For Men Only

by Sally Goldenbaum

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

A brash single dad and a beautiful, ambitious cooking teacher follow the recipe for romance in this delectable treat from beloved author Sally Goldenbaum.
 
The first time they met, Pete Webster had been the blind date from hell. Ellie Livingston hoped never to see him again. Now Pete’s a student in the cooking class she’s designed just for men, and he looks good enough to eat! But Ellie’s afraid that a relationship is off the table: Falling for a man with kids—no matter how adorable—would simply be biting off more than she can chew.
 
Since his wife left him, Pete has learned that his gourmet cuisine—like his specialty, peanut butter and egg sandwiches—just won’t cut it for two growing children. He’s also learned not to trust beautiful women. But Ellie, with her sparkling passion and spicy personality, is for real, even if she doesn’t see him the same way. Now it’s up to Pete to go off the lesson plan and cook up a little trouble—in the kitchen and the bedroom.
 
Includes a special message from the editor, as well as excerpts from these Loveswept titles: Deep Autumn Heat, The Last Warrior, and Kevin’s Story.

Release date: August 13, 2012

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 240

Sample

ONE
 
Ellie Livingston grabbed a wire whisk and beat the fresh eggs fiercely. Rich, golden liquid sloshed against the sides of the cracked mixing bowl.
 
“Yoo-hoo, anyone home? You there, Ellie?”
 
“In here, Fran.” Ellie wiped her hands on her smudged white apron, then grabbed a knife and began chopping a handful of pearly-white scallions into tiny bits. The knife clicked sharply against the old wooden cutting board.
 
Ellie’s oldest sister walked into the large kitchen and eyed the dirty pots and pans piled in the sink, the half-dozen tins of spices cluttering the counter, the knives and spatulas and wooden spoons scattered across the stained Formica.
 
“Uh-oh,” she said, backing toward the door, her eyes widening in mock fear. All the Livingston siblings knew what it meant when Ellie was in a cooking frenzy.
 
Ellie didn’t look up. The knife clicked louder on the board.
 
Fran leaned against the door frame and put her hands on her ample hips. “Okay, sis, what demons are you exorcising? What did Clarence the Creep call you today?”
 
“After ‘pretty little thing’ or before ‘sweet darlin’?” Ellie stopped chopping long enough to give her sister a lopsided grin.
 
“You pick.” Fran eyed the two pies, the huge, steaming soup pot, the dozens of cookies.
 
Ellie paused, then forced a smile and turned toward her sister. “He, Mr. Clarence Chandler III, called me into his office at noon and told me that my application for the marketing training program had been turned down.”
 
“Oh, hon—”
 
“That’s what he said.” Ellie screwed her face up into a grimace and dropped her voice in imitation of her employer. “ ‘Oh, honey bun, guess what?’ And then he told me that he loved my sweater and that they had to cut costs, don’t you see, and my goodness, what was that incredible, sexy perfume I was wearing? And they couldn’t possibly afford offering an expensive training program like that to someone who was not on the ladder.”
 
“Ladder?”
 
“Yes, ladder. I asked him politely, ‘What ladder, Mr. Chandler?’ Thinking to myself, ‘Step ladder? Extension ladder? Latter Day Saints?’ ” Ellie began cutting again, more vigorously. “And then he said, “Why, the corporate ladder, darlin’. The one that takes people up.’ ”
 
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, El. What a crummy deal. It’s so unfair.”
 
“Yes, it is. I’m as smart as anyone in that office, Franny. I know every bit as much. But without that piece of paper that says I spent four years in some college somewhere, they don’t seem to think I’m capable of adding two plus two, or, God forbid, climbing some damn ladder.”
 
Ellie understood what her problem was. Without vanity, she knew she was both beautiful and smart, and those two attributes seemed constantly at war with each other. As her pa had always said, she had a hard time getting people to allow her brains to breathe.
 
Fran nodded in sympathy and said, “You need to forget about Clarence Chandler for a while. I’ve an idea, sis. How about if Harve and I—”
 
Ellie put her hands out in front of her. The knife clattered to the floor. “No! Don’t even think it, Franny!”
 
“Now how did you know—”
 
“I know, I know. I know what your magic solution always is.”
 
“Calm down, Ellie. It’s been months since that one disaster. Are you ever going to forget it?”
 
“No.” Ellie bent over and retrieved the knife. “I don’t need your blind dates to put joy in my life, Franny. I know plenty of men.”
 
“But the men you know have been turned down so many times that—”
 
“Not true. I’m busy, Franny, that’s all. I’m determined that in spite of the Mr. Chandlers of this world, I’m going to get ahead. And when I want to go out, I do. But blind dates are for the birds.”
 
“Because that one particular match wasn’t made in heaven?”
 
Ellie laughed. “That’s the understatement of the year. That particular blind date was the date from hell. The only saving grace is that I’ve never run into that Pete fellow again. God has spared me that, at least.”
 
Still, she had thought about him, and that provoked her more than anything. Even all these months later she could still remember things about him, like the way he had kissed her at the end, when she’d finally made it home, soaking wet. His kiss had lingered far longer than it had any right to, first on her lips, then in her dreams.
 
“He was handsome,” Fran said, pulling Ellie away from her thoughts.
 
“He was arrogant. There was something wrong, right from the start. It was as if he knew me from another life, and the other life had been awful.”
 
“You exaggerate.”
 
“Not so, Franny.” She frowned as she tried to remember the details. For starters, he’d been a tall man, with dark hair and a dark mustache—a nice one—that he had absently stroked every now and then. But he had been kind of aloof, not speaking much. And he had looked at her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable, as if his warm brown eyes could see right into her soul.
 
They had met at an Italian restaurant, and everything had gone wrong, from the overzealous singing waiter whose false mustache fell into her soup, to the food being cold. More than that, the food was horrible. Pete—Webster, that was the last name—had recommended the place when he’d called to set up the date, said it had wonderful food. After the waiter took away her barely touched entrée, he confessed that he knew nothing about food, and his judgment might have been faulty.
 
To top things off, it was raining when they left the restaurant. The cab driver got lost on the way home, then crashed into the curb outside her house, which tossed her right on top of the man who had tried to keep at least two feet between them all night. And that was when he had kissed her. So odd, Ellie mused. The whole night had been so very odd.
 
“I do remember the date was a nightmare, at least in your opinion,” Fran admitted. “So bad, in fact, that you woke Harve and me at one A.M. to tell us so. And Harvey couldn’t understand it at all, because he had met the man once and he was charming. And very well respected.”
 
Ellie shook her head. “I don’t know about that, but his parting words were weird. He said something about a magazine cover. He said that the next thing he knew, he’d probably be seeing me on ‘some damn magazine cover.’ ”
 
Fran wrinkled her nose. “That is strange. I’ll make sure Harve checks the next guy out more carefully.”
 
“No next guy, sweet sis. Let’s talk about something important. I’ve a life to work out here. And I’ll be darned if I’m going to let disastrous blind dates or Mr. Clarence Chandler get the best of me!”
 
“Atta girl!” Fran hoisted herself up on a tall stool beside the kitchen counter and reached for a still-warm cookie. “So, what are your plans? Did you, uh, how shall I say it … quit?”
 
Ellie threw her sister a dirty look, knowing the question was calculated. She had had so many jobs that her five siblings often financed nights on the town with bets placed on how long her next job would last. “No,” she said, shaking her head and causing her long golden braid to sway back and forth between her shoulder blades. “Not yet anyway. But something’s percolating in my head, I feel it. I’m not sure what it is yet, but soon, Fran, soon.”
 
“Just don’t be hasty, Ellie.”
 
“I won’t. But some days I’m so agitated. Remember when you were three weeks overdue with Sara? Remember how itchy you felt, how you paced back and forth through the infants’ department at Macy’s? You had this wonderful life inside of you wanting to get out. Well, sometimes that’s how I feel—like it’s time, time to get my life on a roll, time to achieve, time to give birth to something. I don’t need blind dates, or irrational bosses, or dead-end jobs. I need something new, something I can sink my teeth and energy into.”
 
Fran slid off the stool and walked over to give her sister a hug. “Well,” she said, tugging on Ellie’s thick braid, “if you come up short in the process, Harve and I might be able to—”
 
“Nope, Franny, I don’t need money. Thanks to Grams leaving me this house, I have a roof over my head. And I’ve been able to save a little. I’m doing okay. Now pack up some of this food and get out of here, or Harve will wonder if you’ve run off with the mailman. And don’t worry about me. I won’t quit without thinking it through.”