Read Isn't It Rich? for Free Online Page B

always, always smart. He skirted around mistakes at all costs, especially when they were staring him right in the face in a way that made them totally avoidable.
    “It’s the only plan,” she insisted.
    “Not really.” He placed a hand over hers and guided it gently to the side of the bowl, then cracked the egg. It fell neatly into the bowl without so much as a sliver of shell. Melanie stared at it in obvious surprise.
    “Now do that without my help,” he instructed.
    She broke another egg and then a third one, looking more incredulous each time she succeeded. “Well, I’ll be darned.” She gazed up at him. “Now what?”
    “Now we add a little milk, a touch of vanilla, and whip it till it’s frothy.”
    Clearly more confident, she reached for the milk and added a too-generous splash. She was a little too stingy with the vanilla, but he refrained from comment and handed her the whisk. She stared at it as if it were a foreign object. Richard bit back another smile. “You use it to whip the eggs.”
    “Why not a beater?”
    “This is easier.” He nudged her aside with his hip and took the whisk. “Like this.”
    She watched him closely, a little furrow of concentration knitting her brow. He couldn’t help wondering if she was this intense about everything she did. Best not to go there.
    “Now you do it,” he said, handing the whisk back.
    She tackled the task with more enthusiasm than finesse, but she got the job done with only a minimal amount of splashing. There was enough egg left in the bowl for at least a couple of pieces of French toast.
    Hiding his amusement, Richard put some butter in a pan, then handed her the bread. “Dip it in the eggs till both sides are coated, then put it in the pan once the butter’s melted. I’ll get the syrup.”
    He turned away for no more than a few seconds, but that was long enough for her to manage to splatter her hand with the now-sizzling butter. He heard her curse and turned back to find her with tears in her eyes.
    “Let me see,” he commanded.
    “It’s nothing,” she protested. “Just a little burn. I told you I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”
    “Not hopeless, just inexperienced. Sit down. I’ll get some ointment for your hand.”
    “The French toast will be ruined,” she argued.
    “Then we’ll make more.” He took the pan off the burner, grabbed the first-aid kit, then pulled a chair up beside hers. “Let me see.”
    She held out her right hand, which already had a blister the size of a dime. He took her hand in his, trying not to notice how soft it was and how it seemed to fit so perfectly in his own. He put a little of thesalve on the blister, but couldn’t bring himself to release her hand. Instead, he waited until her head came up and her gaze met his.
    “I’m sorry about last night,” he apologized. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I don’t even know why I said those things. I just wanted to push your buttons, I guess.”
    Temper immediately flashed in her eyes. “It was some kind of game? You didn’t really want to sleep with me? I knew it. What kind of man are you?”
    Uh-oh. That had definitely come out all wrong. “No,” he said at once. “That’s not it. Dammit, somehow whenever I’m with you, my words get all tangled up.”
    “I seem to have the same difficulty,” she admitted with obvious reluctance.
    He wanted to be sure she understood. “I do want you, but I also respect what you were saying about not getting involved with a client or even a prospective client. Besides, it’s not as if we know each other well enough for me to haul you off to bed. That’s not a step two people should take on impulse.”
    “No,” she agreed softly.
    He risked another look into her eyes. The temper had faded, replaced by heat of another kind entirely. She lifted her uninjured hand and touched his cheek.
    “Impulses are a risky thing,” she said.
    “Melanie.” His voice sounded choked.
    “Yes, Richard.”
    “It’s