Temptation's Kiss

by Janice Sims

  Patrice was pulling her dress over her head when someone knocked on her bedroom door. She smoothed the dress over her hips and called, “Come in!”

  Nina strode into the room. She was still in her bathrobe. She gasped when she saw Patrice. “You’re wearing that?”

  Patrice glanced down at her dress. It was pale yellow and made from a cotton material that was soft and smooth and felt wonderful against her skin. Sleeveless, it was scoop-necked and displayed a modest amount of cleavage. Her arms, which were two of her best features, looked lovely in this dress. The hem fell a couple inches above her knees, showing off her toned legs, and it was cinched at the waist. “I like this dress,” she told Nina, peering at her with a disapproving expression.

  “I like it, too,” Nina said, frowning. “But it looks like you’re going to a picnic or something, not dinner with a guy.”

  “That’s good,” Patrice said, moving around Nina to go to her vanity where she sat down, put a towel around her shoulders and began applying a bit of blush and lipstick.

  She’d moisturized after her shower and didn’t think she needed to wear any makeup other than the blush and the lipstick, so she’d forego the foundation.

  Nina stood next to her with a look of consternation on her pretty face. “Can’t you put on something more…seductive?”

  Patrice met her sister-in-law’s eyes in the mirror. She burst out laughing. “Do you think I would try to seduce T.K. in front of you and Patrick?”

  Nina turned away. “What if Patrick and I retired early? It was a long drive from Albuquerque.”

  Then Patrice knew what her sister-in-law had been planning all along. She and Patrick were going to disappear once the evening got underway so that she and T.K. could be alone.

  Patrice rose and went to stand directly in front of Nina. “Listen to me, Nina Sutton. If you and Patrick claim you’re exhausted and try to go to bed before dessert I’m going to feign tiredness, too, and T.K. will have no alternative but to go home. Do you hear me? I can’t believe you were thinking of doing that!”

  Pouting, Nina stomped from the room. “I try to do something nice for my sister-in-law, and look where it gets me—yelled at!”

  “I’m not yelling,” Patrice pointed out.

  “You’d just as well be,” Nina said. She turned around at the door and thought she’d give it a last-ditch effort. “What are you afraid of? That you’ll like him, and then you’ll have to revise your never-get-involved-with-someone-I-work-with rule?”

  Patrice sighed. She knew Nina meant well. She loved her for wanting to see her find someone to share her life with. But T. K. McKenna was not ripe for the picking, no matter what Nina thought.

  “Sweetie,” she said gently as she went to place a hand on Nina’s shoulder. “I know you love me and you want to see me as happy as you and Patrick are, but T.K. has been through some emotional upheavals recently. If I’m not mistaken, he found out Edina Edwards was cheating on him about the same time his brother was killed in an accident.”

  “Oh, my God, I forgot about that,” Nina cried. Patrice smiled. Nina sounded as though her card in the T. K. McKenna Fan Club was going to be revoked because she’d forgotten an important event in his life.

  “Yes, well,” Patrice continued, “he’s vulnerable right now. I think he’d appreciate a friend more than a lover.”

  Nina was all seriousness. “You’re right.” She smiled at Patrice. “Forget everything I said.” She took a deep breath. “I’d better go get dressed. It’s almost seven.”

  Just as Nina finished her sentence, the doorbell rang. T.K. was early. Nina squealed and shot out the door, making a beeline for the guest room. Patrick, who had long ago showered and dressed, met her in the hallway. Patrice stepped into the hallway. “Patrick, would you mind getting the door? I’m not quite finished getting ready.” She still had to put on her sandals and comb her hair.

  “No problem,” Patrick said and headed for the front door.

  After he had rung the bell, T.K. stood on the tiny porch with a wine bottle in each hand. The door swung open, and he knew disappointment must have briefly registered on his face because he had expected Patrice to answer it. Instead, a young man about his size held the door open and took a step back so he could enter. “Hey, man,” he said in a deep voice. T.K. handed him one of the wine bottles so he’d have one free hand with which to shake his hand. They shook hands and grinned at each other.

  “You must be Patrice’s brother,” T.K. said as he stepped inside.

  “Patrick,” Patrick said. “Good to meet you, Mr. McKenna.”

  T.K. peered at him. He was young, maybe twenty-five or less. He probably referred to all of his elders in the manner in which he’d addressed him. God, he felt old.

  He laughed shortly. “T.K.’ll do,” he told him.

  Patrick closed the door and faced him. “Patrice and Nina are still getting dressed.”

  T.K. handed him the other bottle of wine. “I’m a little early.”

  He was five minutes early. The drive had been so pleasant that he’d lost track of time. After he had dispelled sad thoughts, his mind had been busy wondering if his memory of Patrice was accurate. How would he feel when he saw her again? That’s why he’d been somewhat disappointed when Patrick had answered the door.

  “You’re not early,” Patrick said. “You’re on time. But you know women have to keep you waiting, no matter what time you arrive.” He led him back to the kitchen where he put the wine in the refrigerator.

  T.K. admired the way Patrice had decorated the place. It was plain to see she loved her home and took pride in it. It was a very welcoming space, warm and inviting, kind of like her—assuming, of course, his first impression of her had been correct.

  The aromas in the air were mouthwatering, and the table had been set for four. Patrick said, “Would you like something to drink? I think there’s beer in fridge.”

  “If you’re having one, I’ll take one,” T.K. said.

  Patrick got a Corona for each of them from the refrigerator and popped the lids off the bottles with an opener that was stuck on the fridge door by a magnet.

  He handed a bottle to T.K. “They shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  Patrick felt ill-equipped to entertain a movie star. He wished his sister had been dressed so that she could have answered the door. What was he supposed to do while they waited for the women to put in an appearance?

  They stood awkwardly next to the refrigerator for a couple minutes. Then Patrick said, “There must be something on ESPN. Wanna check it out while we wait?”

  T.K. said that he would, and they went to the living room where Patrick turned on the TV and they sat on the sofa and watched soccer. That’s where Patrice and Nina found them a few minutes later when they joined them.

  “Good evening, T.K.,” Patrice said, smiling warmly. Behind her, Nina stifled a squeal of delight.

  T.K. rose. “Hello, Patrice.” Their eyes met, and he was instantly reminded of the expectant, wholly unsettling feeling he’d had the last time he was alone with her. Her beautiful wide-spaced brown eyes were lit with humor, and as his eyes lowered to her mouth, she moistened her lips and he sighed involuntarily. Thank God Patrick had the TV volume up. No one could have heard him.

  She placed her sister-in-law in front of her. “This is Nina, Patrick’s wife.”

  T.K. offered Nina his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Nina.”

  “Hello,” Nina said shyly with downcast eyes. Her voice was barely audible.

  T.K. bent down. She was a tiny girl. Her husband must have been an entire foot taller than she was. “So, how long have you and Patrick been married? You both look so young. You can’t have been married long.”

  Nina smiled, revealing dimples in both cheeks. She finally met his eyes. “Nine months,” she said softly, eyes sparkling with happiness.

  “Newlyweds,” said T.K. enthusiastically. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

  “Thank you,” Nina s
aid. Patrick got up and stood behind Nina and wrapped his arms around her. “She’s a keeper,” he said fondly.

  Nina beamed her pleasure.

  Patrice was happy that Nina had been able to avoid embarrassment when she met T.K. She had felt like squealing with excitement upon seeing him herself. Years of training at Juilliard had come in handy.

  Her whole body was tingling. She wanted to grab him, kiss him and run her hands all over his bald head. What was wrong with her? Each time she saw him, her body went crazy, and she had to rein in her girlish tendencies toward throwing herself in his arms and pressing her body against his. Was it pheromones? Whatever it was he had, it was so strong she was barely able to resist. How was she going to get through dinner, let alone months of filming in Wyoming?

  She could admit it: her attraction to him was growing. Her initial attraction, the day of the interview in Mark Greenberg’s office, had been strong, but this was bordering on overpowering.

  “Well,” she said breathlessly, after a brief silence during which they all stood around and smiled at one another, “dinner’s ready!”

  Chapter 6

  “Careful,” Patrice cautioned T.K. as he was about to put a forkful of the main dish in his mouth. “I made it with several kinds of hot peppers. It could be an acquired taste for you.”

  T.K. thought it was sweet of her to be concerned, but he considered himself somewhat of an aficionado of foods of a spicy nature. He munched on raw jalapeno peppers just to add flavor to the experience whenever he ate steamed crabs, one of his favorite foods. Wasabi didn’t faze him. He put the food in his mouth and withdrew the fork. He let it remain on his tongue a second so that he could discern the various flavors. It was delicious, peppery and definitely a tomato-based sauce, with a hint of sweetness. That was the top note. He chewed. The chicken was tender, the corn tortilla wrapping a delight. As for hotness, it was moderate at best. He smiled at Patrice. “It’s the best chicken enchilada I’ve ever had.”

  Patrice blushed. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

  He continued to eat. Across the table, Nina and Patrick were watching him as though they expected him to expectorate any second now and dash to the sink to stick his mouth beneath the faucet and gulp mouthfuls of cold water.

  He laughed. “I’m all right, really,” he assured them.

  They laughed too and tucked into their meals. “It’s just that we’re used to hot peppers,” Nina said. “My momma puts them in everything—breakfast, lunch and dinner. She even makes pepper jelly to eat with her collard greens when she cooks them.”

  “I had that once when I was in New Orleans,” T.K. said. “It’s sweet but very spicy. Good stuff.” He made short work of the chicken enchiladas on his plate and didn’t once reach for his glass of wine or the glass of water in front of him.

  “Would you like more?” Patrice asked, rising.

  “Yes, please,” he said, holding his plate while she placed another serving onto it from the baking dish on the table.

  “What do you two do?” he asked Patrick and Nina, as he started in on his second helping.

  “I teach English at the University of New Mexico,” said Patrick after swallowing.

  “And I’m a law student,” said Nina.

  “You teach at the university level?” T.K. asked, surprised. “Excuse me, but how old are you?”

  “I’ll be twenty-five next month,” said Patrick. T.K. thought he sounded like someone who’d been asked that question a lot. He hadn’t meant to offend him.

  “He’s the youngest instructor at the university with a doctorate degree,” said Patrice proudly, smiling at her brother.

  “I envy you,” said T.K. sincerely.

  Patrick’s brows rose in surprise. “You envy me?”

  “You’re only twenty-five, and you know exactly what you want to do with your life,” T.K. explained. “I’m thirty-six, and I still don’t know.”

  Patrick laughed. “You seem to be doing pretty well to me.”

  “I’m in the business of make-believe,” T.K. said with a smile. “If I do my job right, for two hours, I’m able to make the audience believe I’m whomever I’m portraying at that given moment. Then I’m on to the next project. If I’m good at what I do, I’m paid well and that’s a bonus, but I wouldn’t refer to this as a calling. You, on the other hand, probably feel as though teaching English is what you were born to do.”

  Patrick was nodding with a contemplative expression on his face. “I love it,” he said.

  Nina gasped. “You don’t love acting?” she asked.

  “Love it?” asked T.K., frowning. “It’s something I’m good at, and right now I’m in demand. It’s a business. I wouldn’t say I’m passionate about it.”

  Patrice was astonished by this revelation. With every T. K. McKenna film she’d seen, she had been convinced that the actor on the screen was totally into his craft—that he lived and breathed acting. He was a chameleon. How could someone fake that?

  “Did you lose the passion, or you’ve never really felt it?” asked Patrice.

  T.K. put down his fork. He didn’t want to disillusion Patrice because it was quite obvious to him that she did feel passionate about acting. They were different in that regard, however, and he thought he should be honest with her.

  Looking into her eyes, he said, “You have to understand that where I grew up it was all about the hustle. Yes, my parents were teachers. They tried their best to keep me out of trouble, but the guys I associated with were not the sort they thought I should be hanging with. My parents wanted me to go to college. I had the grades. But the people I identified with were the kind who found a hustle, worked it and brought in big bucks by doing that, and often what they were doing wasn’t exactly legal. I got into acting by accident. They were shooting a DeNiro film in the neighborhood, and they were looking for extras. I happened to meet DeNiro, and he liked the look of me. He had the writers give me a couple lines. After that, I was hooked. Here was a hustle I thought I could work. So, at eighteen I took off for L.A.”

  “That’s not what I read about you,” Patrice said, puzzled. “According to your background, you went to a performing arts high school in New York. You always knew you wanted to be an actor.”

  “Manufactured by my first agent,” T.K. told her. “She thought it sounded better.”

  “She was right!” Nina said, and they all laughed.

  T.K. continued to meet Patrice’s gaze. “Are you disappointed?”

  She smiled at him. “I’m even more impressed with you than I was before.”

  This warmed T.K.’s heart. His eyes were watering. He blinked. His eyes were watering! And his tongue was on fire. He reached for his glass of water and drank deeply.

  Patrice smiled innocently. “Those peppers have a cumulative effect, I’m afraid. They sneak up on you.”

  Nina and Patrick laughed. Patrice rose and went to the refrigerator to get some ice for T.K.’s glass of water. It seemed to help when those particular peppers kicked in.

  She put some ice into his glass, and T.K. gratefully drank some of it, allowing pieces of ice to remain on his tongue. He felt some relief, but his tongue was still burning.

  “I think I’ll serve dessert,” Patrice said helpfully. Dessert was vanilla bean ice cream with caramel sauce. The milk in the ice cream effectively put out the fire in the peppers. Ice cream was a common dessert in their household when hot peppers were served with dinner.

  “What’s wrong with you people?” T.K. asked, looking at each of them in turn. “Have hot peppers burned off your taste buds? Why aren’t you burning?”

  Nina smiled sweetly. “Like I said, we eat peppers for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Actually, they’re good for you, excellent for keeping your sinuses clear.”

  “I’m amazed you still have sinuses,” T.K. exclaimed.

  Momentarily, Patrice served each of them a bowl of ice cream. She sat beside T.K., spooned some of his and held it out for him to eat. “I’m so sorry. I’m a te
rrible hostess. I should have known you weren’t ready for Albuquerque hotness.”

  T.K.’s eyes met hers. He accepted the spoonful of ice cream from her and took the spoon. Burning tongue or not, he wanted to kiss her until her eyes rolled back in her head. “Thank you,” he said after swallowing the delicious dessert. The effect of the ice cream on his tongue was instantaneous. The burning subsided. He smiled.

  She smiled back at him, her lovely eyes lowering seductively. His heart thudded. His groin tightened, and he was glad he was sitting down. “Forgive me?” she asked softly.

  “Just about anything,” he returned, equally softly.

  Across from them, Nina was grinning. She grasped her husband’s hand. “I knew there was something there,” she whispered.

  But a brother is never happy to see a man look at his sister the way T. K. McKenna was looking at her. He knew exactly what was on the actor’s mind, and it wasn’t anything as noble as marriage.

  After conversation over coffee, T.K. insisted on helping Patrice with the dishes. Nina played the “I’m exhausted” card in spite of the earlier threat from Patrice. As she and Patrick were leaving the kitchen, Patrice thought he looked reluctant to leave. She was miffed with Nina, but what could she do about it now? She vowed to get revenge later.

  Like most cooks in her family, Patrice cleaned as she cooked, so there were no pots and pans to wash following the meal—only the plates, dishes and silverware they had used. These she put into a sink of hot soapy water and began washing while T.K. rinsed them and set them on the draining board to air dry.

  “Those chicken enchiladas were delicious even if they did make my eyes water,” he said as they worked companionably side by side.