Recipe for Temptation (8 page)

“You don’t have to thank us, Dad,” Marcus said, taking the words out of Michael’s mouth. “You know you’re the main reason Samara and I decided to move back to Atlanta.

We wanted to be closer to you, and we didn’t want to deprive the boys of growing up around their grandfather.”

“I sure do appreciate that,” Sterling conceded earnestly. “The day you called to tell me that good news made me as happy as the day I found out your brother had strong-armed the network executives into letting him tape his show here instead of New York.”

Michael chuckled. “I didn’t ‘strong-arm’ anyone.”

“Actually, you did,” Marcus countered wryly. “When it was time to renegotiate your contract after the first year, you gave the producers an ultimatum. Either they relocated your set to Atlanta, or you walked. But not only did you threaten to walk, you told them you’d approach Ted Turner with the idea of using your show to launch a rival food network based in Atlanta. With
Howlin’ Good
being such a huge ratings hit, you knew how badly your producers wanted to keep you, so you played hardball.” His tone was laced with admiration. “And here I thought
I
was the ruthless lawyer in the family.”

Michael and Sterling laughed.

When they reached the kitchen, they found the twins perched on high-backed stools at the center island, munching happily on cupcakes decorated with miniature Mickey Mouse ears. Their hands and mouths were smeared with purple frosting, and when they looked up and flashed chocolaty grins, everyone dissolved into laughter.

After settling down the twins with an animated movie, Marcus joined his father and Michael on the veranda. Flopping into a chair at the wrought-iron table, Marcus reached for one of the glasses of iced tea that had been poured for him.

“Good stuff,” he declared after taking a long, appreciative sip. He sighed. “Another thing I missed about home—sweet tea. They don’t know the first thing about brewing good Southern tea in Washington. One of these days I’ll have to ask Ms. Frizell what her secret ingredient is.”

Sterling grunted. “Good luck with that. I’ve already tried, and she won’t give it up.”

Michael chuckled. “She adds a little baking soda. It acts as a preservative to keep the tea from becoming cloudy and bitter.”

Marcus shook his head at Sterling. “Shoulda known she’d tell
him.
The chefs always stick together.”

“Of course.” Michael grinned.

“So how’s Lexi?” Sterling asked him. “Talk to her lately?”

“Doesn’t he always?” Marcus interjected with a grin.

Michael frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I believe your brother’s trying to imply that you and Lexi never go a day without talking to each other,” Sterling explained.

“So? What’s wrong with that? She’s one of my closest friends.”

“Right,” Marcus said drily. “And it never occurred to you that she might want to be more than just a friend to you.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Of course it occurred to me. The first time we met was at a party where everyone we knew was paired off into couples.” Inwardly he smiled at the memory of the sloppy, drunken kiss he and Lexi had shared, the sparks that failed to ignite between them. In the ensuing years, she’d become that female friend every guy should have—the one he went to for dating advice and to get a woman’s perspective on the female psyche. In all the time they’d been friends, not once had Michael suspected that Lexi was secretly carrying a torch for him. He knew she wasn’t.

Marcus seemed hell-bent on proving otherwise. “She’s never liked any of your girlfriends—”

“Neither has Dad.”

“—and she never misses an opportunity to tell you why she thinks someone is wrong for you.”

“Again, neither does Dad. That’s what people who care about you are supposed to do.”

“All right,” Marcus said, pinning his brother with a direct gaze. “Since you’ve got an answer for everything, here’s something else for you to consider. Lexi’s marriage only lasted two years. Why do you think that is?”

Michael met his gaze steadily. “Not everyone can be as lucky as you and Samara.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Sterling murmured.

Michael and Marcus fell silent, suddenly reminded of the way their parents’

marriage had ended in bitter divorce after their mother was caught cheating on Sterling.

Although Michael had made peace with her long ago, he’d never forgotten how her infidelity had torn their family apart. Seeing their father reduced to a shell of his former self had taken such an emotional toll on Michael and Marcus that they’d both vowed they would never get married or have children.

Marcus had had a change of heart.

Michael didn’t think he ever would.

Leaning back in his chair, Marcus said quietly, “You’re right, Mike. Samara’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and not a day goes by that I don’t count my blessings.

I guess what I’ve been trying to get at is that it’s not too late for you.” He glanced at his father. “For either of you.”

Sterling guffawed. “I’m too damn old to be bothered with all that.”

“No, you’re not,” Marcus protested.

“Trust me, boy, I am. But your brother isn’t.” Sterling cut a sideways grin at Michael. “Back to what we were discussing before—”

Michael held up a hand. “There’s nothing going on between me and Lexi. We’re just friends, and that’s all we’re ever gonna be.”

Seeing the look that passed between his father and Marcus, Michael felt a surge of irritation. Pushing back his chair, he stood and walked over to the railing that wrapped around the veranda.

New visitors to the house always gushed over the sprawling backyard, which boasted a gazebo, a guesthouse, a small pool and a series of garden beds that added vibrant splashes of color to the landscape. A surrounding canopy of trees kept out the scorching summer heat and gave the yard an air of seclusion. In a glowing feature article published several years ago,
Better Homes and Gardens
had described the yard as an “architectural paradise” and “a slice of heaven to rival Callaway Gardens”—lines that Sterling couldn’t resist quoting to anyone who visited the house.

Not surprisingly, the backyard was the family’s favorite gathering place, playing host to summer cookouts, pool parties, birthday parties, scavenger hunts for the twins and—most memorable of all—Marcus’s wedding. Michael couldn’t help smiling at a mental image of Samara, a vision in white wafting down a rose-strewn aisle in the picturesque garden. If the day hadn’t been so profoundly special, Michael might have teased his brother about the tears that had streamed freely down his face as he’d gazed upon his bride. But the truth was that even Michael had gotten choked up during the ceremony.

And in the deep, dark recesses of his heart, he’d wondered if he would ever get his own fairy-tale ending.

“So what’s going on between you and that doctor you were arguing with the other day?” Sterling asked, breaking into Michael’s thoughts.

Michael frowned. Just when he’d fooled himself into believing he could go an entire hour without thinking about Reese St. James.

He turned, arms folded across his chest as he glared balefully at his father.

Undaunted, Sterling grinned like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

“What doctor?” Marcus demanded, looking from one to the other. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Michael grumbled.

“Plenty,” Sterling said at the same time.

A slow, knowing grin crawled across Marcus’s face. “I’ll take your word for it, Dad. So what happened?”

“Well, on Wednesday I overheard an argument between—”

Michael snorted. “
Overheard?
Pops, you were eavesdropping.”

Sterling looked disgruntled. “It ain’t eavesdropping—”

“—if the conversation takes place under your roof,” Michael and Marcus finished, then laughed. How many times had their father used that line to justify eavesdropping on their phone conversations when they were growing up? He’d given the same rationale for snooping through their belongings to make sure they weren’t hiding any drugs, though he’d always assured them that someday they would thank him for his vigilance. The Wolf brothers were the only kids in the neighborhood who’d been subjected to random drug testing until they left home for college.

“As I was saying,” Sterling continued pointedly, “I
overheard
an argument between Mike and a woman he’d met at the restaurant. Apparently he’d ticked her off pretty good by accusing her of impersonating a food critic.”

“What?”
Marcus’s surprised gaze swung to his brother. “Why’d you do something like that?”

Biting back an impatient oath, Michael quickly and succinctly explained what had happened that Tuesday night, glossing over the kiss he and Reese had shared. When he’d finished his account, Marcus shook his head in amused disbelief.

“Is she unattractive?” he asked.

“Far from it,” Michael grudgingly admitted.

“Then why would you even think she’d have to resort to a stunt like that?”

“Like I said,” Michael ground out, “it was an honest mistake, one that could have happened to anyone. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. She got her revenge.”

“How so?” Sterling and Marcus asked in unison.

Michael smiled grimly. “She’s going to be my new apprentice.”

His father and brother listened with rapt attention as he told them about the riveting audition performance that had made Reese a shoo-in to win the competition. By the time he’d finished describing her sassy comedic shtick, both men were laughing uproariously.

“Man, I wish I could’ve been there to see it,” Marcus said.

“Me, too,” Sterling agreed. “That young lady sounds like quite a pistol.”

“Oh, she is,” Michael muttered as a memory of glittering, defiant eyes flashed though his mind. And the mouth on her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been both infuriated and aroused while sparring with a woman. “She’s definitely going to be a handful.”

Marcus gave him a knowing grin. “Think you’re up for the challenge?”

“Of course,” Michael said, thinking,
God help me if I’m wrong!

Chapter 7

R
eese drew a deep, fortifying breath, then raised her hand and pressed the doorbell.

As she waited for a response, her heart hammered so hard she thought it might bulldoze its way right out of her chest. Not for the first time that morning, she questioned the sanity of what she was doing. She must be crazy for coming here like this, uninvited. Maybe she should just—

A scrape of movement inside the apartment forestalled any thoughts of escape.

Then suddenly the door opened.

Michael stood there in a sleeveless white T-shirt and dark pajama bottoms, his long feet bare. Dark stubble covered his jaw, and his eyes were heavy lidded and bleary. He squinted down at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes as if he expected her to be gone when he reopened them.

Which, of course, she wasn’t.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

“What time is it?” His voice was a low, husky rasp that made her stomach clench.

“It’s, um, nine o’clock,” she answered sheepishly.

He cursed under his breath and closed his eyes again, this time looking as if he were trying to find his center of gravity. When he reached up and scrubbed his hands over his face, his thick, muscular biceps bunched and flexed with the movement.

Reese gulped. Hard.

After another interminable moment, those dark eyes slanted open and refocused on her face. He looked so big and menacing framed in the doorway that for a moment Reese felt like a hapless camper who’d wandered too far into the forest and awakened a bear from winter hibernation.

“What the hell,” he growled, “are you doing here?”

Ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth, Reese thrust a covered cup at him.

“I brought you coffee.”

He stared at the cup in her hand, making no move to take it. “Coffee,” he echoed flatly.

She nodded. “From a gourmet coffee shop near Layla’s house. It’s pretty good, though not as good as the coffee I make. Next time I’ll bring you some of mine,” she added, drawing his eyes from the cup to her face.

One heavy brow winged upward. “Next time?”

“Sure.” She smiled bravely.

His gaze roamed over her, from head to toe and slowly back up again. After another moment, he reached out and accepted the proffered cup from her hand. As their fingers brushed, heat sizzled through her veins.

They stared at each other.

Unconsciously Reese licked her lips, and watched his hooded eyes follow the path of her tongue. “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?” she asked, a touch breathless.

Michael hesitated, then staggered aside to open the door wider for her. As she stepped past him, her shoulder grazed the iron slabs of his chest. Her breasts tingled, and her pulse drummed erratically.

Ignoring her body’s reaction to him—no easy feat—she advanced into the foyer and swept a look around. The stunning two-story penthouse featured Italian marble floors, elegant crown molding, ultramodern lighting and solid, contemporary furnishings done in masculine earth tones. Just off the main living area was a dramatic floating staircase that wound to an upper level. There were walls of nothing but windows that revealed spectacular views of Buckhead and, in the distance, downtown Atlanta.

The luxurious penthouse transcended the definition of a bachelor pad. It was a showplace—and immaculate to boot.

Reese whistled softly. “Wow. This is quite a crib you have.”

Behind her, Michael grunted something unintelligible.

Smiling, she turned in time to catch him checking out her butt in the formfitting jeans she wore. The hungry gleam in his eyes sent another rush of tingling heat through her body.

Pretending not to notice what he’d been doing, she grinned playfully at him. “I thought you might live in one of those McMansions that Buckhead is famous for.”

A shadow of a smile touched his lips, softening his features. “I don’t need all that space. I spend more time at the restaurant and my father’s house than here.”