moisture I see on your lower lip?” inquired Elliot. “Salivating over your Italian Stallion or should I call him your Argentinean Chorizo?”
“Neither, you Flaming Baked Alaskan,” Dan, the brawny, good-looking line chef, mumbled under his breath, surprising both Michaela and Elliot.
Elliot snickered. “It’s called Baked Alaska, darling.”
“The kids are going to be here any minute, Elliot,” Michaela said.
A pout played on his lips as Elliot replied, “Forget the munchkins. When are you cooking with your succulent lamb chop?”
Michaela tried not to smile. “I don’t think Paolo would like you to call him that.”
“Too bad. He and Dan have a lot in common.” Elliot gave the strong, athletic man beside him a sidelong glance. Dan Haden hailed from El Paso and he was way taller and stronger-built than Elliot. Dan once owned a thriving Tex Mex restaurant until he lost everything to his ex-wife and partner in a contentious divorce. “Isn’t that right, cowboy? Love your boots,” he drawled, sending Dan a daring wink.
From the grim look on Dan’s face, Michaela could tell the big Texan wasn’t amused. He had probably been dealing with Elliot’s banter all morning.
“Don’t make me shut you up, Elliot,” Dan snarled, not looking up from stirring the Jamaican conch chowder. “I’ll kick your scrawny ass back to your crib.”
Elliot giggled. “Ooh, tough love, my Texas Longhorn? But I don’t have a crib, it’s more like a throne. I also don’t have a scrawny ass—”
“Get back to work, Elliot,” Michaela said. “Behave yourself and stop the nicknames.”
“ You don’t seem to mind when I call you a culinary goddess,” Elliot pointed out.
“That’s because I am,” Michaela declared, smiling benevolently as she used a clean kitchen cloth to wipe up any remaining herbs that had fallen on the edge of the plate. She placed the towel in a laundry bin just as the phone rang on the wall beside her.
“Spa kitchen, Michaela Willoughby,” she said into the receiver.
“Hey, it’s Lisa. Any chance you can come to the massage room now?”
“Can I come later? The kids are about to arrive.”
“It’ll only be for a few minutes.”
Michaela wondered what was up with Lisa. It was out of character for her to call the kitchen. They usually chatted in person after work.
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” Turning to Elliot, Michaela said, “I have to leave for a sec. I’ll be back before the kids get here. Please set everything out on the counters so we can get started right away when I get back.”
Elliot gave a queenly sniff. “You don’t have to remind me of my duties.”
“If you don’t, I will,” Dan muttered.
Elliot’s face brightened as he puffed up his chest and straightened to his full five foot six inch frame. “There you go again, always toying with me.”
“Give it up, Elliot,” Michaela whispered. “Stop trying to get a rise out of him.”
“A rise is exactly what I was hoping for. Party pooper,” Elliot grumbled, not bothering to hide his sly grin.
Michaela left in search of Lisa. When she passed by the reception desk, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of “the succulent lamb chop” sitting in the desk armchair, hunched over, with Francine massaging his broad shoulders.
“Paolo? What are you doing here?” Michaela asked, not thrilled to see Francine’s hands all over him. The expression on the receptionist’s face was positively dreamy.
“Maki! I was just asking for you.” Paolo peered at her from his bent head position. His hair fell forward, shading his face in ebony layers.
Michaela regarded him dubiously. “While you were getting a massage?”
“Poor Paolo has a stiff neck. I was helping him get the kinks out.”
“Looks like your hidden talents are wasted at the front desk,” Michaela observed dryly.
Francine didn’t respond. She just kept digging her hands into his shoulders, eliciting contented groans
“Neither, you Flaming Baked Alaskan,” Dan, the brawny, good-looking line chef, mumbled under his breath, surprising both Michaela and Elliot.
Elliot snickered. “It’s called Baked Alaska, darling.”
“The kids are going to be here any minute, Elliot,” Michaela said.
A pout played on his lips as Elliot replied, “Forget the munchkins. When are you cooking with your succulent lamb chop?”
Michaela tried not to smile. “I don’t think Paolo would like you to call him that.”
“Too bad. He and Dan have a lot in common.” Elliot gave the strong, athletic man beside him a sidelong glance. Dan Haden hailed from El Paso and he was way taller and stronger-built than Elliot. Dan once owned a thriving Tex Mex restaurant until he lost everything to his ex-wife and partner in a contentious divorce. “Isn’t that right, cowboy? Love your boots,” he drawled, sending Dan a daring wink.
From the grim look on Dan’s face, Michaela could tell the big Texan wasn’t amused. He had probably been dealing with Elliot’s banter all morning.
“Don’t make me shut you up, Elliot,” Dan snarled, not looking up from stirring the Jamaican conch chowder. “I’ll kick your scrawny ass back to your crib.”
Elliot giggled. “Ooh, tough love, my Texas Longhorn? But I don’t have a crib, it’s more like a throne. I also don’t have a scrawny ass—”
“Get back to work, Elliot,” Michaela said. “Behave yourself and stop the nicknames.”
“ You don’t seem to mind when I call you a culinary goddess,” Elliot pointed out.
“That’s because I am,” Michaela declared, smiling benevolently as she used a clean kitchen cloth to wipe up any remaining herbs that had fallen on the edge of the plate. She placed the towel in a laundry bin just as the phone rang on the wall beside her.
“Spa kitchen, Michaela Willoughby,” she said into the receiver.
“Hey, it’s Lisa. Any chance you can come to the massage room now?”
“Can I come later? The kids are about to arrive.”
“It’ll only be for a few minutes.”
Michaela wondered what was up with Lisa. It was out of character for her to call the kitchen. They usually chatted in person after work.
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” Turning to Elliot, Michaela said, “I have to leave for a sec. I’ll be back before the kids get here. Please set everything out on the counters so we can get started right away when I get back.”
Elliot gave a queenly sniff. “You don’t have to remind me of my duties.”
“If you don’t, I will,” Dan muttered.
Elliot’s face brightened as he puffed up his chest and straightened to his full five foot six inch frame. “There you go again, always toying with me.”
“Give it up, Elliot,” Michaela whispered. “Stop trying to get a rise out of him.”
“A rise is exactly what I was hoping for. Party pooper,” Elliot grumbled, not bothering to hide his sly grin.
Michaela left in search of Lisa. When she passed by the reception desk, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of “the succulent lamb chop” sitting in the desk armchair, hunched over, with Francine massaging his broad shoulders.
“Paolo? What are you doing here?” Michaela asked, not thrilled to see Francine’s hands all over him. The expression on the receptionist’s face was positively dreamy.
“Maki! I was just asking for you.” Paolo peered at her from his bent head position. His hair fell forward, shading his face in ebony layers.
Michaela regarded him dubiously. “While you were getting a massage?”
“Poor Paolo has a stiff neck. I was helping him get the kinks out.”
“Looks like your hidden talents are wasted at the front desk,” Michaela observed dryly.
Francine didn’t respond. She just kept digging her hands into his shoulders, eliciting contented groans
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