Patt Marr - Angel In Disguise

She looked at him blankly. “Pot holders?”

This TV thing must really be hard on her. “Or an oven mitt?” he suggested.

Sunny felt heat crawl up her neck. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she knew she ought to.

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling as he reached behind her. “I’ll use this.” He grabbed a towel off the counter and used it to protect his hands as he lifted the hot pan from the oven.

Ah, that’s what he meant. He must think she was a real idiot. A person who supposedly “loved to cook” ought to have a working knowledge of basic kitchen equipment.

How was she going to get through this charade? She still felt unsettled at the way she’d greeted Pete, kissing him as if he’d just come home from a war. Though she’d offered the kiss for the folks in TV land, she’d felt its impact down to her toes. And Pete? He’d reacted as if it were his homecoming.

“Did you get the shot of Pete taking the pan out of the oven, Brad?” Meggy asked.

“Got it. You’re gonna love the shot of his backside.”

This guy’s survival instincts were pretty weak. From the set of Pete’s jaw, Sunny would say Brad was asking for trouble.

“We’re almost through,” Meggy said grimly, apparently fed up with the guy herself. “Let’s get a shot of you two at the table, toasting each other.”

Toasting she knew how to do, and Sunny breathed easier. From the refrigerator she pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and handed it to Pete. “Will you do the honors?”

The label seemed to surprise him. She wouldn’t argue about it and he didn’t have to drink it, but that’s all she kept in the house. “Nonalcoholic,” she said with no apology.

“Good,” he said, going to work unwrapping the seal.

That was different. Her ex always ridiculed her beverage preference.

Muscles rippled in Pete’s arm as he opened the bottle, and the fabric of his blue denim shirt strained across his broad, muscular back. This was a guy who worked out.

There was a tiny scar intersecting his left eyebrow that she hadn’t noticed before, and faint scars near his ear and under his chin. Strangely, the imperfections made her more comfortable.

“Do you want to get the glasses?” he asked.

“What? Oh, sure.” Sunny retrieved them from the table, wondering why he hadn’t taken the bottle there. Maybe he wanted more time away from Brad and his camera. That she understood.

He took one goblet and filled it. “I thought we could use a minute without an audience,” he said, confirming her suspicion. “Your dinner looks great.”

“I just hope it’s half as good as your mother’s,” she said, knowing it wouldn’t be if she’d cooked it.

“I expect it’s even better.”

He smiled again, and Sunny’s heart seemed to contract. The shine in those blue eyes made her wonder if all handsome charmers had to be bad.

They carried their glasses to the dining area, and Meggy asked, “Sunny, do you want to keep the apron on?”

Oops. She’d forgotten the thing, maybe subconsciously, for as much as she had resisted wearing the apron, she now dreaded taking it off. She knew she had a good figure, but she took pride in the condition of her body, its strength and health, not its shape, and she never purposely called attention to herself. However, she’d better follow orders unless she wanted to hear about it from Mouse.

Untying the apron was a bit tedious because somehow she’d knotted the strings. Getting the apron over her head without messing up her big hair was slow-going, too. Finally she tossed the apron aside and sneaked a glance at Pete to see if Mouse’s brother was right about the tight white top.

He was. Appreciation registered in Pete’s eyes.

“N-i-c-e sweater!” Brad said with a low whistle.

Pete’s head whipped around, and he took a threatening step toward the man, but Meggy said, “Brad, for the last time, if you want to work for Dream Date again, keep quiet.”

“You’re the boss,” he said irreverently. “What do you want to do about the glare from the window by the table?”

“Should I pull the shade?” Sunny asked.

“No. It’ll make a tighter shot if you sit beside, instead of across from Pete.” Meggy maneuvered them into position, changing the place settings as she talked.

“Sunny, hold your goblet in your right hand, rest your elbow on the table and lean toward Pete. Pete, hold—”

“I got it, Meggy,” he interrupted.

“It’ll be over soon,” Sunny whispered.

His rueful smile was endearing. “Sorry about the attitude.”

“Don’t worry about it. I understand.”

“We’re rolling,” Meggy said. “Touch glasses, take a sip, do what comes naturally.”

Pete touched the rim of his goblet to Sunny’s and whispered, “Punching Brad’s face in comes naturally.”

“Let me be the one to do it,” she whispered back.

He grinned and toasted her again.

Her heart did its strange flip-flop just like before.

“Did I see antipasto on the table, Sunny?” Meggy asked.

“Yes. Shall we eat some?”

“You might feed each other a bite or two.”

“I don’t usually finger feed on a first date,” she said, a nervous giggle escaping. Mortified, she covered her mouth, struggling for control.

Pete looked longingly at the door. What if he balked here and now? As long as she’d endured the torture of the TV taping, she’d like to see this through.

Sobering, she said, “You go first. I like those big black olives. Do you want to pop one of them into my mouth?”

He followed her directions to the letter, popping the olive into her mouth with all the aplomb of a guy feeding a heartworm pill to his dog.

“C’mon, Pete,” Meggy complained, “you can do better than that. You’re on a date. Make it look sensual.”

Pete raised an irritated brow. “What do you think?” he murmured. “Should we try it her way?”

“I like black olives so much, I can probably make it ‘look sensual.”’

“Okay, one sensual olive coming your way,” he warned, leaning toward her, teasing her mouth with the olive, outlining her upper lip and tracing the lower lip back and forth before slipping it between her teeth. She bit down slowly, covering his fingers with her lips. Slowly he dragged his fingers away. She had no idea that such a simple thing could be so erotic.

“Whew,” he breathed softly, watching her lips as she slowly chewed. “I like the way you do that.”

“Really,” she murmured. “It didn’t look stupid?”

“Are you kidding?” His eyes glowed with approval.

The approval caught her by surprise. It felt warm, wonderful and better than she could have believed.

It would have to be better still without an audience. She whispered, “Don’t you think we’ve been cooperative long enough?”

Nodding, he stood and said, “You’re through here, aren’t you, Meggy?”

Something unspoken passed between the two. Sunny didn’t understand it, but Meggy quickly agreed and managed to get the crew out within minutes. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. It was just good to have their audience gone.

Standing next to Pete in the doorway, seeing them off, Sunny felt awkward, almost shy. It was ridiculous, feeling this nervous about being alone with a guy. She was twenty-eight, not sixteen, and it sure didn’t matter if he invited her to the prom.

Pete closed the door and gave her one of those lopsided smiles. “Coach, you were awesome. Poised. Cute. A dream date, for sure.”

It was a line. It had to be, but she didn’t feel nervous anymore. “You were pretty great your-self,” she said, wanting to return the good feeling. “An old pro, in fact.”

“That’s me, all right. An old pro. I can’t wait to see myself on TV.”