One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

“An hour of Lifetime movies with Myla?”

“Worse.” An evil smile spread across his face, his teeth pearly white with ominousness. “If I win, you’re with me. No holds barred, no tricks, and no conditions.” Laughter played across every strong feature. He thought he had her cornered. “Caveman-ish or not, you’re my woman.”

“That’s how you plan to win me over? By forcing my hand?”

“Do you know a better way to get you to do anything?”

Maybe he did have her cornered.

“Fine, we’ve struck an accord. The competition will begin at six. That’ll give us four hours to get this poppin’.”

“May the best man win,” she added.

“Oh, he will.” He laughed.

She chuckled with him, unsettled by her sudden hope that he was right.

FROM THE DIARY OF AVERY FORRESTER

On the scale of bad ideas, this cooking competition has to be somewhere between challenging that maharaja to an arm-wrestling contest and actually agreeing to write in this journal. Either way, it’s safe to say it wasn’t my smartest move.

I’ve watched the Food Channel before, and it’s not like I can’t cook without burning my house down or anything…it’s just that there have been enough close calls for me to seriously consider having a fire marshal on hand.

Oh well, I think it’s safe to say this isn’t about the food—it’s not even about the sex. I mean, it is a little about the sex, but mostly? This is about Holden getting what he wants.

And maybe what I want, too.

Jeez, I mean, who even knows anymore? Between his contract being up and his wanting something serious, I can’t get my head working right long enough to even think of what I want.

Except my gut already knows.

It’s always known, ever since he pulled up next to me in that damn red sports car all those years ago. Ever since I gave him a piece of me to take with him.

It doesn’t even bother me that he’s the only man I’ve ever been with, because I know that I’ll never be bored, never wonder about anyone else. I’ll already have the best, and he’ll be all mine.

Okay, no, too cheesy.

Oh, cheese. That’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll make grilled cheese. How hard could that be?

…or maybe it’s just simple enough to win?

But I can’t win. I’ll just have to…

Guh, I still can’t think.

Chapter Fifteen

“I can’t believe this.” Holden called to Avery from her kitchen later that afternoon.

She was lounging on the sofa, the way she had since they made their deal. A stale bag of sour cream and onion chips was nestled between her legs as she stared at the television, watching yet another cooking show.

“Shhh, this lady is talking about how to make cheese by hand.” Avery’d been poised over a little pad all afternoon, jotting down notes from time to time. It was a new experience for her, to say the least.

After seeing her stunts in high school, he was half convinced she would try to hire Alton Brown and claim right of proxy.

“How can you function with all this crap in your system?” He gestured to the dining room table. He’d cleaned out every cupboard and cabinet in the place, and what he’d found was basically the stuff of nightmares.

Cans of ham, pickled cactus, and bags upon bags of junk food, all either half eaten or expired. He hadn’t had the heart to explore the fridge yet. The battlefield he could manage, but that frozen tundra was sure to be filled with food only fit for the mouths of the damned.