into two empty drawers by the sink. She didn’t intend to be a messy or demanding houseguest.

“Okay, then.” He hesitated, then leaned down and slanted his mouth over hers. Her arms went around his neck in the most natural way, her lips responded to the warmth of his. On a scale of one to ten, the kiss was a fifteen, with extra points for self-control, Grace decided, pulling back slowly.

“Good night,” he whispered, touching his lips to her cheek, her earlobe, her neck.

Shivers.

“Good night,” she managed to croak, though part of her wanted to grab him by the front of his shirt and haul that sexy mouth of his back to hers. She resisted, but just barely.

“See you in the morning,” Nico said, giving her a quick hug before practically running out of the room.

Grace thought about that kiss as she brushed her teeth, washed her face and slipped the nightgown over her head. She thought about it as she lay in Nico’s beautiful guest room bed, his dog snoring softly next to her. Her foot ached and her arms were sore from using the crutches, so she was content to be snuggled under the covers and nestled into mounds of down pillows.

He’d kissed her as if he meant it.

She was going to have to be very careful. He might intend to stay here in town and he might be perfectly content with running the lodge’s restaurant, but would that last? She’d thought Josh was going to stay forever, too, and look what happened there. She’d been left alone, after being certain they had a future together.

No matter what Nico said, Grace didn’t think Chef Vitelli was the domestic, small-town guy he thought he was.