Cooking Most Deadly by Joanne Pence Page A

murmured.
    Who indeed, she thought, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She was right, suggesting they stay here this evening. His kisses were dizzying, soon driving all thought from her mind. Her arms tightened around him, and she pressed her body against his as their kisses deepened. He even made her ears ring…and ring…and…
    â€œOh! The timer.” She pulled away.
    â€œWhat timer?” he asked.
    Adjusting her clothes she headed toward the kitchen. “Dinner.”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œThis meal,” she said, keeping her voice low and sultry, “will be a seduction in itself.” Then she winked.
    Big blue eyes widened with pleased curiosity.
    She laughed. “Come on, big man. You can help.”
    He followed her into the kitchen and checked pots, pans, and bowls as she proudly announced a dinner of filets mignon, lobster tails, asparagus tips, saffron rice, Caesar salad, red and white wine, and sourdough bread. For dessert, one Italian rum tart for Paavo. She’d given up dessert for Lent, after all. The only thing left to do was to fire up the heavy skillet and put the two thick filets mignon in the bed of melted garlic butter.
    A shave-and-a-haircut beat sounded at the door.
    â€œWatch the filets,” she said to Paavo, who was slicing the sourdough. “I’ll take care of this.”
    She hurried across the living room and peeked through the peephole before opening the door. “I’m busy.”
    â€œAnd hello to you, too,” Stan said cheerfully, slipping past her into the apartment. “Where were you all afternoon?”
    â€œI don’t have time to talk, Stan. Go home.” She stayed at the door.
    â€œBut I brought some dessert for us.” He tossed her a paper bag. “Also, I wanted to tell you about my day today. There was even a strange deliveryman.” He crossed the living room and sank into her sofa.
    â€œThat sounds fascinating,” she said drily. Leaving the door open she looked inside the bag. “One cookie?”
    â€œBut it’s a Mrs. Fields. Very rich. We can split it. How about some coffee? Dinner smells great, by the way. I can tell you about the delivery while we eat.”
    â€œAngie, you’d better check these steaks,” Paavo said, stepping into the dining area from the kitchen. He stopped short, his eyes narrowing as he gave Angie’s neighbor a quick once-over. “Well, well, look who’s here.”
    Stan jumped to his feet. “Oh, I didn’t know you hadcompany, Angie. And here I thought you’d want some intellectual conversation. Oh, well, some other time.” He snatched back the paper bag with the cookie. “By the way,” he said, dropping his voice seductively, “thanks a lot for last night.” He lifted an eyebrow at Paavo as he sauntered from the room. Angie shut the door behind him.
    â€œYou were with Bonnette last night?” Paavo asked, his eyes glacial.
    â€œIt was nothing.” Angie tried to push him back into the kitchen.
    â€œBonnette seemed to find it special.”
    â€œPay no attention to him.”
    â€œYou haven’t said where you two went.”
    â€œNo.” How could she tell him she’d gone with Stan to take a cold, calculated look at the singles scene. She found it wanting. Badly. “We went to the Sound Works.”
    â€œA dance club?”
    She nodded.
    â€œI see.”
    â€œNo, I don’t think you do. Stan said we should go out to celebrate my upcoming audition. I agreed.”
    His gaze was hard. “That’s right. I was busy last night, wasn’t I?”
    â€œI waited, but—”
    â€œIt’s okay, Angie,” he said quietly. “I understand.”
    â€œStop saying you understand! Stan’s a friend.”
    â€œRight. And the Sound Works is the kind of place to go to with a friend. Lots of single people go there—to dance, meet each other. Why shouldn’t