Darn him! She’d given up men and she meant it, no matter how talented his tongue was.

  “Now,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t caused every single woman watching him to get rubbery knees. “We need the other ingredients.” He rattled them off as he handed them one by one to Dimi, who was still standing there with too much cleavage, in heels that made her indeed swing her ass, stunned to the depths by what he was doing to her on live television.

  “Here you go,” he said, passing the sugar. “Is that about the right amount?” he asked, walking around her. As he did, he casually and lightly stroked a hand over the small of her back.

  Just a barely there touch, and her entire body jerked to attention, including her nipples, which were pressing against the material of her blouse.

  Glaring at him would do nothing but egg him on, she decided, but she was sorely tempted. Luckily, a commercial break was called.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, so frustrated, so ruffled, so… Well, she wasn’t sure what else she was, but certainly anger topped the list. “You’re taking over the show!”

  “Feel free to talk more instead of standing there with your tongue hanging out as you moon at me.”

  When she gaped at him, he laughed. “Yeah, that’s the look I love so much. Oh, come on, this is fun. Let’s go check the phone lines.”

  “No one ever calls during the show.”

  “No?” He didn’t sound concerned.

  They hadn’t made it off the set before Suzie came running up to them, her eyes lit with excitement. “Every phone in the place is ringing off the hook.” She turned to Mitch. “Keep baiting her, they love it. They love how she’s trying to be sexy and is failing completely.”

  “What?” Dimi asked, faintly. “I’m…failing?”

  “They love that when you look at her, she blushes.” Suzie laughed, gripped her clipboard to her chest and turned to Dimi. “And they especially loved the belly button flash.”

  Dimi groaned. “This can’t go on. I need a sweater, pronto.”

  “Why?” Mitch asked.

  “Because maybe I’m getting cold.”

  He looked directly into her eyes. “It’s not getting cold that worries you.”

  Bastard. “Get me a sweater, Suzie.”

  “Sorry.” She grinned. “We’re fresh out.”

  Before Dimi could kill her assistant, Gracie came running up to them. “The phones are wild. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

  “Twenty seconds, everyone! Take your places!”

  Mitch offered Dimi his arm, which, much to his amusement, she flatly refused. Sauntering ahead of him, she took two steps on her four-inch pumps and promptly tripped. Muttering something obscene about the absurdity of heels, she kept going.

  He worked hard to keep his grin to himself, but it was difficult. This was a personal record for him, starting a show’s turnaround in less than two days.

  There’d been a time in his life when he’d expected perfection from himself and all those around him, when he’d worked sixteen-hour days, living and breathing his job. There’d been a time when he’d been too busy for any pleasure, such as spending time with his beloved brother.

  Well, Daniel was gone now. Too late, Mitch had learned all work was no way to live. Work had a place, yes.

  But so did fun. Unexpectedly, this job could be both, and maybe even more fun than work.

  “Five seconds!”

  He got into position next to his still-fuming co-host and smiled at her. She didn’t return it. “Ah, ah. Remember—”

  “I’ll remember!”

  “Three, two, and…” The director punched a finger at them, and off Mitch went, slowly and precisely measuring out ingredients while making sure to touch Dimi whenever possible, which kept a nice color to her cheeks and fire in her gaze.

  Perfect.

  Then it was time to pull out his baked pie from the oven. He pulled on a mitt, noticing that Dimi very intently watched everything he did with a sort of helplessly fascinated expression.

  He liked that in a way that had nothing to do with work.

  “And now…” He went to the refrigerator and took out the whipped cream, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively for the camera.

  Dimi, who’d just stuck a finger in the leftover cherry mixture, telling their audience how good it was, glanced at him and at what he was holding.

  And choked.

  Mitch took a step toward her, and she backed up.

  He smiled slowly.

  “What are you doing with that?” she demanded.

  He didn’t answer.

  She took another step back, looking every bit as ruffled and wildly sexy as he’d imagined she could.

  She could have no idea how easily she was falling into his vision for the show, because certainly if she did, she wouldn’t be nearly as cooperative, unintentionally or otherwise.

  Knowing the audience was eating this up, he sent her his naughtiest grin.

  “Mitch.”

  “Yep, that’s my name.” He thoroughly and methodically shook the can of whipped cream.

  “The whipped cream,” she said, staring at it. “What are you doing with that?”

  “What do you want to do with it?”

  She sputtered for a moment, then finally seemed to come to her senses. “It’s for the pie.”

  “Well, of course it is.” He set it on the counter. “Whatever did you think it was for? And remember, this show is G-rated.”

  She didn’t say a word, but her eyes smoldered, and he knew she was going to light into him after the show.

  In a sick way, he was looking forward to it.

  4

  DIMI DIDN’T calm down until she’d driven out of the studio and past the small downtown area of Truckee, winding her way around Donner Lake toward her town house. Just the sight of the pristine blue water, dotted with whitecaps from the early evening wind, went a long way toward cooling the steam coming out of her ears.

  Her small building was right on the water, converted from a century-old hotel the rich and famous had frequented in the early 1900’s.

  Normally, she’d hit Cami’s town house first, raiding it for food or maybe some new makeup. Any excuse not to go home and be alone. She didn’t do alone very well, which is why she’d lived with Cami until they’d decided they’d gotten too dependent on each other. That’s when Dimi had bought a place down the path, and then proceeded to spend all her time at Cami’s, anyway.

  Some independence.

  But last month Cami had gone and done the unthinkable. She’d fallen in love. And now her twin believed love was for everyone. She’d been on Dimi’s case to try it.

  But Dimi had been trying to do just that for so long it left a bad taste in her mouth. She was no longer interested.

  Mostly not, anyway.

  Since Cami and Tanner were no doubt right this minute displaying some disgusting amount of affection for each other, she skipped Cami’s place entirely and headed toward her own. She opened her door, kicked off her shoes because her feet were killing her from the stupid heels, and wished she’d remembered to go food shopping.

  Standing in front of the kitchen window, she stared at the lake, letting out a long, shaky breath, realizing she was still wound up tighter than a drum.

  Mitch’s fault, of course.

  She’d weathered the belly button flash fairly well. And then the sashaying across the set for the sake of any potential male viewers. Not to mention the legions of phone calls begging for more Mitch.

  But the whipped cream. He’d really gotten her with the whipped cream.

  It was his face, she decided. Those piercing eyes that saw everything, his sexy mouth. And that heart-stopping grin. He’d shot it at her while holding that can of cream, and her mind had just…shut down.

  Sensory overload.

  And he’d known it, damn him. He’d known it and it had amused him.

  She flipped on the light, determined to figure out some sort of dinner that would include one food group and one food group only—major fat grams.

  Brownie poked her head out.

  “Hungry?” Dimi poured some pellets into the hamster’s bowl. “Here you go.”

  Brownie sniffed at them, then looked at her.

  “I didn’t steal any potato chips from Cami today, sorry.”

  Brownie seemed to sigh, then waddled into her little wooden hut.

  “Hey, the guy at the pet store promised me you’d like those.”

  There came a rustling from within the hut, but no Brownie.

  “I can take you back, you know.”

  “Oh, nice, threatening a helpless little hamster.” Cami shook her head and came into the room.

  Dimi decided not to yell at her sister for scaring her to death, because one, Dimi always entered Cami’s place uninvited, and two, Cami was holding up a bag of barbecue potato chips. “Thank God,” was all Dimi said. She took two sodas out of the refrigerator and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard.

  They poured the entire bag into it and took a seat—on the floor.

  “You ever going to buy furniture?” Cami wondered around a mouthful.

  Too busy eating, Dimi lifted a shoulder.

  “Pretty sad state of affairs. A chef with an empty kitchen. You should really let me decorate.” Cami licked the salt off her fingers one at a time. “It’s ridiculous, you making all that money and not having anyplace to sit.”

  “You know I don’t make all that much money. And anyway, I might be fired soon.”

  “No way.” Cami’s eyes gleamed speculatively. “Enjoyed the show today, by the way. Mitchell Knight is one hot guy, you know.”

  “What does Tanner think of you drooling over another man?”

  “He’s not threatened.” Cami grinned. “I make sure of it.” Then her expression went serious.

  Uh-oh, thought Dimi.

  “About Mitch,” Cami started.

  “No.”

  “You have no idea what I was about to say.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The answer is still no.”

  “You’re the one who gave me the love lecture only a few weeks ago,” Cami said, exasperated. “‘Give Tanner a fair shot, Cami,”’ she mimicked. “Then you started in on how I always sabotage all my relationships to make sure I never fell in love. You said I was using Dad’s seven marriages and Mom’s control freakness to destroy my chance at happiness.”

  “Yeah, well, that was you,” Dimi said, shoving some more potato chips into her mouth.

  “It was me, and it worked.” Cami’s eyes glowed softly. “I fell in love, and it’s wonderful.”

  “Love isn’t for everyone.”

  “Okay, forget the wedded bliss, just go for sexual bliss.”

  Dimi laughed. “Tempting as that sounds, I gave up men, remember?”

  “That’s not the answer, Dimi. How about Mitch? He could be your Mr. Right, and he’s right under your nose.”

  Dimi, who’d just taken a sip of soda, nearly spewed it across the room. “No. No way is Mitch my Mr. Right.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? Because he…because…” Well, heck if she could put her finger on it.

  “Dimi, he can tie a cherry stem with his tongue.” Cami shivered in imagined thrill. “Hello. What more do you need from a man?”

  Dimi wasn’t quite sure.

  “Just kiss him.”

  “What?”

  “Just once.”

  “I am not going to kiss him.”

  Cami looked majorly disappointed.

  “Besides, I don’t think I can handle him,” she admitted. “He’s—”

  “Sexy.”

  “Too sexy.”

  “Are you kidding? There’s no such thing as too sexy!”

  “No, I mean it,” Dimi said firmly. “If I’m ever insane enough to revoke my no-men rule, which I’m not, then I’m going to do it for a nice, comfortable, easy man who doesn’t curl my toes, thank you very much.”

  Cami grinned. “He curls your toes?”

  “Stop it.”

  “You’ve got to go for it.”

  “And you’ve got to get back to Tanner. Go.”

  Cami rose, but at the door, she hesitated. “Just one little kiss. No more, no less. Just try not being so serious for a change. How hard could that be?”

  Pretty damn hard, actually.

  “Think about it, okay?” Cami waited. “Dimi? Okay?”

  As if she could do anything but. “Yeah.”

  MITCH DREAMED about cherry pie. Dreamed about scooping it across a woman’s bare torso, over her softly rounded belly, her ribs, her breasts, then bending his head to nibble it off. Dreamed about moving down that warm body, slowly exploring every inch of it, then shifting up to look into her face before giving her a kiss she’d never forget.

  Only it was him who would never forget. The chocolate-brown eyes gazing up at him, dazed and opaque with desire, were Dimi’s.

  That woke him right up.

  He had no idea why he was dreaming about her, but apparently she wasn’t the only one he’d rendered full of lust with the whipped cream yesterday. And now he was awake and it was only five in the morning. Awake and fully aroused and all alone.

  His own doing, he reminded himself, and got up to take a cold shower.

  As the icy water pummeled him, Daniel’s voice came into his head. Don’t forget to live, man. Enjoy life. Seek it out and do it right.

  Yeah, well, he’d like to do it right. Do Dimi right. But that was out of the question.

  He’d have to settle for finding his pleasure in work. As he dressed, he wondered if Dimi would be nearly as much fun to goad today as she’d been yesterday.

  His anticipatory grin slowly faded as he remembered how ticked off she’d been. He’d expected her to skin him alive, but instead she’d simply vanished.

  What if she didn’t show today?

  Damn, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. He went for the phone, intending to call the studio and have them send a car for her.

  Then he remembered. He wasn’t in Hollywood anymore. The people of Truckee didn’t send cars.

  Sighing, he checked his computer personnel files and pulled up Dimi’s address. Whether Dimi Anderson liked it or not, she was about to be escorted to work.

  By him.

  He had to admit to some surprise when he drove out to her place some time later. It was sitting right on Donner Lake, surrounded by glassy water and high Sierra peaks, and he thought he’d never seen a more idyllic, peaceful, beautiful setting. Given that, Dimi should have been the most relaxed person he knew.

  Not the most uptight.

  No one answered his knock, but he could hear music blaring from within, so he walked around to the unfenced back, counting to make sure he got the right town house. Her back door was ajar, so he pushed it open and peered into her kitchen. “Dimi?”

  No answer, but he could hear her singing, loudly and off-key, which made him grin.

  His serious chef wailing at the top of her lungs?

  Interestingly enough, her kitchen had all the appliances and no furniture, only a cage on the floor opposite the refrigerator. “Dimi?” he called again, going down to his knees to tap lightly on the cage.

  A hamster poked its head out. Solemn black eyes studied him. He whistled softly, and the animal toddled out of its small house and stared at him. He kept whistling as he reached into the cage and stroked a finger down its back. The little thing closed its eyes in ecstasy.

  From behind him, the singing got louder as Dimi moved closer, and suddenly she was in the doorway, eyes wide and on him.

  “Oh!”

  Mitch rose to his feet. “I’m sorry. I knocked and called out. You didn’t answer.”

  She had a hand to her chest, but she no longer looked frightened. More like intrigued, which amused him.

  “You could have knocked again,” she said.

  “Could have, but you were singing pretty loud.”

  She shrugged. “Secret rock-star fantasy.”

  Yesterday she’d done everything in her power to stay away from him. Now, surprisingly, she stepped closer, smiling easily. Easily. Not Dimi’s usual tactic. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” he asked.

  “Okay. I’ll play.” She looked him over with sleepy, inviting eyes. “Why are you here?”

  It wasn’t until she had him in the corner, her hands on either side of him against the counter, that he realized the truth, that there was a very good reason that she’d been singing so loudly without a care, that she was smiling so unlike Dimi, but he decided to play, too. “I’m here to make sure my chef gets to the studio.”

  Cami narrowed her eyes and studied him for a long moment, during which it took all his control not to laugh and blow her cover.

  Then, after that long stare, she leaned in close, lips slightly parted.

  She obviously wanted him to kiss her.

  “How far are you going to take this?” he wondered, his mouth a breath from hers.

  Those expressive eyes blinked, but before she could do anything else, another voice came from the doorway.

  “Cami!”

  The woman in front of Mitch jerked back, turned red as a beet and whirled to face…a horrified Dimi.

  “What are you doing?” Dimi demanded.

  Cami wrung her hands, then must have decided to tough it out, because she shot Mitch an embarrassed glance and shrugged. “I figured if he thought you wanted to kiss him, he might make the first move so you wouldn’t have to.”

  “Oh, my God.” Dimi covered her eyes. “This isn’t happening. You aren’t making a move on my producer.”

  “Hey, I didn’t actually kiss him!” Cami complained. “You don’t have anything to be mad at.”

  Dimi dropped her hand. “I’m telling Mom on you. And then Tanner! My God, what would Tanner think?”

  “Fine. Go right ahead and tattle, just like always.” Cami hightailed it to the kitchen door. “Get me in trouble just because I was trying to help you get a little lucky.” Turning to Mitch, she gave a self-deprecating smile. “I’m sorry I had to use you for that, but surely you can see I was just trying to help things along.”