He lifted her to the countertop. She was so beautiful. Her eyes were dark with desire, her mouth pink and swollen from his kisses. Her hair tumbled around her face like molten gold.
Joe's hands shook as he stripped his T-shirt over his head and undid the top fastener on his jeans. He wanted to strip off her jacket, see her breasts. Touch them, and taste them. And he would, the next time, but now the need to have her was too close to insanity.
His control was fast slipping away.
He ran his hands lightly over her thighs as he moved between them. She felt like satin, even to his callused fingertips.
"You're beautiful," he said softly.
Lucy moaned as he stroked the narrow band of cotton that shielded the center of her femininity from him. He put his hand over her, cupped her, and she arched back, her body taut as a drawn bow.
A cry broke from her throat. "Now," he said hoarsely. "Now."
Yes. Ooh, yes. That was what she wanted. To give herself to him, now. To have him take her, now. To be his-to be his-his what?
Lucinda's eyes flew open. The room whirled around her, straightened, and she saw everything, the dark-eyed stranger standing between her legs, the man who'd humiliated her last night and was doing it again, this time, with her help.
She was revolted by it. His actions. Her response. Revolted. and horrified. She came' off the counter in a blur.
"You," she shrieked, "you-you-you ... "
Those weren't the cries of a woman in ecstasy. Even Joe, stumbling backwards, still caught in a haze of sexual heat as he tried to fend off her blows, figured that out.
"You no-good, rotten, evil, cold-blooded son of a bitch ... " She tried to claw at his face. Joe grabbed her wrists and forced her hands to her sides.
"Not cold-blooded," he said. "Those other things, maybe, but definitely not-"
"It was you!" Her eyes were a wild, vivid green. "You were the one who pawed me last night!"
"Pawed you? Baby, I saved your pretty little ass. If I hadn't grabbed you, you'd have made an entrance nobody in that room would ever forget."
"You-you kissed me, you bastard!"
Joe folded his arms over his chest. "Which kiss are we talking about, Lucy?" He narrowed his eyes and flashed a quick, humorless smile. "The one last night, when you tried to deck me?"
"I wish I had, you rat. And it's not Lucy, it's Lucinda. How many times must I tell you that?"
, 'Or the kiss just now. The one that ended up with you trying to climb me like a cat shinnying up a tree."
She snarled, showed her teeth, charged him. Joe laughed, grabbed her by the arms and shoved her back against the counter.
"I should have known," Lucinda panted. "I should have known it was you!"
"Yeah, well, you would have, if you'd been wearing your glasses." He smiled coldly. "Glasses spoil the image, I guess, is that right, baby?"
"Unhand me, Mr. Romano."
Unhand me, Mr. Romano? Joe laughed again. She was really something, this babe. A second ago her choice of language had suited the kind of woman she really was. Now she was doing her best to sound like a heroine straight out of a Victorian novel, but heroines in Victorian novels didn't pop out of cakes wearing teeny-weeny bikinis.
She might be able to fool some people, but not him. Not after the last few mind-blowing minutes.
Lucinda Barry was one clever broad, but he wasn't the village idiot. He knew what she was, a woman who lived by her wits. She could fool a guileless old lady. She could make a man think she was Scheherazade and he was the sultan.
She was a woman who had a kiss that was a weapon. A kiss that could turn a guy into a quivering mass of jelly. Hormonal jelly. Which, he thought coldly, was the only kind of jelly this gorgeous, conniving, let's-pretend cook would know anything about.
The more he found out about her, the more questions he had. Why would a woman so beautiful make herself up to look like the head of the Spinsters Forever Foundation? Why would a woman who made her living turning men on, be into what San Franciscans politely called an alternative life-style?
Why would she want a job as a cook? A cook.
Joe blew out a noisy breath. Lying Lucy was as much a cook as he was. That she'd managed to make a pot of coffee without a recipe was just short of a miracle. Which brought him back to the beginning. Who was she? Why had she taken this job? And what did she want of him?
"Who are you?" Joe demanded gruffly. "You know who I am. I'm Lucinda Barry."
"Come on, lady. You know what I mean.-What do you want here?"
Lucinda twisted against the grip of his hands. "You're hurting me."
"Tough." He knew he was; he could feel his fingers pressing on the fragile bones of her wrist, but her bones were the only things fragile about Miss Lucinda Barry-if that really was her name. "I asked you a question, honey, and I want an answer."
"Don't call me that." "Honey?"
He laughed. Lucinda could have killed him for doing it. This was the second, no, the third time he'd laughed since he'd grabbed her and all but forced himself on her, and it made her hate him even more.
How could such a thing have happened?
She'd been so excited about this job. About working for a sweet-tempered, easygoing man. Instead she'd found herself employed by an arrogant exhibitionist who ran around in a smile and a towel and behaved as if he owned the world. Now, to find out that this-this boor was the person who'd dragged her out of that cake, who'd made her look even more ridiculous than she felt ...
She hadn't wanted to believe it, not even after he'd called her "honey" in that horrible way that made the word sound obscene, or after he'd pulled off her glasses and she'd stared at him long enough to let the blur of the prior night and the reality of her black-haired, blue-eyed, wide-shouldered employer merge into one hateful image.
She'd had no choice but to believe it once he kissed her. There was no mistaking the kiss, or those strong arms. The powerful body. The hard mouth-a mouth that had somehow tricked hers into softening beneath it, into making her blood thicken until her heart almost went into overdrive.
A shudder of rage raced through her body.
The bastard! Thinking he could treat her like some-some little slut. Thinking he could kiss her and get away with it.
Thinking he could behave as if he liked women. As if he wanted a woman. Wanted her.
Outrage gave her the strength she needed. With a wrench, she pulled one hand free of his, knotted it into a fist and pounded it against his chest.
"I am not your honey," she said furiously. "In fact, just hearing the word come out of your mouth makes me sick."
"You're breaking my heart," Joe said as he captured her hand and stilled it. "And you still haven't answered my question. Who are you?"
"You know who I am."
"What I know is that the Mary Poppins get-up is phony." "Mary Poppins was a nanny. I'm a cook."
"Lucretia Borgia was a better cook than you."
Lucinda stiffened. "I am a graduate of-"
"Yeah." Joe grinned, a feral show of gleaming white teeth.
"I can just imagine what you're a graduate of. The last I heard, they don't teach broads to cook in those places."
"Your mind is even more filthy than your insinuations! And your grandmother told me you were a gentleman!"
"I am, when I'm dealing with a lady. Once again, gorgeous.
What are you doing in my home?"
Gorgeous? Her? Was that what he thought? She wasn't "gorgeous," she never had been. She was well-bred. Well-mannered. She could use a fish knife. She knew the difference between tea and high tea.
But "gorgeous"? Her? Did he really think ...
Oh, God. She was standing here, arguing with a half-dressed ape who evidently batted from both sides of the plate, wondering if he really thought she was gorgeous-and she didn't have her pants on.
Where were they? On the floor? On the counter?
On the toaster, where Joe Romano, the most evil of evil men, had fl
ung them.
Lucinda drew herself up. "Let go of my wrist." "I will, after you answer some questions."
"I am not answering anything until I put on my pants." Joe blinked. Her face had turned bright red but she was holding her ground. And she was right. She was still standing in front of him dressed in a white chef's jacket, white panties, white shoes ... and nothing else.
And no wonder. Her pants were draped over the toaster, like the debris that remains after a hurricane passes.
He smiled, snagged the pants. When she grabbed for them, he lifted them just out of her reach.
"These, you mean?"
Lucinda folded her arms. "Just give them to me."
"Sure." Joe twirled the pants on one finger. "As soon as you tell me what I want to know."
Her face turned even redder. "Give me those pants," she said, and lunged. It was definitely a bad move, because it brought her right up against Joe Romano's hard, naked chest.
Her heart gave a quick, stumbling beat. She pulled back, put as much space between herself and him as she could manage, and glared.
"Stealing a woman's clothes, Romano? Is that the only way a man like you can get a woman naked?"
It sounded like a good line to her, but Joe only grinned.
"Anybody who knows me can tell you how wrong you are, honey. Now, let's come at this like reasonable adults. You want the pants? I want answers. Sounds like a fair trade to me."