But the truth was, he didn’t need any of that to be dangerous, because it was all in his eyes, in his smile and most definitely in the way he looked at her.

“What I said was, you needed to be coached from serious queen to sex kitten.”

She crossed her arms. “And that you were going to be the coach.”

“Yes.”

Just the single word caused a ripple of awareness. She ruthlessly stomped on it. “What does that coaching entail?”

“We’ve already covered this. The walk, the clothes, the smile.”

“That’s it?”

“You’re not quite ready for the rest yet.”

Well, darn if that didn’t send another little thrill rippling through her body. But that couldn’t be right, she couldn’t be…excited about this, could she? “I think I’d at least like a hint,” she decided.

“No.”

There was something incredibly intoxicating about how close his mouth was, about being able to-if she so chose-slip her arms around his neck and lose herself in him.

If she so chose.

Which, of course, she wouldn’t.

His eyes were shining with approval and a good amount of heat. “You’re going to knock ’em dead today, Dimi. Do you have any idea how incredible you look?”

“For a sex kitten, you mean.”

Running a finger over the gauzy material covering her shoulder, he slowly shook his head. “You look like a woman full of life, confident and all too happy to show the world what she can do.” His gaze met hers. “So, what can you do, Dimi?”

Anything. That’s how she felt when he looked at her like that. She could do anything. “I want to pick the recipes we use,” she managed to say. “If I have to walk, talk and dress like this, you can give me that.”

“Okay, what direction do you see yourself and the show going in?”

She’d done this before, pitched her vision. No one had ever wanted to believe in her, and as a result, she’d been stuck with tried, true and boring recipes. “I want to try new things across the board,” she said. “For instance, I’d like to show quick-and-easy low-fat foods that promote good health but that are also innovative and fun.”

Mitch nodded.

Buoyed, she spoke faster. “I want to do themes, like specializing in California cuisine for a week. Maybe highlight regions.”

“That sounds good.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Hope surged. As did an almost unrecognizable joy. This was becoming a bit overwhelming, all these emotions for a man she wanted to resent with all her heart.

“You walk the walk and talk the talk,” he said. “And you can cook whatever you want.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Because Dimi? The outfit…” He tugged on the gauze. “It stays.”

“Did you know I can’t even bend over in this?” she asked in frustration.

His eyes glimmered. “Yep.”


BY THE END of the week the entire town was abuzz with talk about the new and improved Food Time.

The change was unbelievable, including the ratings, which made Mitch’s job all the easier. If it kept up, he’d be out of here in no time and back on his home turf with some new project. Just what he wanted.

So what was that strange pang he felt deep down in the pit of his stomach? It couldn’t be regret. He didn’t belong in a place this small. There wasn’t enough room for him in a town like this. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

And he missed… Hell. He missed exactly nothing.

But that didn’t mean he’d miss this place, either.

“Check it out,” Suzie said as everyone gathered for their early morning staff meeting. She lifted the local paper and read. “Food Time modernizes. Hip hosts, great chemistry, not to mention fabulous new recipes. Don’t miss it.”

Mitch noted the date at the top of the paper. “That’s from last week.”

“Yeah.” Suzie gave him a sheepish smile. “I just worked my way through my stack of mail last night.”

“So what do they say about us this week?”

“I don’t know. It hasn’t come out yet.”

Mitch came from a town where one could get the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times and just about every other major paper on any street corner. Daily. “You’re kidding me.”

“It won’t come out until tomorrow.”

Exactly his point about this place, Mitch thought as everyone smiled with fondness for their little town with only one newspaper once a week.

Dimi rushed into the conference room, a suspicious, mysterious mass in her arms covered with a black towel. “Sorry I’m late.”

“What do you have there?” Leo asked.

Dimi shot a look at Mitch. “Nothing.” She shoved the thing under the table, sat and folded her arms. The picture of calm.

Unless one looked deep enough, which of course Mitch did. She looked ruffled, unnerved and damned distracting while doing it.

“Thirty minutes to air,” Gracie announced, checking her watch.

“Okay, anyone have anything else before we disperse?” Mitch asked, keeping his eyes on Dimi, but no big surprise, she wouldn’t look at him.

“Just maintain the status quo,” Suzie said, consulting her clipboard. “Yesterday’s calls topped our record. They’re loving it all.”

“The new recipes?” Dimi asked, coming to life.

“Well, yes. Among other things.”

“Such as?” Mitch asked.

“Such as you and Dimi and your chemistry. They loved yesterday’s bread-making show.”

“The recipe,” Dimi said, shining with pleasure. “I knew it. It was a fabulous one, from Romania-”

“Uh, no.” Suzie shook her head and laughed. “What they really enjoyed was watching you and Mitch and how you kneaded the dough together, remember?”

Mitch remembered. Their hands had gotten entangled in the gooey, sticky mess Dimi had so expertly created, and at the touch, the two of them had nearly gone up in flames. Startled, they’d stared at each other like two star-crossed, unsatisfied lovers, and the camera hadn’t missed it.

Not that, and not later, when every time they accidentally touched-which he perversely made sure was as often as possible-it had only upped the heat. They’d shaped the dough, stroking and stretching and pulling, and every motion had become a sensual sort of dance.

Indeed, as he already knew, the phones had rung off the hook, people wanting more. Hell, he wanted more. And no, he had no idea where his this-was-just-a-job mentality had gone.

“People are definitely really into this new look for Dimi,” Leo agreed. “They keep tuning in to make sure she doesn’t revert to her earlier dowdiness- Er, um, I mean…”

“Thanks,” Dimi said dryly. She rose. “Thanks a lot.”

“Well, look at the time,” Suzie said, glancing at her watch and rescuing a miserable Leo. “Dimi, you need costume and makeup, pronto.”

A perfect mix of fear and reluctant thrill crossed Dimi’s face. “How bad is the costume today?”

Suzie looked at Mitch and managed to keep a bland face. But both of them knew today’s costume was the best yet. “Not bad at all.”

A squeal startled them all. Dimi jumped, blushed and tried to look innocent.

But Mitch knew that squeal. Frowning, he looked at her, suddenly recognizing the lump beneath the towel. “You brought Brownie to work?”

“I had to. Tanner’s painting my kitchen, and she hates the fumes.”

“We’ve got to get rolling, gang,” Suzie said, tapping her watch.

“I’ll take Brownie,” Mitch offered. “She can hang out in my office.”

Dimi looked concerned. “But-”

“But what? Do you think I’d terrorize your hamster?”

“She won’t strut and smile and dress on command.”

“But will she be nice to me?”

Dimi smirked. “No, she’s shy. And very serious about her food. Don’t put your finger in the cage. She doesn’t know you, she might bite.”

“Got it.” Mitch shook his head when Dimi was gone and pulled Brownie out from beneath the table. “Hey, girl,” he said softly. “Remember me?”

Brownie rushed out of her little hideaway and wrinkled her nose, eyes bright.

“You do, don’t you?”

She waited patiently, a serious look on her face.

Mitch had to laugh. “Look at that, she’s even got you mimicking her expressions. Want something to eat?”

She wriggled her nose solemnly.

He bought a granola bar from the vending machine and fed a corner of it to the hamster, making her stand up on her hind legs for it, which she did willingly. “I’ll be back later to teach you more tricks,” he told her. “Just to annoy Dimi.”

Making sure Brownie was comfy, he headed to the set, ready to face another show that would leave him sweating, frustrated and trembling like a baby.

Not to mention as hard as a rock.

6

“YOU HAVE TO wash them first.” Demonstrating for both the camera and the enraptured crew, Dimi ignored Mitch and turned on the faucet.

Mitch said nothing, which made her nervous. He always had something to say. In fact, he’d had plenty to say just before they’d started, reminding her to smile once in awhile, reminding her to banter with him-as if she needed reminding!-and also to wear her new clothes, not let them wear her.

Yeah, yeah, she’d responded. Sex kitten. I know.

God, she knew. He didn’t need to say it, she felt it. It wasn’t the sexy clothes, either, or her new smiles, or the way she walked.

It was him. He made her feel it, and everything she did in the kitchen became languid, sensual. By the end of every day she was one big trembling, frustrated mass.

But she was on the air now, live, and she couldn’t lose her concentration, not when they’d been doing so well.

She dumped the vegetables in the sink. Luckily her sleeves wouldn’t get in the way. How could they when she was wearing a cropped sweater with short sleeves and not nearly enough material to suit her?