Summer Desserts Read Online Free PDF

her hand and pressed it dramatically to his lips. Blake didn’t have to overhear the words to gauge the intent. He felt a twist of annoyance that, with some effort, he forced into amusement.
    The man was speaking rapidly while working his way up Summer’s arm. She laughed, shook her head and gently nudged him away. Blake watched the man gaze after her like a forlorn puppy before he clutched his own chef’s hat to his heart.
    Quite an effect she has on the male of the species, Blake mused. Again dispassionately, he reflected that there was a certain type of woman who drew men without any visible effort. It was an innate…skill, he supposed was the correct term. A skill he didn’t admire or condemn, but simply mistrusted. A woman like that could manipulate with the flick of the wrist. On a personal level, he preferred women who were more obvious in their gifts.
    He positioned himself well out of the way while the cacophony and confusion of cleaning up began. It was a skill he figured wouldn’t hurt in her position as head chef of his Philadelphia Cocharan House.
    In nine more than the minute she’d claimed she’d be, Summer strolled back into the kitchen. She’d chosen the thin poppy-colored silk because it was perfectly simple—so simple it had a tendency to cling to every curve and draw every eye. Her arms were bare but for one ornately carved gold bracelet she wore just above the elbow. Drop spiral earrings fell almost to her shoulders. Unbound now, her hair curled a bit around her face from the heat and humidity of the kitchen.
    She knew the result was part eccentric, part exotic. Just as she knew it transmitted a primal sexuality. She dressed as she did—from jeans to silks—for her own pleasure and at her own whim. But when she saw the fire, quickly banked, in Blake’s eyes she was perversely satisfied.
    No iceman, she mused—of course she wasn’t interested in him in any personal way. She simply wanted to establish herself as a person, an individual, rather than a name he wanted neatly signed on a contract. Her work clothes were jumbled into a canvas tote she carried in one hand, while over her other shoulder hung a tiny exquisitely beaded purse. In a rather regal gesture, she offered Blake her hand.
    “Ready?”
    “Of course.” Her hand was cool, small and smooth. He thought of streaming sunlight and wet, fragrant grass. Because of it, his voice became cool and pragmatic. “You’re lovely.”
    She couldn’t resist. Humor leaped into her eyes. “Of course.” For the first time she saw him grin—fast, appealing. Dangerous. In that moment she wasn’t quite certain who held the upper hand.
    “My driver’s waiting outside,” Blake told her smoothly.Together they walked from the brightly lit, noisy kitchen out into the moonlit street. “I take it you were satisified with your part of the governor’s meal. You didn’t choose to stay for the criticism or compliments.”
    As she stepped into the back of the limo, Summer sent him an incredulous look. “Criticism? The bombe is my specialty, Mr. Cocharan. It’s always superb. I need no one to tell me that.” She got in the car, smoothed her skirt and crossed her legs.
    “Of course,” Blake murmured, sliding beside her, “it’s a complicated dish.” He went on conversationally, “If my memory serves me, it takes hours to prepare properly.”
    She watched him remove a bottle of champagne from ice and open it with only a muffled pop. “There’s very little that can be superb in a short amount of time.”
    “Very true.” Blake poured champagne into two tulip glasses and, handing Summer one, smiled. “To a lengthy association.”
    Summer gave him a frank look as the streetlights flickered into the car and over his face. A bit Scottish warrior, a bit English aristocrat, she decided. Not a simple combination. Then again, simplicity wasn’t always what she looked for. With only a brief hesitation, she touched her glass to his. “Perhaps,” she