Secret Ingredient: Love Page 9

  Which was why his profound reaction to kissing Fran the day before had shaken him to the core. It had taken all of a second after her lips touched his for his heart rate to zoom off the chart. It had taken him a lot longer to catch his breath. In fact, whenever he was around her, he couldn’t swear that it was back to normal.

  During the sleepless night that followed, he’d told himself she’d just taken him by surprise with her kiss attack. And he almost believed that. In fact, he was choosing to believe it. Because he was tired of all the questions. It was Saturday. They were off work. And he found himself looking forward to spending the rest of the day with her, even if it was to run interference with her family.

  “Are you ready?” Fran asked him.

  “Not if cars are an indicator,” he said, pushing his glasses up more securely on his nose. “I’m definitely out of my league.”

  “It’s not too late to back out,” she said, grinning.

  For the umpteenth time since picking her up, Alex noticed her mouth. He knew now how sweet she tasted, how soft she was. And he wanted to kiss her again. That healthy dose of disloyalty to the love he’d lost was followed by guilt.

  He shook his head. “Marchettis are not cowards.”

  She opened her car door. “Okay. C’mon, hero. Let’s do it.”

  Alex went around to her side. She was holding a plastic container with the birthday cake that she’d made for her mom, and he took it from her. Then she reached into the rear seat, a generous description for his car, he thought wryly, and retrieved the present she’d bought for her mother. With the cake in one hand, he rested his other at the small of her back, and a jolt of electricity zinged him from the innocent touch. It was a good thing he had only one free hand. That was all that prevented him from pulling her into his arms for a repeat kiss.

  Fortunately it was just a short distance to the brick-covered front step. The sturdy-looking oak door was inset with leaded, beveled glass etched with flowers. Pretty impressive, he thought.

  Fran knocked loudly just before she opened the door to let them in. “Hello,” she called out. “Ma? Daddy?”

  “In here,” a female voice answered.

  They walked over the wooden entryway floor. An archway to their left opened to a large kitchen with an oak table and eight ladder-back chairs in the nook. White shutters topped by a blue floral valance covered the windows. Country art and dried flowers decorated the walls. An older woman stood a few feet away by the stove, her wooden spoon poised over a steaming pot. She was about Frans’s height, but plump, with gray-streaked brown hair. She must have turned toward the doorway when her daughter had called out because expectation was clearly written on her face.

  “Francesca,” she said, smiling with pleasure.

  “Hi, Ma. Happy birthday.” She moved into the woman’s arms for a hug.

  Her mother met his gaze. “This must be Alex. And he brought a cake.”

  Fran half turned to include him. “Alex Marchetti, my mother—Aurora Carlino.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand. Then he set the cake on the counter beside the stove. “Fran made the cake, Mrs. Carlino.”

  “I knew that. Call me Aurora.” She put her sturdy hand in his. “The pleasure is mine, Alex. Welcome to our home. I’ll get my husband and sons for you to meet.”

  “Wait, Ma.” Fran put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Why don’t we give Alex a breather before we bring on Act Two?” She frowned. “The boys are here. Why are you in the kitchen?”

  “Because the boys are here.” The woman shrugged, raised her eyebrows and managed to look nonchalant all at the same time. “Why wouldn’t I be in the kitchen? I’m cooking dinner for my family.”

  “But it’s your birthday, Ma. Daddy and the boys shouldn’t be letting you work today. The least they could have done is order in. You should be pampered.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s what—”

  “Give me that spoon,” Fran said, taking it from her mother.

  “About time you got here, Francesca Isabella.” A rugged, older-looking man stood in the doorway at the far end of the room. He was taller than Alex, about six foot three, and had a full head of thick, wavy gray hair. “You can take over for your mother. Put to good use what you learned at that hoity-toity cooking school.”

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said. She walked over to him and kissed his cheek, but Alex didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed, or the tight look around her mouth.

  “How are you, cupcake?” he asked, giving her a fond bear hug. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your young man?”

  Alex saw her stiffen more. Here we go, he thought. Time to throw a block. He walked forward. “Alex Marchetti, Mr. Carlino. Nice to meet you.” He felt his hand squeezed in a viselike grip.

  “Leonardo Carlino,” Fran’s father answered. “How did you meet my Frannie?”

  Alex glanced at her and wondered how she could stiffen any more without breaking. He wanted to push her behind him, or better yet, fold her in his arms for safekeeping. But he met her father’s gaze and said, “We work together. She’s creating recipes for my company.”

  The older man pointed. “You’re the frozen food fella she told us about.”

  “Will wonders never cease,” Fran muttered. “He actually listened.”

  Alex shot a quick look at her, noticing that her tense shoulders were now nearly around her ears. He winked at her, then smiled at her father. “Yes, sir. I’m the frozen food fella.”

  “How long have you and Frannie been going out?” Aurora asked.

  Alex expected fireworks from his chef, but all he saw was steam. Or maybe that was from the pot she was stirring. But in the time he’d known her, she’d never been so quiet. She always spoke her mind loud and clear. It was one in a long list of things he admired about her. And he missed her biting wit now. But before he could answer the question directed at him, four guys wandered into the room. Alex guessed that these were “the boys.” He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but four burly, athletic-looking guys hadn’t exactly come to mind.

  “Hey, Frannie,” the first one said, grabbing her up in his arms. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Max,” she answered, giving him a squeeze.

  One by one, each brother bear-hugged her, wooden spoon and all. They looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties, and every last one was at least as tall as their father. If Alex didn’t know better, he would swear all of them spent their waking hours working out.

  In their Carlino uniform of T-shirt and jeans it was easy to see that each had impressive-looking upper body strength. Every last one had their father’s dark brown eyes and thick, wavy black hair. If the entertainment business had been their calling, he hadn’t a doubt that Hollywood would embrace them with open arms. Not to mention a good portion of the female population in general.

  “Who’s this, Sis?” the one who looked to be oldest asked.

  “Frannie, introduce your young man to your brothers,” her mother ordered.

  “He’s not my…” She sighed heavily and shook her head. “I’ll go in birth order.” She pointed with her wooden spoon at a man with a small uneven scar on his chin. “This is my oldest brother, Max. Beside him is Mike, who got all the family charm and people skills,” she said, pinching his cheek fondly. “He reminds me of your brother Joe,” she said, glancing at Alex. “Next is Sam, the smart one.”

  “And what are the rest of us? Chopped liver?” Max asked good-naturedly.

  “Yes,” she said sweetly. “And last but not least is my brother John.”

  “Hey, I’ve got people skills,” he said.

  She grinned at him. “Yes, you do. As long as those people are female.” She met Alex’s gaze. “Johnny Carlino is the brooding bad boy of the family. Women love him and throw themselves at him on an annoyingly regular basis, in embarrassingly large numbers. But he’s not interested and he won’t tell me why.” She pointed her spoon at Alex. “A
lthough if you have a change of heart about looking, he could give you a refresher course.”

  “Why would he be looking?” her father asked. “He’s got you.”

  “He doesn’t have me—”

  Before she could finish her rebuttal or get a really good mad going, Johnny grabbed her around the waist and lifted her easily off her feet. “When I meet a lady as smart and pretty as my little sister, maybe I’ll think twice. And if she’s as good a cook—”

  “Put me down,” she said, slapping his hands. “Women have more to offer than preparing meals, you know.”

  “Yeah,” Sam agreed. “You keep reminding us about that.”

  “For all the good it’s done the lot of you. I don’t understand how you’ve all managed to stay unattached,” she said, smiling fondly at the group.

  “Speaking of attached, you haven’t completed the introductions. Who’s the guy?” Max asked.

  “We’re not attached. And this is Alex Marchetti—”

  “The frozen food fella?” Mike Carlino asked.

  “That’s me,” Alex agreed.

  “Where are your manners, you guys?” Fran asked. “Were you raised by wolves? Isn’t it time to do the handshake thing? Or the grunting, bonding and back slapping that goes along with it?”

  Sam tugged a lock of her hair. “You have to get over this need you have to stereotype, Sis.”

  She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a product of my environment.”

  Alex wondered if he was the only one who got the hidden zinger. Her environment had been filled with love. No doubt about that. And not so subtle pressure, if the last few minutes were anything to judge by. Her parents wanted him and Fran to be a couple. But he’d been warned about that.

  One by one “the boys” stuck out their hands for Alex to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, suppressing the urge to flex his fingers after the workout his hand had gotten.

  Leo Carlino cleared his throat. “We’re missing the football game. It’s on in the other room. Come join us, Alex.”

  Alex looked at Fran and almost winced at the anxiety, abandonment and anger that darkened her eyes. If he had to guess, he would bet she was fried about being relegated to the kitchen, as if by virtue of her gender that’s where she belonged. He also knew she wouldn’t walk away and leave her mother here to cook.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked Aurora.

  Before she could speak, Leo answered. “Leave this to the women.”

  “Thank you, Alex,” Aurora said. “My daughter and I can take care of things. You would just be in the way. Join the men. Everything will be ready in about a half hour.”

  He looked at Fran, studying her for a reaction.

  She nodded. “It’s okay, Alex.”

  But she didn’t look okay and he had to fight the urge to fix that.

  After dinner, everyone withdrew to the family room for cake. On the tour of the house, Max had explained to Alex that this had once been a tandem, three-car garage. They had converted it into an L-shaped room large enough for a fireplace with raised, used-brick hearth, and a billiards table on the other side, sort of around the corner. There was a grouping of leather sofas and blue-and-green plaid wing chairs, with a coffee table in the center. In the corner was a big screen TV. They had almost completely remodeled the house, which was large and elegant, yet homey and comfortable. He could see why Carlino construction was so successful.

  While they waited to do the birthday cake, everyone sat around chatting.

  “Did you get approval on those plans you drew up for that office building in Santa Monica?” Leo asked. “Max is an architect,” he confided to Alex.

  His oldest son nodded. “The CEO only had two or three changes. I thought it was going to take a couple more passes before we got the go-ahead.”

  “Good.” Leo smiled approvingly.

  “I had a really good week, too,” Fran said. She sat on the end of the sofa across from him, sticking candles in the cake. “The Marchettis approved my variation of their restaurant recipes for the launch of their frozen food campaign.”

  “Ahead of schedule, too,” Alex interjected.

  “That’s good,” Leo said absently. “Mike, what about an estimate for that strip mall in Thousand Oaks? Did you give them a bid?”

  Alex saw the disappointment on Fran’s face, and her shoulders drooped as her father brushed her off. She got up and left when he directed his attention to his second-born son.

  “Sure did, Dad. But no decision yet. They have to take ours to the board along with two others. If I had to guess, I’d say we’ve got a good shot at it.”

  “Nice job, son.”

  Fran reentered the room with dessert plates and forks. “Dad, did I tell you how much everyone liked the original recipe I created? The Marchettis unanimously agreed to include it in the first entrées that go on the market. When I add that to my résumé, it will do a lot for my career—”

  “Career? Cooking?” Leo smiled indulgently.

  “I’m making a living,” she reminded him.

  He shrugged, then glanced at Alex as he raised one eyebrow. “A husband and family. Now that’s living.” Then he turned his attention to his third born. “Sam, can you put together the crew? If we get that Santa Monica project, we’re going to need the best to bring that building in on time and within budget.”

  His son nodded. “If we get the go-ahead, I’ll find the manpower we need.”

  “I don’t know how you manage it, son, but you always seem to get the job done.”

  Alex thought Fran looked shell-shocked or steamrollered as she sat on the end of the sofa and lit the birthday candles on the cake. When she completed the task, everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to Aurora.

  “My job is going really well,” Fran said when there was quiet again. She’d pulled herself together for another shot at her share of the attention. “Alex and I—”

  “Speaking of Alex,” her father said, looking at him. “What do you think of my Frannie? She’s a good cook, don’t you agree?”

  “Dad, don’t put him on the spot,” she pleaded.

  “If I didn’t, she wouldn’t be working for me.” Alex smiled at her as he took the cake she handed him. “Your daughter is very good at what she does. She’s got a knack for adapting recipes, not to mention creating her own. She has the potential for a long and successful career in the food service industry,” he added, meeting her father’s gaze.

  Alex held his temper—barely. He was angry that no one stood up for her. Everyone ignored her achievements. No wonder she was antirelationship and marriage. No wonder she shied away from giving her heart to a man. She feared she would lose herself in the process. He was here to run interference and, by God, that’s what he would do.

  “Thanks to Fran, we have a very good chance of getting a hefty share of the four-billion-dollar-a-year frozen food market,” he said. He glanced around at the members of her family and watched as all their eyebrows raised like a stadium of fans doing the wave.

  “Did you say billion?” Leo asked.

  “You heard right. I aim to grab a hefty share of that market. But I couldn’t do it without Fran. You should be very proud of her.”

  “She sure knows her way around a kitchen,” Leo agreed. “She’ll make someone a good wife. When she walks down the aisle to her husband someday, it will make me very proud.”

  Alex almost lost it. He wanted to shake the man until his teeth rattled. He looked at Fran and noticed the high color in her cheeks. She seemed to shrink into herself, and he knew she’d given up. The little-girl-lost look tugged at his heart.

  “Frannie, why don’t you finish cutting your mother’s cake?” Leo said. “Everyone has to have at least a bite or it’s bad luck.”

  Without a word, she did as he asked, and passed around the plates. She took one bite and set her plate on the coffee table.

  Alex tasted the black forest cake and felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. “Fran, this
is really good,” he said. “We may have you create a line of frozen desserts, too.”

  “Thanks, Alex,” she answered, without her characteristic spirit.

  He waited for everyone to compliment her. They all nodded agreement, but no one said anything. Anger coursed through him.

  Alex finished his cake and put his plate on the table. “Do you have any idea how talented Fran is? Not just any chef—man or woman—could do what she did—”

  “Do you know how to shoot pool?” Fran interrupted him.

  “Yes.” He knew she was distracting him, and suspected she was heading him off from a family confrontation. He took a deep breath, releasing some of his annoyance. “Does that table over there really work or is it just a decoration?”

  “It’s fully functioning.”

  “Watch out, Alex,” Max interjected. “Frannie goes for the jugular.”

  “He’s not kidding,” Sam added. “She’s good. Watch out or she’ll beat the pants off you.”

  Alex laughed, then met Fran’s gaze. “Are you challenging me to a game?”

  “I am,” she answered, standing.

  “Then I should warn you. I was the pool champion of my fraternity house in college.” He put his empty plate on the coffee table and stood up, following her.

  “If you’re trying to intimidate me, I should tell you it’s a waste of time,” Fran said, handing him a cue stick. “I have nerves of steel.”

  “So I noticed,” he said, nodding in the direction of the Carlino clan conversing on the other side of the room.

  She shook her head slightly and said, “Do you want to break or should I?”

  “Are you going to cheat?” Alex asked with a small smile.

  If it involved kissing, he hoped she would cheat big time. The mere thought made his pulse do a jig, and he grew hot all over.

  “I don’t have to cheat,” she answered, eyes sparkling. “Winning isn’t based on strength, but skill. And I have enough to beat you fair and square.”

  “Okay. How would you like to put your money where your mouth is?” he asked.

  Why had he said that? He was his own worst enemy when it came to Fran’s irresistible lips.