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swore.
    He’d asked Charlie to stay to provide her with some protection. She’d trusted him and what had he done? Indulged in a bit of seduction.
    He cursed again.
    She didn’t strike him as a one-night-stand kind of girl and he didn’t want anything serious. But his thoughts strayed back to that near kiss. Desire pumped straight to his groin. Did she have to have such a lean, athletic body?
    He groaned.
    Flicking on the shower, he turned it to cold and threw himself under it.
    Ten minutes later he walked onto the terrace. Charlie sat ramrod-straight in front of the dinner she’d prepared. She’d changed her shirt. When she saw him, she dropped her eyes. She picked up her glass and took a long sip.
    He needed to put her at ease.
    â€˜Sorry about that,’ he said taking his seat. ‘For some reason it took longer than usual to wash my hair.’ He gave her a wink.
    She smiled and leaned back in her chair. ‘Consider it a moisturising treatment.’
    â€˜Ha, ha,’ he said, picking up his fork. ‘This looks amazing. Paella?’
    â€˜Yes. The supermarket guy owns a fishing trawler. Fresh prawns, mussels, clams and scallops. The seafood’s so cheap here.’
    He stabbed at a prawn and slid it into his mouth. The flavour was incredible.
    â€˜Gabe, there’s something—’
    â€˜This is fantastic.’
    â€˜Thanks. Fresh ingredients and Italian olive oil – makes all the difference.’
    He took another and chewed slowly. ‘Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.’
    â€˜I work in a little catering company, but we really specialise in desserts.’ Okay, so that was a slight understatement, considering she owned three high-end speciality cake shops.
    He grinned. ‘Oh, so more to come?’
    â€˜Just wait and see,’ she teased.
    â€˜So where’d you learn to cook like this?’
    She hesitated. ‘I’m . . . I’m just an amateur with passion.’
    He looked at her intently. Having Charlie here had been a godsend. The kids loved her. She cooked up a storm and the evenings were definitely more interesting.
    â€˜And I don’t think there’s any excuse for poor food.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘Take airline food. Horrible.’
    â€˜It always is.’
    â€˜But it doesn’t have to be,’ she said vehemently.
    He looked at her quizzically. ‘And you could do better?’
    â€˜Without a doubt.’
    â€˜Very confident for an amateur.’
    â€˜Just give me a kitchen, a plane full of passengers, free rein and I’ll show you.’
    His hand stalled halfway to his mouth. ‘That’s it,’ he exclaimed. A wave of possibilities shot through him.
    Her eyes widened. ‘What?’
    â€˜Charlie, you are a genius,’ he said dropping his fork onto the plate.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜First-class cook-off.’
    â€˜What are you talking about?’
    â€˜A new show. First-class cook-off.’ Saying it again, he knew he had a winner.
    â€˜Show?’
    â€˜I’m a TV producer. Reality TV.’
    Her mouth dropped open. ‘Reality TV?’
    He picked up his fork, but he couldn’t eat. The excitement had killed his appetite.
    â€˜There could be ten finalists . . . first-class cabin . . . VIP passenger judges. A contestant eliminated every week.’
    He tapped his fork on the edge of his plate. ‘We could fly to exotic places to add glamour.’
    â€˜ First-Class Chef ,’ Charlie announced. ‘You should call it First-Class Chef . Sounds better.’
    He tingled all the way to his toes. The woman had a gift.
    â€˜ First-Class Chef . Brilliant.’
    Her gorgeous face. Her brilliant ideas. Charlie was just give, give, give. Damn, he could love this woman. He jumped up from the table, pulled her from her chair and hugged her.
    â€˜Absolutely perfect.’ But he