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“Uh-oh,” Ronnie said, giggling.
Ace wiped his lips with his napkin. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t usually drink much because wine … um, it puts me in the mood.”
Ace smirked and laughed along with her. “If I’d known that’s all I had to do, we could have just stayed in the hotel room with a bottle of wine.”
“How long will it take us to get back there?” she asked, circling the rim of her glass with her finger.
“Too long,” he said. “Besides, we don’t have to go back right away. We’ve got this room all to ourselves. No one will interrupt us.”
“Are you sure? What about Phillipe?”
“He’s not coming back. Come here.”
Ronnie got out of her seat and slowly walked over to straddle Ace. “Phillipe forgot to tell you what goes best with Château Margaux,” she whispered.
“Oh, yeah. And just what is that?” he asked, slipping his hands around her waist and cupping her backside.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she suckled on his earlobe, then whispered in his ear. “Me.”–
About the Author
ROBYN AMOS
worked a multitude of day jobs while pursuing a career in writing after graduating from college with a degree in psychology. Then she married her real-life romantic hero, a genuine rocket scientist, and she was finally able to live her dream of writing full-time. Since her first book was published in 1997, Robyn has written tales of romantic comedy and suspense for several publishers, including Kensington, Harlequin Books, and HarperCollins. A native to the Washington, D.C., metropolitan area, Robyn currently resides in Odenton, Maryland.
Romancing the Chef
ROBYN AMOS
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter 1
Veronica Howard stretched her aching muscles. Her step aerobics class had been especially rigorous today, and she knew she’d pay the price tomorrow.
Ronnie was thirty years old and a former couch potato. So when it came to exercise, her body was in a constant state of rebellion.
“After you’ve done it for a while, you’ll start to love it,” her best friend, Cara Gray, a former fitness instructor at the trendy Tower Vista health club, had often told her. But Ronnie had been working out seriously for over a year … and she still hated it.
Ronnie headed from the locker room to the club’s juice bar, The Big Squeeze, where she and Cara hung out after their workouts. The state-of-the-art gym in Bethesda, Maryland, was a bit of a drive from her new town house in Washington, D.C., but it was worth it to keep up their tradition. Without Cara’s constant pep talks, Ronnie would have quit a dozen different times already.
Even though Cara was now helping her husband, A.J., run their computer consulting business, the women still met at the gym three times a week. But her best friend didn’t need the workouts. Cara’s years of physical fitness had apparently made her body fat resistant even after three kids. But Ronnie, who worked with food for a living, needed to exert herself to stay fit.
As Ronnie entered the juice-bar area, she saw that Cara was already waiting for her. Cara had placed a shot glass filled with a ruby-red juice at her seat. It looked like blended berries, so Ronnie picked up the glass and filled her mouth. As soon as the thick liquid touched her tongue, she nearly gagged.
“Ugh. What the heck is this?” she sputtered. “It tastes like … beets.”
Cara laughed at Ronnie’s yuck-face. “And hello to you, too.” She nodded to Ronnie’s half-empty glass. “It’s a special blend of carrots, beetroot and grapefruit juice, so good call on the beets.”
Ronnie wiped her tongue on her napkin. “And you thought I would like this why?”
“Because it’s good for you,” Cara said with a mischievous grin. “I figured you were ready to kick things up a notch.”
Ronnie shoved the glass across the table. “Well, I guess I’m not, because I’m not drinking any more of this.”
“Ron-nie! You’re a chef. Your highly trained palate should be able to handle a little beetroot.”
“Honey, I may have a newly skinny body, but that doesn’t mean I have skinny taste buds.” She swiveled her neck, feeling her curly ponytail swinging at her nape. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last few months, it’s everything in moderation.”
She eyed the offending glass. “And some things in nada-ration.”
Cara rolled her eyes, having finally learned to ignore Ronnie’s affinity for making up words.
Ronnie caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored panels behind the bar. It still shocked her to see that her round frame had been replaced with an hourglass. As a chef, she’d worn her extra weight as a badge of honor—a testimony to the quality of her food. For years she’d told all who would listen, “If I lost weight, people would think my food wasn’t any good.”
She’d been a member of Tower Vista for as long as her friend had worked there, but it was only recently that she’d gotten serious about working out. The good old days had been all about massages, dips in the hot tub and fruity juice-bar drinks—all the perks of belonging to an upscale gym without the perspiration or sore muscles. But after coping with some harsh realities in recent years, Ronnie had realized it was time for a few drastic changes.
Her dream of opening her own restaurant had finally come to fruition, and she’d lost nearly eighty pounds. But the most significant weight she’d lost
