Here is where a nice guy would pour a second cup of coffee and have it waiting on her, he told himself. Then, as he began pouring, his inner brat kicked him and smarted off, And a smart guy would lock his door and pretend he didn't hear the pounding when she came knocking.

He looked up to see her shaking droplets of rain from her complimentary cabin umbrella as she left it on the porch to dry.

"I take it we're not tackling the river this morning," she commented.

Jack winced at the cheer with which she said it.

"You're off the hook," he said, holding out the mug of steaming dark liquid.

"Too bad you aren't," she mumbled.

"What was that?""Nothing." She reached for the coffee. "Thanks. Okay if we take this outside? You have such a great scenic view from there."

"Sure. We can sit at the picnic table."

"Mmm. Side-by-side. Think you can handle it?" she teased.

"What are you talking about now?"

"Well, if I'm to get a clear shot of the river through all of this rain, I'll have to sit facing the blasted thing, and you're not the type who leaves his back to open s.p.a.ces, so I just a.s.sumed we'd both be sitting...you know. Next to one another."

"Just... just... go outside." He gave her an exasperated frown. Why did she have to be so d.a.m.ned talkative and cheerful? Did she really believe he didn't realize what he'd have to do today now that the weather had turned foul?

"You don't have to be so touchy, Jackson," she said, still babbling but obviously enjoying herself. "This is the perfect time to discuss your strategy. The rain... Do you think it could rain during one of the cook-off days? Because if it does, you and the others will have to use those big grills under the canopy over there." She pointed towards the covered community center with its numerous picnic tables and outdoor grills that lined one entire wall of the rectangular portico.

"Do I what? Think it could rain? I hope you're not suggesting that I could make it do so?"

"Don't be silly, Jackson. I've been thinking about your noon meal," she continued, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. "How about just grilling hot dogs and hamburgers that day? I checked the weather channel with that wide-band radio in the cabin, and your weatherman says that it could rain on Wednesday. So does the Farmer's Almanac-I grabbed a copy of it in your library. I thought perhaps we'd go ahead and order the wieners and buns and all and come up with some sort of kick-a.s.s beverage and dessert or something."

"What about the audience partic.i.p.ation on the second day? I thought you said..."

"I know... I know. But listen. We can still have that. Larabee is sending several portable grills-you know, like the kind you see at tailgate parties. We'll divide the audience into Relish, Mustard and Ketchup, and let them do the cooking with you barking instructions."

"Barking?"

"Well, Jackson, you do... bark, a little. Especially when you're upset. Maybe I should've said 'give'. You can give instructions to the rest of them and go by to make sure they are stirring properly, adding the right amount of spices and so forth. Let them do the cooking."

Jack's head was already spinning, and Marilyn hadn't been with him more than five minutes. a.s.s, he chastised himself. Why don't you just spill the beans and put her out of her misery so she'll stop hammering you with details and the two of you can get back to some serious lovemaking?

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," he told her. "Divide them into what?"

"Use your grandmother's pickled relish dish, that Cajun mustard recipe and your homemade ketchup. And just let the audience do the cooking that day, because I will already be able to doc.u.ment that you know how to make those things. Know why? C' mon... ask me."

"Okay. Why?" he asked, already positive that he wouldn't like her answer.

"Because you can make the majority of those in advance with me watching you!" she cried excitedly.

"Come again?"

"We'll just say that due to the rain, we planned for everyone to get in on the fun, so we're going to let them prepare the condiments. I'll order some cheap plastic squirt bottles from either a discount store or a beauty supply so that your guests can take home some of what they cook."

"Beauty supply?"

"Sure-to hold the ketchup, mustard and relish. Cheaper to buy from either a salon products distributor or a super shopper place."

Jack's mind started reeling again.

"Then," Marilyn continued, "follow it all up with some sort of dessert. It'll be fun!"

Jack snorted. "For you, maybe. You're not the one whose a.s.s is on the line here."

"Right. I'm just the poor schmuck who's gonna get fired once she gets back to New York if you don't come through with this."

"Oh, d.a.m.n. Just sit down."

Marilyn shrugged and did as he asked, making room on the bench for him to sit beside her, wiggling her b.u.t.t in the tight jeans to get comfortable.

Jack felt his jaw slacken and his throat go dry as the hourgla.s.s-shaped woman in front of him shook her sand a bit.

He watched her animated face and put a finger to her lips just as she was about to speak. "If you would... go over this one more time. How will you know that I can already cook this stuff?"

Marilyn looked down the length of her nose at his finger still on her lips then back into his eyes.

"Mah-fa-mwl..."

"What?"

She removed his finger. "My father will be here tomorrow and will want to see you.

If I can keep you occupied cooking... preparing for your noon meal, he most likely won' t try to interrupt us and ask you to cook something for him."

"Why would he...?"

"Because you're his favorite cookbook author. He a.s.sumes you can cook all those delicious recipes. So I have to get you into the kitchen and working on something before he gets suspicious. We're already treading water... don't want to drown too early."

"Would your father and uncle really fire you?" he asked.

"You can ask him yourself since he and Uncle Dave are flying down early for this shindig. Of course, if you ask them and they find out you can't cook, you'll be disqualified, so you really should take my word on this."

Jack studied her face. For all her bravado and bright conversation, her eyes told a different story. She was really nervous about the compet.i.tion.

"What's your real reason for signing me up for this contest?" he asked, trying to adopt a sensitive approach.

"The family publishing company needed a boost. So did your career."

"Gee... thanks!" He felt his neck muscles tighten and strained to work out the kinks.

"Jackson, you're doing fine. You're not exactly the firm's cash cow, but..."

"What?"

"... but you're holding your own."

"Holding my own?"

"I just thought you could do better, and when Larabee's rep called to remind me that you still owe them some publicity, I thought this would be the ticket for all of us."

"All of us? So what's in this for you?"

"My father's health." She looked toward the river through the rain and took another sip of her coffee before continuing.

"Dad's last heart attack nearly forced him out of the business. My uncle is a ruthless b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I think he saw Dad's health problems as a way for him to take over the company. First Dad lost money to help pay my mother's medical bills-back then he had to take loans out against his share of the business he owned with his brother and his best friend."

"Would that be the Birmingham in Birmingham and O'Malley?"

"Right. Charles Birmingham was Dad's best friend, and when Charles died, he left his share of the business to his son and to my dad. So Dad was able to pay back my uncle and still retain a controlling interest in the company."

"I see."

"Since then, my father has invested the remainder of his a.s.sets into publishing other people's books and making their dreams become reality. I quit my job freelancing to pitch in. If I fail, my uncle has one more reason to want my father to give up controlling interest. So, yeah... I'd be out of a job, but Dad would be out of his livelihood and have to live off his pension and social security." She shrugged. "No pressure."

"Right. No pressure." He took a sip of his coffee and tried to focus his thoughts. What a maddening woman-how could he have let her get under his skin so quickly? One minute he wanted to throttle her and the next he just wanted to kiss her until she pa.s.sed out from lack of oxygen. At least that would shut her up. Why was it that women talked so G.o.dd.a.m.ned much, anyway?

He stared at the vivacious brunette before him. One thing was certain-it was never dull around her. Ever since she'd shown up at his doorstep his head had been spinning. And her incessant chattering was growing on him.

"And on hot dog and hamburger day, do you want chili?" he asked.

She stared at him, openmouthed. "Chili! That's brilliant!'

"No-no-no-no-no! Get that look out of your eye-I was referring to ordering a few large cans from one of the restaurant supply companies."

"Order it? You need to make it!"

"Of course." He closed his eyes momentarily, stifling a chuckle since chili was one thing he'd perfected the previous winter. He also was resisting the urge to flip her over his knee and spank her. Instead, he opened his eyes, set down his mug and confronted her.

"What's bothering you? I mean really? Is it last night? Is it the cooking contest? You' re obviously chatty for a reason, and I don't think it's because you just woke up wanting to cheer me up."

"You're right." She sat down her mug and turned to face him squarely. "I am beyond nervous about last night." Her brilliant brown eyes flashed concern.

"Why? We were two consenting adults."

"Who carried things too far. I should never have slept with you. I should've retained professionalism and turned you down immediately once I saw..."

"Turned me down? Lady, you're the one who came over to my cabin!"

"Well, yeah...to talk!"

"You did not have talking on your mind!"

"I most certainly did. I was hoping to persuade you to reconsider your stance on this, to get with the spirit of the contest, to... Jackson? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you want to kiss me."

"I do not." No, that was a lie. He did want to kiss her. He wanted to kiss the h.e.l.l out of her, to jerk her into his arms and finish what they'd started last night before he'd screwed it up.

"Like I said... It should never have happened. But I felt sorry for you, and then one thing led..."

Jackson roared, "What? Are you telling me that was a pity f.u.c.k you threw for me?"

"Excuse me?"

"You did not sleep with me because you felt sorry for me!"

Marilyn seemed to stare at him expectantly, her eyes drifting to focus on the little cleft in his chin and his nostrils, then to rest easily on his eyes.

She cleared her throat and looked away. "I know we continually seem to get off on the wrong foot, but I really think we should concentrate on the task at hand for a bit. You need to learn how to cook, and we're wasting time talking about it. So what's it going to be? Are you in, or are you out?"

"I don't believe you. That was not a pity f.u.c.k!"

"Are you in...or out?" she demanded.

"In."

The little witch seemed to know that now he had her precisely where he wanted her -more proximity, more time together, a larger opportunity to get to know her on his terms. And unless he was mistaken, she didn't seem to mind a bit.

"Good." She picked up her mug and clinked it lightly against his once he'd lifted it towards his mouth, almost causing him to spill his coffee. "Cheers. Here's to a great learning experience for us both."

"And what are you hoping to learn from this venture?" he asked.

"Why, how to cook, of course. I'm a takeout kinda gal. Don't know the first thing about making relish or frying catfish."

"Do you know how to read?"

"Pardon?"

"Read. Can you read?" He stood and held out a hand to help her from the bench. "I have most of the measuring equipment and utensils. I think. But I need you to read off some directions while I attempt my first dish." He almost chuckled when he uttered first dish. Wouldn't hurt to have a bit of fun with her, would it?

Marilyn's eyes widened. "And that would be...?"

"Old family recipe-it's a secret. Prepare for a treat, woman."

"You're making eggnog? In the middle of summer?" she asked, letting an index finger slide over the words he'd typed and placed into a small binder. I wasted good makeup and tight jeans on this?

"Ah, but you never had eggnog like this, chere. Just read," he instructed, winking saucily. "Start with the t.i.tle and read aloud, please."