Recipe for Temptation (9 page)

“Which would explain why the place is spotless. You’re never home.”

“Exactly.” He raised the cup to his mouth and took a long sip. As he swallowed, his eyes closed in an expression of ecstasy that made her envy the coffee.

“Good?” There was a husky catch to her voice.

He nodded slowly. “Very.”

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t take you for one of those artsy-fartsy gourmet coffee lovers. So I just stuck with something basic. Something dark and strong.”

“You done good,” he drawled.

Reese warmed with pleasure, which made her feel like the world’s biggest idiot.

“I’m sorry. It didn’t even occur to me that you might be at church this morning…or entertaining company.”

His eyes glittered with amusement. “Are you asking me if I had a woman over last night?”

She shook her head quickly. “Of course not. That’s none of my business.” Yet she couldn’t suppress a stab of jealousy at the thought of him spending a long, steamy night between the legs of some faceless female.

“You’re right. It’s none of your business.” He shuffled past her, sipping his coffee.

“But since you obviously want to know—”

“I don’t—”

“—I was at the restaurant until six in the morning finalizing preparations for an event I’m catering next week. I was hoping to sleep in late,” he added with a sardonic glance over his shoulder.

“Oh.” Reese bit her bottom lip, feeling guilty. “Sorry.”

After less than three hours of sleep, Michael should have looked like death warmed over. Instead his bed-rumpled appearance only added to his virile sexiness. And was there
anything
the man didn’t look good wearing? As if his powerful biceps weren’t mouthwatering enough in that sleeveless T-shirt, now she couldn’t take her eyes off the way his pajama bottoms clung to his round, well-toned butt. She imagined digging her nails into those clenching and unclenching muscles, urging him deeper as he thrust into her. The image was so vivid, so explicitly carnal, that her loins throbbed in wanton response.

Mesmerized, she followed him into the enormous living room, more than a little disappointed when he sank down heavily on the sofa, cutting off her view of that amazing ass. Leaning his head back against the sofa, he regarded her tiredly for a moment, his lids at half mast. Like he was fighting to keep his eyes open.

Reese felt another pang of guilt. She, who’d never known the meaning of the word
impulsive
until she met this man, had chosen the worst possible day to act on a spontaneous urge.

“You never did answer my question,” Michael murmured.

“Which one?” Reese asked, sitting on a chair upholstered in sumptuous brown leather.

“What, exactly, are you doing here?”

“I told you. I wanted to bring you coffee.” She smiled whimsically. “I’m trying to get into my new role as your apprentice.”

“Yeah?” He sounded amused. “You gonna pick up my dry-cleaning, too?”

“I wouldn’t go
that
far.”

His answering smile, the first real one he’d allowed since her arrival, made her heart lurch crazily. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he teased.

Her smile widened. “No, I guess not.”

As he raised the cup to his mouth and drank more coffee, her gaze was drawn to his right forearm, which bore a distinct tattoo that identified him as an Omega Psi Phi fraternity member.

“How’d you find my address and get inside the building?”

Reese’s eyes snapped back to his face, and she grinned. “Your address was on the contract I had to sign for the show. As for getting into the building, I flirted shamelessly with the doorman, made him think I was one of your newest playthings.” She paused, arching a brow. “He must get that a lot. It was almost too easy.”

Michael shook his head, mouth twitching. “I plead the Fifth.”

Reese laughed. “I bet you do, Que-Dog.”

He glanced down at his tattooed arm, then laughed.

Moments later, when they were still smiling companionably at each other, she murmured, “See, it’s working already.”

“What is?”

“My plan.” At his wary look, she elaborated, “I came over here this morning hoping we could reach a truce.”

“A truce,” Michael repeated slowly.

She nodded. “I thought it might be good for us to spend some time getting to know each other better, so we won’t be at each other’s throats when taping begins next week. I know how important it is for us to have chemistry.”

He looked amused. “I think we’ve already established that we have chemistry. If we had any more, we’d both have to be hosed down.”

Reese blushed, her belly quivering at his words. “I’m not talking about
that
kind of chemistry.”

“Why not? It’s the only kind of chemistry worth talking about. If you don’t believe me, I’d be more than happy to remind you.” He wiggled his brows suggestively.

Reese laughed, even as she felt a responsive twitch between her thighs. “That won’t be necessary. Besides, just a minute ago you were swaying on your feet and could barely keep your eyes open!”

A slow, wolfish grin curved his mouth. “I’m wide awake now. Just say the word, sweetheart, and I’m all yours.”

Oh God.
Reese nearly vaulted out of the chair and into his lap. She wanted him, wanted him with every cell in her body, every fiber of her being. It took a monumental act of willpower for her to remain seated, to resist the wicked gleam in his eyes that was pure temptation.

Sitting back and crossing her legs—to stop the vibrations in her clitoris and to appear composed—she tsk-tsked and wagged her finger at him. “Now, Mr. Wolf, is that any way to talk to your new apprentice?”

“Depends on what kind of apprentice you wanna be,” he drawled lazily. “Instruction doesn’t have to be limited to the kitchen.”

Her insides clenched at the unmistakable implication. Smiling coquettishly, she purred, “Who says I need instruction—in
or
out of the kitchen?”

Michael stared at her for an arrested moment, his grin faltering. When she batted her eyelashes at him, he let out a low, rough chuckle and shook his head, looking slightly dazed. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”

Swallowing a grin, Reese deadpanned, “I hope not. I was just starting to like you again.”

He threw back his head and laughed, the sound so warm and infectious she couldn’t help joining in.

When their mirth had subsided, Michael set his coffee cup on a side table and rose from the sofa, no longer unsteady on his feet.

“Where are you going?” Reese asked him.

“To take a shower—a very cold one. And then I’m gonna get dressed and show you around my beautiful city.”

Her eyes widened as a wave of astonished pleasure swept through her. “Really?

You’d give up your Sunday to take me sightseeing?”

“Sure, why not? You brought me coffee.”

“I can make you breakfast, too,” Reese called after him as he started from the room.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. He looked so surprised and touched by the offer that Reese wondered whether he’d gotten so used to cooking for others that no one ever bothered to cook for him.

“You know what?” he said softly. “I’m definitely gonna take you up on that. But can I get a rain check?”

“Of course.” She smiled shyly. “Do you want to just stop somewhere on the way out?”

“Yeah. And I know just the place.”

The Sunday jazz brunch at Wolf’s Soul was the place to be.

Locals and tourists alike flocked to the restaurant every weekend for an award-winning buffet that included everything from eggs Benedict to crawfish étouffée, along with a toe-tapping dose of live jazz music served up by the
Howlin’ Good
band. Kids ate free, while college students and senior citizens enjoyed half-price discounts.

All proceeds from the brunch helped to fund nonprofit organizations that benefited Atlanta’s inner-city youth, who were near and dear to Michael’s heart. He mentored at-risk teens, gave them jobs at his restaurant and regularly had them in his studio audience. Two years ago his alma mater, Morehouse College, had established the Michael Wolf scholarship for economically disadvantaged students. Given Michael’s commitment to his community, it was no wonder Atlantans had proudly embraced him as their native son.

An hour after arriving at Wolf’s Soul with Michael, Reese pushed away her empty plate and sighed deeply. “That was absolutely wonderful.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Michael said, lounging across from her at a small table located on a second-story balcony that overlooked Peachtree Street. Music from inside the restaurant drifted through the double French doors, a lazy blues instrumental. The morning sun hadn’t cranked up the temperature yet, so sitting outdoors was tolerable, even pleasant.

Reese sighed again. Filled with good food and nursing her second mimosa, she felt relaxed and deliciously content. She could have stayed there, with Michael, for the rest of the day.

He smiled, watching her with a look of quiet satisfaction, as he’d done throughout their meal. “Can I get you anything else?”

Reese laughed. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t eat another bite.”

His dark eyes glinted at her. “Are you sure? Our chocolate fountain is
very
popular.”

She groaned, rubbing her full stomach. “I’m sure it is. But if I go anywhere near it, I’m going to explode. God knows I’ve already eaten way more than I should have.” She shot him an accusing look. “I blame you.”

His expression was one of exaggerated innocence. “Me?”

“Yes,
you.
You’re the one who kept urging me to try this, and try that. And everything sounded so good I just couldn’t resist. Like that brioche French toast, and the crab cake Benedict. And that sweet potato hash. Mmm, positively divine. Anyway,” she said pointedly, before she got off track, “after all that food we just ate, you have no business even
mentioning
that chocolate fountain to me. What are you—a sadist?”

Michael laughed, lazily running his finger around the rim of his champagne glass. “I like watching you eat. You take pleasure in food in a way that any chef would appreciate.

There’s nothing worse than pouring your heart and soul into a meal, only to watch someone pick over it because they’re on a diet, or they don’t wanna mess up their lipstick, or they’re afraid to look greedy if they clean their plate and ask for seconds.” His eyes twinkled with humor. “You know how you women do.”

Reese grinned. “I would say you need to stop cooking for such ungrateful wenches, but I seriously doubt you’ve ever had to worry about anyone picking over food
you’ve
made.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, if
I’m
ever privileged enough to have you cook for me, I promise to bring a big appetite.”

Michael smiled. “And I promise to leave you satisfied.”

Reese’s mouth went dry. For a moment she just stared at him, wondering if they were talking about food or lovemaking. Either way, there was no doubt in her mind that Michael knew his way around a woman’s body the way he did a gourmet kitchen.

Holding his gaze, she reached for her glass and held it up. “A toast,” she said. “To good food.”

“And endless possibilities,” Michael added silkily, quickening her heart rate.

They clinked glasses and sipped their drinks, staring at each other like they were the only two people in the world. They might as well have been.

Though the restaurant was filled to capacity, they were the only occupants of the small balcony. Reese didn’t know whether this was by accident or design. She didn’t care.

She liked having Michael to herself, though she’d certainly enjoyed watching his interactions with customers when they’d first arrived. He’d gone out of his way to greet as many people as he could, shaking hands, answering questions, hugging elderly grandmothers and coaxing smiles out of babies. Watching him in action, Reese realized that money and fame had not changed him. He’d never forgotten where he came from, and his customers loved him for it.

“Coming here for breakfast was a brilliant idea,” Reese murmured.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Michael smiled ruefully. “After the way I behaved the other night, I was afraid you’d never want to come near this place again.”

“I wasn’t planning to, believe me.” She chuckled. “I was so mad at you, I even thought about burning your cookbook.”

He shouted with laughter. “Damn, baby, that’s cold!”

Reese grinned wickedly. “Hot, you mean. As in, torched to ashes.”

Michael shook his head at her, his eyes glimmering with amusement and respect.

“You are one formidable woman, Reese St. James. Remind me never to cross you again.”

She laughed, sipping her mimosa. As she crossed her legs under the table, Michael shifted at the same time. Without warning her foot collided with his firm, muscled calf, sending jolts of sensation shooting up her leg to her loins.

Their gazes locked, a current of pure sexual awareness passing between them. “So
this
is where you’re hiding!” boomed a deep male voice threaded with laughter.

Michael swore under his breath, staring past Reese with an expression of annoyance mingled with dread.

Curious, she glanced around and saw a man coming toward them with a cocky swagger that could only be rivaled by Michael’s. The stranger was dressed in a well-tailored charcoal suit, his debonair appearance offset by the toothpick dangling insolently from a corner of his mouth.

As he reached their table, his speculative gaze took inventory of Reese’s flushed cheeks and Michael’s scowl before a knowing grin spread across his face.

“What’s up, Wolfman?” he greeted Michael, clapping him on the back. “No wonder your waiters were being so tight-lipped about where you were. You’re up here having a hot date. And speaking of hot…” He eyed Reese with frank male interest, his full lips curving in a smile that had undoubtedly seduced more than a few women into parting with their panties. “Hello, beautiful.”

Reese couldn’t help smiling back. “Hello.”

Grudgingly Michael performed the introductions. “Reese, I’d like you to meet Quentin Reddick. Q, this is Reese St. James.”