Grill Me, Baby Read Online Free PDF

murmured dryly.
    He grinned shamelessly. “I like to think so . ” Paolo finished sprinkling the basil over the crostini and handed one to Michaela.
    Before she could respond, the front door flung open and three giggling girls in bikini tops and sarongs sauntered into his apartment.
    “Hey, Paolo, got enough for us?” a Pamela Anderson wannabe asked.
    “Yeah, smells delish,” added her identical twin. “We couldn’t resist popping in.”
    “Paolo, amor , the aroma in the hallway would tempt a saint. What are you making?” a sexy, tanned brunette asked as she sashayed toward him.
    “I would invite you to stay and eat, but I’m in the middle of a business dinner.” He indicated Michaela. “This is Chef Michaela. We’re competing for the new cooking show I told you about.” He passed around a platter. “Here, have some crostini .”
    “Hi.” Michaela tried to sound friendly, but she wasn’t thrilled about the interruption or the familiarity of the sexy babes.
    The three of them sized up Michaela’s buttoned-up chef tunic and barely acknowledged her with a polite nod. Evidently, she posed no threat.
    “Maki, these are my neighbors. The twins are Sasha and Suki. And this is their roommate, Elena,” he said, nodding toward the brunette. “Elena owns Cheeky Chic, a Brazilian bikini shop in South Beach. Elena’s like me, we both have Italian mothers.”
    Michaela smiled politely and watched the girls eat the crostini and lavish compliments on Paolo. He, in turn, was basking in their flirting and enjoying himself immensely.
    “Paolo, can we tempt you for a little swim?” Elena sidled up to him. “We were on our way to the pool.”
    “Not today, Elena.” Paolo’s smile broadened and those rakish dimples appeared, seeming to wink at her. “I really am in the middle of a business meeting. Maybe tomorrow night.”
    Michaela told herself not to be bothered. She didn’t know why the idea of Paolo carousing in a pool with three bikini-clad bombshells annoyed her, but it did. She was glad when they finally left.
    Determined to seem unfazed, Michaela asked, “What part of Italy is your mother from?”
    “Mamá was born in Buenos Aires, but her mother was from Firenze. When my grandmother’s family moved to Buenos Aires, she met my grandfather, who was from the States.”
    “No wonder your English is so good.”
    “Thanks. Have you been to Italy?”
    “I spent a year in Paris, studying at Le Cordon Bleu. That summer, I toured Europe, but spent most of my time in Spain and Italy. Tuscany was my favorite region.” Michaela took a final, crunchy bite of crostini and sipped more wine.
    “Mine too,” he said, beaming. Paolo grabbed a dishtowel and tucked it in the front of his jeans, apron-style. He turned to the stove. “We’re almost ready to eat.”
    Michaela watched him sauté fresh haricots verts in a liberal amount of garlic and green olive oil. She checked out the grill section of the six-burner, Jenn Air stove. “You’re not grilling tonight?”
    “Nah, only the crostini . I prefer to grill meat outdoors or at the restaurant.”
    She got up from the barstool and peeked through the glass oven door. “Roast pork tenderloin and potato-fennel gratin.” She inhaled the savory aroma. “You must have added cream and flavored the gratin with vermouth. Am I right?”
    His eyes gleamed with admiration. “You have an amazing sense of smell.”
    Michaela smiled. “My taste buds are even better.”
    “I’ll have to remember that.” Paolo’s glance rested on her mouth briefly and then returned to gaze into her eyes. “Move aside, mujer , I need to work.”
    His warm breath tickled her sensitive ear. That and his firm hand on her waist sent a hot thrill coursing through her. He was a lethal combination—an exotic chef with sexy hands making killer food. To her surprise, he suddenly launched into a Spanish ballad as he turned back toward the oven. She had to hand it to him—Paolo was pure