"…Those tears of the past and laughter, that will come…"

"FRIENDS"

HOUSHIN ENGI ("SOUL HUNTER")

I had just finished dicing up the sweet potatoes and dumping them into a steel mixing bowl when a loud curse and a crash caught my attention.  I jumped and spun, startled by the sudden noise.  I'd been so intent on my cooking that I hadn't heard much of anything.  As far as I knew, nobody was even in the house.  Once I saw the cause of the noise, I wrinkled my nose.

Chibodee rubbed his forehead and sat up, grumbling.

He had such a dopey expression on his face I almost didn't get angry with him.  Almost.

"Chibodee!  What the hell do you mean scaring me like that?  And what are you doing in here?" I stamped my foot, belatedly realizing I had no shoes on.

A foot slapping on the floor sounds a lot less menacing than the sole of a shoe.

Chibodee gave me that grin of his and I had to fight the urge to smile.

"Just thought I'd see what you're up to," he stood and stretched.  "Anythin' I can snack on?"

I frowned.  Okay…if he was going to try and interrupt me, it would be a hell of a lot easier to get angry.

"No, of course not.  Why don't you go outside and bug everyone else.  The girls took some food out there, or did you already manage to eat that?"

He tweaked my nose playfully and drawled, "'Course we did.  Can't let your food go to waste, can we?"

I swatted at his hand and turned away.

I added a few more ingredients to my mixing bowl and said, "If you insist on staying in here, I suggest you stay put.  I don't need you in my way."

I let out an involuntary gasp when he rested his chin on my shoulder. 

Oh, God.  He smells like spices.  Damn him.

I tried to control my breathing but I could barely even focus on what I was doing.

"Watcha makin'?" he asked.

"Sweet potato pie," I murmured.

Oh, this was far too nice.  I could feel the heat of his chest pressing against me.

Back off, back off, back off, I begged.  Dammit, move before I do something.

With relief, he stepped away, leaning against the counter. 

"Sweet potato pie?" he repeated, using a very thick southern accent.

He grinned.

"You're not from the South, you've got no accent.  Why wouldja make that?"

I swatted at his hand when it reached for some of the cut pieces.

I picked up a hand mixer and said loftily, "I am from the South.  My accent disappeared a long time ago."

I turned on the mixer, hoping to drown out any more comments from him.  After a while though, I turned off the mixer.

With a ragged sigh I snapped, "What now?"

He hadn't taken his eyes from me; it was becoming unnerving.  Proof positive of how much I hated having others in the kitchen with me.  This was my sanctuary.  The last thing I needed was a guy like Chibodee staring at me.  Especially Chibodee. 

"Oh, nothin'.  Just wonderin' if what they say about Southern women is true."

I could have sworn that after he said that he looked like he'd just seen Death.  Whatever it was I thought I saw vanished quickly, though, replaced by his cocky smile.

Oh, this was too much.  Rather than get angry, I decided to get even.  I smiled at him and asked innocently.

"And just what is it they say about Southern women?"

I think that threw him off his game.  He arched an eyebrow and spoke evenly.

"That there's nothin' on earth like the passion of a Southern woman."

"Really?" I leaned close and trailed my fingers over his chest.  "Passion's the one thing we Southerners pride ourselves on."  Oh, God, this was priceless.  He looked like he'd just been knocked out.  His mouth had dropped open and he was frozen.  If I'd known this was all it took to get him to shut up, I'd have done it a long time ago. 

I gripped his chin in my thumb and forefinger and dropped my voice to a husky whisper.

"For instance, do you know what my passion is?"

He shook his head mutely.  I almost giggled.  I could get use to doing this.  He was like putty.  But, in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think how much I wished that this were for real.  I was so close to his mouth right now, I could kiss him if I wanted.  That is, if I knew it'd be appreciated.  As far as I knew, he'd only start to laugh and tease me again. 

I brought my mind back to my game and said, "My passion . . . well . . . it happens to be..." I leaned close to his ear and shouted, "cooking!"

He jumped and swore, rubbing at his ear.

"Damn, Shirley!  Was that necessary?"

I planted my hands on my hips.

"Yes, it was.  Now, get out of my kitchen so I can get this done."

He glanced at the kitchen door and shook his head.

"Nope, those guys are boring, you're more fun."

I hesitated.

Was I more fun because of what I'd just done or at all other times?

That was not a thought I wanted to dive into.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Being combative was a better bet, anyhow.  He glared at me.

"Hey, if you're gonna get all huffy about it I won't give ya anymore compliments."

I picked up a wooden spoon and shook it at him.

"Just stay quiet and out of my way and I won't have to hurt you.  Got it?"

He grinned again.

"What'll I get if I behave?"

I frowned at him.

"Considering that you can't do that, there's nothing I can give you," I shook my head and turned back to my mix.

It was almost ready.  It just had to be blended a bit more and then baked to perfection.

He tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.  I fought a shiver.  Damn him.  Just having him around was trying my resolve.  I'd love nothing more than to have him touch me again, to feel those hands of his against my skin.  But I was the last woman he'd want.  I'd seen the kinds of girls he'd gone out with.  I wasn't one of them. 

Dammit, stop doing things like that! I swore; I could feel my heart pounding.

"What now?" my voice broke slightly, much to my annoyance.

He'd be hard-pressed not to notice it.  He gestured at me innocently.

"It was in your face, just helpin' out.  I can help ya know."

I turned away and mixed the potatoes a bit more.  Once that was finished, I poured the mixture into two empty piecrusts.  I picked them up and walked over to the stove.

Pausing beside the oven I said, "If you want to help, stay out of the way.  How many times do I have to tell you that?"

I opened the stove and slid them in.  Hiding my face from view I squinched my eyes shut.

This is not going to be easy, I thought.

If he was insisting on spending the entire morning in the kitchen, I was in for a hell of a time.

Why me? I moaned.

I shut the door and turned back to my personal hell . . . or heaven; it was a bit of a toss-up at the moment.

Those eyes will be the death of me, I decided as I caught their glittering gaze.  I'm in such trouble.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *

I could tell that I had unnerved her.  The sudden realization surprised me, for some odd reason – why the hell would my presence be a distraction to her?  Then I remembered that not all cooks were like Sai Sici.

I'm in her way...why wouldn't I be distracting? that didn't sit well with me.

I wanted her to find me distracting for far different reasons than that I was encroaching on her "personal" space.  Maybe that's why I was acting like such a goof ball.  Even I didn't know why I was so openly flirting with her.

If she even realizes that I'm flirting with her, I grumbled inwardly as I leaned against a nearby counter corner.

I got the distinct impression that Shirley only thought that I was being my usual pain-in-the-ass self.  As far as I could tell, she didn't understand that I was trying to communicate something much different to her.  Now that I was in the kitchen and it didn't look like Shirley was going to make me join the turkey, I was beginning to enjoy the fact that we were alone for an indefinite period of time.

But I could tell that my secret triumph was distinctly one-sided.  But, still...

I couldn't forget the way she had walked up so close to me, running her nails gently over my chest.  God!  That had felt like fire – I had been so dreadfully disappointed when she had pulled away.  And I wasn't too happy about her getting my hopes up by yelling in my ear.

Passion is her cooking...damn right, I stewed inwardly as I watched her stick the pie pans into the oven.

I couldn't help wondering if she had other passions.  Ones that I could engage more actively in, instead of sitting passively on the sidelines and watching her cook.

She turned to face me briefly and then turned toward the counter, drumming her fingers lightly on the cutting board.  Was it just me, or did she seem uncertain as to what she should do next?

"Need any help?" I offered for about the fourth time.

"No," she glanced sharply at me and then seemed to remember what was next on her agenda.

She turned on her heel and sashayed to one of the cupboards, bending down and pulling out a large sack of flour and another mixing bowl.  I knew it was incredibly naughty of me, but I couldn't help admire the "view" – what man with eyes could possibly ignore those legs and thighs?

Damn her, I thought, shifting a bit uncomfortably as I watched her then reach up – offering me a perfect view of her creamy midriff – and lift down a measuring cup and rolling pin from an overhead cabinet.  Why couldn't she just wear something baggy and formless?

Even though she was going to slave in the kitchen for most of the day, Shirley had still dressed in her nicest (and tightest, might I add) pair of jeans and a cute little green tank top that was way too low in the front and far too short to be anything but distracting.

I was beginning to get horribly uncomfortable with the awkward silence that had fallen between us.  I bit on my thumb, trying to figure out a way to liven things up – without getting whacked over the head with the rolling pin.

"Whatcha' makin'?" I tried to do things the old-fashioned way and open up the channels of communication in a more covert, acceptable way.

"Biscuits," she said – a bit stiffly, I thought – as she cracked eggs on the side of the bowl and mixed them into the flour.

This is going absolutely nowhere, I frowned slightly; my situation wasn't so fun anymore.

So I decided to take a big risk.  Giving into my overwhelming desire to feel her body pressed against mine, I waited, a faint smirk on my face, as she finished mixing her dough and then turned away from the counter, heading for the refrigerator a few feet away.

Bingo! I thought triumphantly and pushed myself away from the corner.

I bounded quickly across the room, grabbed her around the waist, and playfully kissed her ear.

"Gotcha'," I announced smugly; I noticed that she had become very still.  "Now, how come I never knew you was a Southerner before?"

*                      *                      *                      *                      *

I went rigid.  What the hell is he doing?  I could barely even think. 

Lucky me, my tank top had ridden up a bit on my waist and I could feel the warmth of his arms against my skin.  That in itself might not have been such a problem but then he kissed me, even if it was just my ear. 

His question finally registered and with a forced voice I said, "You've never asked about my past.  Why should I volunteer?" 

Okay, I admit that was a bit harsh, but dammit!  If he'd let me go I might just be a bit more civil.  Couldn't he see how much this hurt?  How this was nothing but play to him and everything to me?

His arms tightened and his warm breath moved past my cheek.  I nearly melted; my knees were beginning to tremble, much to my annoyance.

"Thought we were family?  Family don't keep secrets."

Oh, yes they do, I thought.  I nudged him with an elbow, hitting him in the stomach.  "Family or not, you never asked," I repeated.

He finally released me and I turned my head slightly, afraid of what I'd see.  A grin maybe?  That cocky smirk?  Neither of which I wanted to see.  But, was it my imagination or did he actually seem hurt?

He recovered quickly and tugged on my braid again.  "C'mon, you've got no reason to keep a thing from me, you know that."

I smacked him in the arm, a little harder than I intended.  "You are trying my patience, Chibodee.  One more little stunt from you and I'll punt you out the door."

I turned back to the fridge and dug out the milk and butter.  Cooking would keep him off my mind.  If I dove back into cooking, he'd have no chance to bother me.  I wouldn't start missing the warmth of his body against my back, or the softness of his lips against my ear.  Oh, yeah, right.  I'm doing so great right now.

Grabbing my things, I brushed past him, heading back for my station.  He hadn't moved really.  I could still feel his eyes on me.  

Dumb jerk, I muttered.  Oh, how I wanted to smack him, to yell at him for what he was doing to me.  But that would just make things ten times worse.

"I swear I can help ya, c'mon Shirl."

I turned back to glare at him and nearly laughed instead.  He was pouting like a little kid.  Even making his lower lip tremble.  It only made him more irresistible.

I rolled my eyes and said, "If you want to help . . ."

"Yeah, yeah.  Stay out of the way," he muttered, folding his arms over his chest.

I grinned.  "No, I was going to say you can grease the pans for me."

Now I just had him confused.

"You're actually lettin' me help?  You feelin' okay?"  He stepped forward and placed his hand on my forehead, his pale green eyes locked on mine.

Dammit!  I was just recovering from the last time, you bastard!  My voice was completely gone.  I opened my mouth wordlessly.  Oh, yeah, he won't notice that in the least.

Finally, I managed to croak, "I'm fine, but you insist on bothering me so I may as well put you to use."

He certainly didn't look convinced.  Hell, I said it and I wasn't convinced.

Thankfully, he turned away and did as I asked.  I turned back to my biscuits and hid my reaction.

Good Lord!  What is he doing to me?  My hands were shaking and my skin felt tight and warm.  I'd almost think I was sick but this tended to happen when I was alone with Chibodee, which I tried to make a rarity as often as I tried to make it a consistency.

"Um, Shirl?  What pans do you use?"

I turned back to see him staring at the cupboard.  Wrong cupboard of course.

I sighed and walked over.  "Do those look like pans?" I asked, pointing to the cupboard full of bowls.  I knelt down and pointed at the lower cupboards.  "Well, dear fighter, this is where the pans are.  Don't you know where anything is in here?" I asked absently as I opened the doors.

"Nah, you're the one who's always in here.  It's more important to ya anyway."  I heard him shift and glanced out the corner of my eye to see him bend near me.

"Hm . . . well, the Maxter is the most important thing to you and I still know where everything is concerning that hunk of metal."  He had better not be insinuating that women belonged in the kitchen because he'd be in for a hell of a surprise.

"It's not the most important thing," he muttered.

He said it so softly I almost didn't hear it.  When I turned to look at him he stared back.  Did he just say what I think he said?

He furrowed his brow suddenly and asked, "What'd I do now?"

I must have imagined it.  "Uh, nothing."  I sighed.  "You did nothing."  I reached into the cupboard and pulled out the baking sheets I needed.  I handed them to him and said, "You can grease these, right?  I can count on you not screwing that up?"

He grinned, taking the pans from me.  "Count on me."  He paused, watching me.

Oh great, what is he thinking now?  I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sighed.  "Yes, what is it?"

His grin returned, only a bit more sly than I was use to.  "If I don't screw up and I stay outta your way, do I get somethin' in return?"

I frowned.  "Like what?  What is in your head right now . . . besides the usual fluff?"

Oh, I was just being nasty now.  But, dammit if he didn't keep me unsettled every second he was in here.  It was all I could do not to wrap my arms around him right now.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *

A tiny part of me was shrieking in indignation at the blatant bitchiness of her retort.  But at this point, I could care less.  Instead of repulsing me, her sharp words only caused my blood to burn stronger.

God!  I want her so bad, I thought, cocking my head to one side and looking thoughtfully into her mesmerizing blue eyes.

I then realized that I had yet to answer her question and to my embarrassment, I could feel the tip of my ears blazing red.  I turned away, a bit flustered, and stared hard at the backing pans, as if the answer to her question would shine back at me like the little round beads of oil I had sprayed onto the slick metal.

Even though only mere seconds had lapsed since she had asked her question, they felt like hours to me.  Nervously, I licked my lips and then I knew what I wanted.  A wide smile tugged on the edges of my mouth and I looked at her in sly innocence out of the corner of my eye.

"A kiss," I accompanied my request with a playful wink.

Something flashed deep in her eyes just then – something dark and wild, almost immediately replaced by something shy and uncertain, and then, finally, her eyes closed hid their secrets from me, replaced by a benign, if not slightly skeptical smile.  I blinked.

Had I really seen in her eyes what I thought I had seen?  But there was no denying the tempestuous, sapphire flash that had careened briefly before being replaced by that woeful, lost look.  I had seen that same look in the eyes of countless women before and I knew its name.

Desire.

The realization burned through every inch of my body.  I knew that if anyone walked in at that moment, they'd think me a complete fool, frozen solidly to the floor, gripping a can of cooking oil poised stupidly over the baking pans.

But what puzzled me – what kept my own libido in check – was the look that had so rapidly replaced Desire.  That I hadn't seen before; I wasn't sure I had a definite name for it.

Still…I thought that, maybe, I knew anyway.  Was it fear?  Was it uncertainty?  Was she afraid of being used selfishly to satisfy my own wants before I left her crying on the wayside?

For the first time in my adult life, I felt remarkably ashamed for my disgustingly cavalier use of women.  Until this sudden moment, I had never looked at a woman in anyway except two ways.  Either as a surrogate mother – as I most certainly viewed Janet, Cath, and Bunny…even, to some extent, Shirley – or as a source of sexual conquest.  I was a carnal playboy, who only thought about gratifying his own lusts and desires.  If I was perfectly frank with myself, the thought of a long-term relationship had always unnerved because it required me to care about, provide for, and pleasure some one other than myself.  Love was more about the mind and the soul, than the body.

Which is why I've always gotten my 'thrills' with women who aren't looking for a relationship, or even, really, love, I mused reproachfully.  I've always been too selfish to care about how a woman feels.  Not like George, or Sai, or Domon, or Argo…who know what love really means.

I must have been frowning, because Shirley suddenly reached out and tugged – hard – on one of my bangs.

"Hey!  What's gotten into you all of a sudden?" she chided, a bit playfully.  "If you don't snap out of it, I won't be doling out any kisses."

I simply couldn't resist.

"So you'll give me one?" I perked up.

She shrugged magnanimously.

"Sure – though I don't know why on earth you'd want one."

I snorted and turned back to my pans.  She leaned against the counter and watched as I finished greasing.  My thought raced.

If only she knew, I couldn't resist sneaking a glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

The thought of tasting her sweet tongue, of feeling the warmth of her mouth, of having her hands wrapped in my hair…just thinking such things drove me crazy.  I wanted so much to taste her, to feel her – but did she feel that same way about me?

Probably thinks this is just another one of my games, I thought moodily, giving the Pam can another good shake and moving over to the last pan.  Of course, I can't blame her for thinking that…

Her willing acquiescence with my request puzzled me.  The more I thought about it, the more I was certain that the second look I had seen her eyes was one of fear – fear of rejection.

For the first time, I wanted to prove to her that I wasn't just thinking about myself.  That what I felt for her, now and ever since the day we had met, had been something far more profound than simple lust.  Lust, I could deal with.  Lust didn't foster respect or protective instincts.

But love did.

And for the first time, I began to really understand the depth of what I felt for Shirley.  I wanted to put that fear in her eyes to rest.  To prove to her that I wouldn't just toss her aside when I got "bored."

Which made me wonder.  If I had read the look in her eyes correctly; if she was afraid of my rejection, then why was she suddenly being so coy?

I finished the pan and then turned toward her, trying to keep up my act, trying to figure hers out.

"Well…I'm done," I waved toward the pans, neatly sitting side by side on the counter.

"Maybe you're good for something after all," she smiled wanly.

"So," I stuck my hands in my pockets – at one level, I was afraid that if I didn't, I'd do something I'd regret with those same hands.  "Where's my kiss?"

I grinned as I always did, to cover up my own uncertainty.  Cocky.  Confident.  It was the poker face I kept close at hand, for whatever Life dealt in my game.

Shirley pursed her lips, pushed herself off of the counter, and leaned in toward me, pressing both of her hands against my chest.

I almost groaned with pent-up desire.  Did she know what she did to me?!

So intent was I on fighting off an embarrassing arousal, that I failed to notice two, very important things.  One – there was a strange, mischievous look in her blue eyes.  The second was that her right hand, instead of being splayed out flat against my shirt, was bunched up, her knuckles pressing a bit painfully into my left nipple.

But like I said, I didn't notice.  My mind was slightly preoccupied with far more pressing matters…

I nearly howled in frustration when she did it again.  She stood on the tip of her toes – brushing lightly against my body with her own, which didn't help matters – and then tantalized me cruelly with her lips, hovering, warm and soft, just inches above my own.  Then, abruptly, she pulled away, giggling fiercely like a schoolgirl.

"Oh, no you don't," I growled fiercely, wrapping my one arm around her waist, my other hand pressing against the small of her back, pulling her in to me, pressing our hips tightly together.

Her eyes grew wide, but she started to laugh again and then I noticed that sly, playful look dancing impishly across her face.  Nearly snarling in annoyance, I moved my hand from her back, to the back of her head, getting ready to pull her face toward mine.

I opened my mouth, determined to kiss her if it was the last thing I did.  Her hand were now, just underneath my chin; they were moving erratically and I thought that she was wringing them.  Why, I couldn't fathom, since there wasn't any fear in her eyes, but I was too far-gone down passion's way to pause and puzzle.

Her breath brushed against my cheek and I opened my mouth wider, preparing for the inevitable.  But then she pushed her head away, far enough to get her hand between our faces.  I was stopped dead in my tracks when she all but shoved something small and…chocolaty?…against my tongue.

Almost instinctively, I bit down on the foreign object – and my eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Cute, Shirl," I mumbled, biting the Hershey Kiss in half and extracting the latter part from my mouth.  "Real cute," I glared at the piece of candy in my palm, a bit moist and melted from the heat of my tongue.

"You said you wanted a kiss," if I hadn't been still holding her firmly against me, I'm convinced she would have fallen to the floor, she was laughing that hard.  "And I gave you one!"

All right…so she wants to be cute, huh? my aggravation gave way to a cunning little scheme of my own.

Something in the way my spine stiffened, alerted her to my dire intentions and she stopped laughing, gazing at me warily as a smile still danced at the corners of her tempting, curving lips.

"Well, Shirl," I fairly purred, holding the half of a Kiss between forefinger and thumb, poised just in front of her sumptuous little mouth.  "I thank you for the sentiment.  But…last time I recall, kisses are to be shared, aren't they?"

 *                     *                      *                      *                      *

I don't quite know what had come over me with the chocolate trick.  I hadn't expected him to want an actual kiss, did I?  Sure I did.  He gets one from every other girl he meets.

But when he grabbed me, I'd nearly fainted.  His arms felt so warm, so right.  Pressed against his firm chest, I could feel his heartbeat, so intimate and real.  I might have fainted if it hadn't been for his intense look of concentration.  I couldn't help but start laughing.

For a game, he certainly takes this seriously.  I paused.  Was it a game?  Or was he actually seeing this as something more?

Even now, as he held that half-melted piece of chocolate in his fingers, I searched his eyes for the charmer that he doled out to everything with legs and a heartbeat.  That cocky smile was there, no doubt.  But, was I seeing things?  Was there . . . desire?  For me?

God, how I wanted there to be.  Much as it would hurt to be used by him, even if it were for only one night, I'd want nothing more than to be with him.  To feel his hands run over my skin, his lips against mine.  Just once, I'd like for him to see me as more than a crewmember, or part of his family.  I was always so jealous when I saw his new ornament.  And each time, I hid it with a carefully placed remark or teasing comment while it burrowed into my heart, tearing at me.

Briefly, I wondered what would happen if I told him how I loved him.  Would he think it was part of our play?  Most likely.

He'd laugh it off and make some wiseass comment about being a ladykiller.

Sure, I'm female, he's Chibodee.  Easy to see.  I'd be one more for the scorecard.  I suddenly wanted to hit him for that.  He hadn't even said or done anything to show that, but I was certain that was what he was thinking.

My mind suddenly returned to his last comment and I grinned weakly.  "And just what are you getting at now, dear fighter?" 

I gasped as he held me tighter.

"Ah, just wantin' to give what I receive."

Before I could say anything more, he crammed the other half of the Kiss in my mouth, managing to smear most of it on my lips. 

"Chibodee!" I squealed.  Squeal?  I never squeal.  Damn him, he's turning me into one of his bimbos.  I tried to pull out of his embrace but he only held me tighter with his one arm while he licked the rest of the chocolate from his fingers.

"Hah, hah.  You've had your fun," I began, wiping the excess chocolate from my lips.  Was it my imagination or was he watching that a little too closely?  I shook my head inwardly and continued.  "Now, let me go so I can get back to work."

He bent his head closer and murmured, "You missed a spot."

His eyes were more intense than I'd ever seen them.  Dangerous almost but . . . strangely gentle at the same time.  I could fall into those eyes if I let myself.  Something about that gaze made my knees tremble and my body grow warm with the desire I was trying so hard to hide from him.  Was this how he looked at all his other women?  No wonder he has so many, I thought idly, my eyes riveted on his.

My heart was pounding painfully now.  I almost thought he could hear it if he tried.  His breath trailed across my lips and my eyelids fluttered momentarily.  Damn, I thought weakly.  If he only knew what this did to me.  My senses were reeling at this closeness; so lost was I that I barely noticed his hand at my waist suddenly digging in deeper to my flesh.

"What . . . what are you getting at?" I stammered.

That voice didn't even sound like mine.  It was so uncertain and frightened.  But that was exactly how I felt at the moment.  This was something I'd wanted for so long but it frightened me terribly.  He couldn't possibly feel the same way I did.

Please don't tease me, I pleaded.  I lied.  It would hurt too much if you did this to me.

"You always did like a neat appearance," he said softly, just before pressing his lips to mine.

I was too startled to do much more than stand there.  His lips, oh God, they were everything I'd imagined.  Soft and warm they sent sparks of electricity careening through my blood.  My body was pressed so tight against him I felt in danger of melting into his body.  Not that that was a bad thing but he'd be hard pressed to notice anything as intimate as that.  All that this was, was one more example of his masculine prowess.  And I was gladly falling for it.

He brought his free hand up, resting it against the back of my head as he deepened the kiss.

His touch was gentler than I imagined.  I'd seen him in fights; I assumed he'd be the same way with a woman.  Forceful but playful.  This . . . this was so different.  I'd been with only a few men in my life, but none of them compared to Chibodee's soft caress.  I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.

Much to my chagrin, a small whimper slipped past my mouth as he ran his hand up my back.  I could feel him smile into his kiss as he moved his hand once more, running his fingers along my side.  I whimpered again when his hand managed to trail near my breast, sending shivers of pleasure throughout my body.

I should be fighting this.  Push him back, I shouldn't be doing this.  But I just stood there, enjoying every minute of it.  I finally tried to push him away but my hands just lay there against his chest, feeling the warm panes of muscle beneath his shirt.

But when his tongue trailed against mine, I suddenly came to.  I didn't want this, not this way.  I didn't want to feel this . . . paradise and then have him act as if nothing had happened.  I loved him, I couldn't bear it.  If he had even the slightest bit of concern for me, he wouldn't be doing this.

I shoved back suddenly, getting a grunt of surprised from him.  I covered my mouth with one hand, feeling the blood rush to my face.  What do I say?  What just happened?  Suddenly, it clicked.  "My pies.  Completely forgot."

I spun on my heel, returning to the stove.  I made an act of opening the oven door but barely even glanced at the desserts.  "Oh, great.  They're burning," I finished lamely.  Now what? I thought, as I pulled the pies out.  The edges were burnt but they were still salvageable.  As for the situation, good Lord, that was far from salvageable.

Lucky me; the cutting board was right by my very silent fighter.  I placed the pies on the wooden slab, keeping my eyes averted.

Okay, what do I do?  We just kissed.  Not that big of a deal, right?  Just a little kiss.  Right, and I was the current Gundam of Gundams.  I could still feel the heat of his arms, the fire of his lips.  I nearly moaned at the absence of both.  My face reddened further, feeling like a furnace beneath my skin.  With a shaky voice I said, "Okay, you got your reward.  Now, let me finish this.  You can head back out there if you want."

"What just happened?" he asked softly.

I shrugged, careful to keep my eyes averted as I trimmed away the black edges of the pie.  "Nothing.  Nothing happened.  You got your reward.  That's what you wanted, right?  So, you win."  Stop asking questions you lunkhead.  I have absolutely no answers! I mentally screamed at him.

"I didn't realize this was a contest."

I glanced out the corner of my eye.  He wasn't looking my way either.  He was staring across the room but his chest was rising and falling a lot faster than it had been earlier.

Had I done that?  I suddenly felt strangely giddy.  At least I'm not the only one reeling from this.  But for some reason, the action struck me as funny.  A smile tugged at my mouth and I titled my head, hoping to hide it.

Remembering his question, I shrugged again.  "No contest.  You managed to gain something from pestering me, that's all."  Mentally, I slapped myself.  Could I sound like more of a bitch at this moment?  Why don't I just start screaming at him? 

"Now, life can return to normal," inwardly I winced at the comment.  Normal?  This will never be normal, "and I can finish this Thanksgiving dinner."

*                      *                      *                      *                      *

I stared at her, suddenly rendered speechless.  Just when I thought I had her, she pushed me away.

She is afraid, I realized as she mumbled something about her pies burning.

My chest heaving, my body still tingling from our intimate closeness just moment before, I watched through a sort of haze as she set the pies on the cutting board.  The heady, rich aroma of cinnamon, sugar, and fragrant sweet potato filled kitchen, competing with the awakening scent of cooking turkey, and I realized that my stomach was growling.  But I also realized that food was the only thing I was hungry for.  I wanted far more than cranberry sauce and stuffing…I wanted her.

But she won't have me, I thought bitterly, only half-listening as she rambled incoherently on, trying to cover up her fright, her confusion.  And I don't blame her in the least.  Why should she trust me?  When have I ever been anything but a selfish playboy?

Something said broke into my reverie and I frowned slightly.  The word "normal" caught my ear – "life can return to normal," she said.

Something fierce, indignant, irrational, and bold took over my better senses.  At that moment, I decided to toss my pride into the wind – Shirley was a new breed of woman, totally foreign to me.  But I knew this much…I'd never make her mine, unless I took a chance.

"'Normal?'" I threw her word back at her, a bit more fiercely than I intended.  "What kind of bull shit are you blathering about, Shirley?"

She glanced up from her pies, her blue eyes wide and startled.  I almost stopped there, shamed by the fright reflected in those depths, but then I remembered the desire I had seen earlier.  The memory emboldened me and I continued on.

"Do you really want things to 'return to normal?'" I softened my voice and reached out with my hand, brushing back a few stray strands of her fascinating, fiery hair out of her face.  "Do you think they can?"

Her eyes widened, her fear increasing.

"What are you talking about, Chibodee?" she demanded, her voice cracking as, I'm sure, she was struggling not to cry.

I stepped closer to her, taking her face in my hands and gently forcing her to look at me.

"Don't be afraid of me, Shirl, please," I begged.  "I know you think I'm just an irreverent playboy, but there's more to me than that.  I realize that now."

I paused, carefully contemplating my next move, my next words.  She continued to stare at me, dumbfounded, her pies forgotten.

On impulse, I wrapped my arms around her once more, holding her gently against me in what I hoped was a comforting embrace.  Burying my face in her hair, I breathed her scent in, hiding a soft smile.  She smelled just like the sweet potato pies cooling on the cutting board.  Spicy, warm, intoxicating, and enchantingly enticing.

"Chibodee…?" she left her question unasked as she tried to push away from me.

But I wouldn't let her.  Not again.

I tightened my grip on her shoulders and looked her in the eye, praying to whatever god was out there, that she would believe in me.

"Shirley…I'd never hurt you," I shook my head insistently.

"Why not?" she shot back, a tinge of anger in her voice, her eyes flashing.  "Why should I be any different from all the other women in your life?"

"Because…" I paused, taking a deep, steadying breath.

It's now or never, Chibodee, I told myself.

It was the moment of reckoning.  I'd either win her or lose her in the space of the next seconds.  I prayed that it would be the former.

"Because…I love you."

*                      *                      *                      *                      *

I stared at him, with what was probably the dumbest expression on my face.  Did he just say what I thought he did?  Love me?  I knew I should say something; I could see the pain in his eyes, but my voice was stuck in my throat.

Hesitantly I asked, "Why?  Why me?"  I couldn't understand.  Was this to get me to give in to his advances, or was it true?  Did he really love me this way?

He brought one hand up, stroking my cheek.  My eyelids drifted shut and I leaned into his touch, wanting to feel that way forever.

He chuckled and said, "I thought you weren't supposed to ask that when someone says 'I love you.'  I thought you were supposed to say the same, or at least say thank you."

My eyes snapped open and I saw it.  The pain he was trying to hide with his usual cocky humor.  Why should he be feeling pain or fear?  Because he's never risked himself like this.  The women in his life never asked for more than a night or two with him.

But, could I trust him?  He'd been with so many women, what would stop him from treating me like one of them?  I idly wondered just how many he'd said those words to, just to charm them.

I glanced at his eyes again and felt my heart tighten.  There was more than his hidden pain there; there was sincerity that made his eyes shimmer, and love, real love that made his eyes deeper than anything in this world.

I suddenly understood that I wasn't the only one who stood to lose everything with this.  Chibodee was offering his heart, without ever knowing mine.  And all this time, I was worried about being tossed aside.  He was worried about being brushed aside.

I smiled warmly, feeling tears touch my eyes.  "You're right.  Bad form on my part."  I tilted my head up, brushing my lips against his.

His arms tightened around me, but he did little else.  The rest was up to me.  I wasn't about to disappoint him.

"I do love you.  I always have."  I slipped my arms up and around his neck, pulling him closer.  Now, it's my turn, I thought slyly as I pressed my lips to his.

Almost immediately, that same heat and passion from before filled me.  Only this time, I knew it was being felt in kind.  Instead of fearing the end of his sweet kisses, I savored each one, knowing another would take its place.  When his hands trailing along my body, I giggled into his lips; enjoying the tender touch.

He pulled back suddenly, eyeing me carefully.

I pouted, my arms still around his neck, my fingers twined in his hair.  "What is it?"  He'd better not start getting cold feet.  I'll make him sorry he ever stepped foot in this kitchen if he even tries to backtrack.

"If I knew this is all it took to get you to act like this, I'd have said it sooner," he kissed the tip of my nose, only to pull away again, a playful grin on his face.

I narrowed my eyes.  "If you're going to be that way, I'll make you eat dinner in the garage."

My eyes widened.  "Dinner!  I still have to make the rest of it!"

His mouth captured mine again and I withered in bliss, eternally grateful to have his arms around me.  He pulled away and said, "Why don't you make them finish it."

I managed to loosen his grip and I slapped him in the chest.  "You know better than to ask me that.  This is my kitchen; my holiday; my meal."  A sly thought suddenly crossed my mind.

Dropping my voice to a husky whisper I brushed my lips against his and murmured, "But, if you're good," my lips trailed to his cheek, leaving soft, whispy touches, "and you let me finish this," I kissed his jaw and, in a rather daring move on my part, flicked his earlobe with the tip of my tongue.  The groan I got from him nearly sent me to the floor in a fit of giggles.  Through my laughter, I kissed his chin playfully and said, "If you let me finish this, and I can count on you to help at least some without acting up, then you get your pick of desserts."

The passionate haze that had settled in his eyes was rapidly replaced by a predatory gleam.  Electricity surged through my blood at the look.  Oh, that was the wrong thing to say.

Acting fast, I clapped a hand over his mouth, keeping him in place.  With mock solemnity I said, "You have to behave or you get nothing."

His eyes narrowed and his teeth nipped at my palm.

I snatched my hand away only to have him kiss me once more, his touch soft and sweet.  Damn, if he kept this up nothing would be made.  Try explaining that to four hungry Shuffles.

"Chibodee," I murmured through his touch.  He pulled away again, watching me closely.  I smiled and tugged gently at his pink bangs, "I'm not going anywhere."