The Sweetest Temptation

by Rochelle Alers

  “What I do know and what I see I like.”

  This time Faith had no comeback. Clamping her jaw tightly, she refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting the same. Despite all of her protests, she also liked what she saw and what he’d shown her—arrogance notwithstanding.

  “WJ said he gave you something to give me,” she said instead, deftly changing the topic of conversation.

  Ethan set his mug on the counter and went over to get the envelope from his jacket hanging on the coat tree. Retrieving it, he handed it to Faith. “Thank you for the use of your bed and the coffee.” He winked at her as he walked over to the bed to get his shoes. “I believe I can make it home okay now.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he stared at her. “Are you inviting me to spend the night?”

  “No. It’s just that it’s snowing and…”

  His eyebrows lifted when she didn’t finish her statement. “I’m touched that you’re concerned about my well-being, but I can assure you that I’m able to maneuver in snow.”

  Faith gave him a facetious grin. “Of course. After all, you are a chauffeur.”

  “Right,” he said after a lengthy pause. Driving wasn’t his livelihood or career, but that wasn’t something he would disclose to her. Bending over, he tied his shoes. Rising from the bed, he closed the distance between them. “You still owe me a dance,” he whispered close to her ear.

  Faith’s eyes narrowed. He was like a dog with a bone. “What if I put on some music and we dance here?”

  “No, Faith. You should’ve danced with me last night, but you cut and run like a candy-ass.”

  Her delicate jaw dropped before she recovered. “Now, that sounds like military jargon. Were you in the military?”

  “I’ll tell you, but under one condition.”

  Faith registered the teasing quality in his voice. “What’s that?”

  “Because you forfeited the chance to dance with me last night, now it will have to be someplace else.”

  “What on earth are you talking about, Ethan?”

  “Let me know when you’re available to go out.”

  She stared wordlessly as a shock flew through her. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “No, Faith. It’s not going to be a date.”

  “If my going out with you is not a date, then pray tell what is it?”

  “You making good on your promise for one little itty-bitty dance, and in turn I’ll tell you about my military experience.”

  Faith saw the beginnings of a smile crease the skin around his eyes. She didn’t know whether he was teasing or serious about taking her out. Now she had another adjective to add to his personality—persistent.

  “What are you trying to do? Wear me down?”

  “Nope,” Ethan countered. “All you have to do is say yes.”

  “But what if I say no.”

  “Then I’ll be forced to wear you down.”

  She shook her head. “Please don’t. Not only am I worn down but also worn-out.”

  “What say you, Faith Whitfield?”

  She couldn’t stop the smile softening her mouth. “I say yes, Ethan McMillan.”

  Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll call you.”

  “But you don’t have my number,” she said to his back when he walked over to get his jacket.

  Slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, Ethan turned and looked at Faith. “I’ll get it from WJ.” He gave her a snappy salute, turned and opened the door. It closed and locked automatically behind him.

  Faith stared at the door, unable to believe what she’d just committed to. Ethan wanted to take her out for “one little itty-bitty dance,” and to her that translated into a date. Glancing at the envelope in her hand, she returned to the window seat, sat down and opened it. WJ had enclosed a business card. She flipped it over, smiling. He’d scrawled the word thanks, his signature and drawn a smiley face. Her smile faded when she peered into the envelope to find a stack of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. She removed them from the envelope and began counting. She stopped at eight hundred. William Raymond’s little something added up to more than a thousand dollars.

  Tucking the flap into the envelope, she stood up, crossed the room and opened the doors to the armoire and secreted the money in a sachet-scented lined drawer cradling her lingerie. The Raymonds hadn’t blinked when she quoted a figure for the dessert menu for Savanna’s party, a figure that was near the top of her price list because of the amount of chocolate she’d ordered from a renowned confectioner who imported raw cocoa beans from South America, Java, Grenada, Mexico and Gabon.

  Faith knew any attempt to return the cash would be construed as an insult by WJ, so she had to devise another plan to thank him for his extraordinary generosity or pass his gratitude along to her employees in the form of a bonus when they put in long hours to accommodate the customers who crowded into Let Them Eat Cake for the specially prepared candies, tortes and cookies for Valentine’s Day.

  * * *

  Blowing snow and an accident slowed traffic to a crawl. Ethan was less than three miles from his home, but it could’ve been three hundred because of the “lookie-loos” craning their necks to stare at the two men waving their arms and yelling at each other because of a fender-bender. Someone blew a horn, prompting a cacophony of horn blasts until the congestion eased and he maneuvered past the scene of the accident and drove to an industrial area where he would park the Town Car and pick up his own car.

  The windows to MAC Elite Car Services, Inc., were dark, which meant his office manager had followed his directive to close because of the weather. Kenneth Mobley would’ve remained in the office until his shift ended, taking calls and instructing drivers to pick up clients who were partial to door-to-door car service. He’d also instructed Kenny to call the drivers to tell them to come back to the garage after their last drop-off, because the lives and safety of his employees were more important than the bottom line.

  Punching in a series of numbers on the remote device attached to the limousine’s visor, Ethan waited until the door to the bay opened where he’d left his car. Within minutes he’d backed out a late-model Mercedes-Benz coupe, maneuvered the Town Car into the space and driven the short distance to the gated community and his town house condominium.

  He parked in an attached garage, unlocked the door leading directly into the kitchen. Not bothering to check the stack of mail the cleaning woman had left on a side table in the living room, he climbed the staircase to his second-floor bedroom. The large numbers on the clock on a bedside table glowed eerily in the darkened space. Not bothering to turn on a lamp, Ethan undressed, leaving his clothes on a leather-covered bench at the foot of the king-size bed. All of his actions were mechanical as he pulled back the comforter and sheet, got into bed and let out a sigh of relief.

  It was the first time since he’d moved into the house that he truly appreciated his bed. The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was Faith Whitfield’s face with a pair of dark eyes, pert nose and incredibly sexy mouth, a mouth he wanted to sample, to discover if it tasted as delicious as it looked.

  * * *

  Faith woke late Monday morning, feeling more rested than she had in weeks. Let Them Eat Cake, closed on Sundays and Mondays, didn’t require her going into the shop, so the only thing on her agenda was cleaning her apartment and preparing dinner for her bimonthly get-together with her cousins.

  Looking through her freezer, she took out several bags of shrimp: medium Gulf white for stir-fry with snow peas, jumbo for shrimp cocktail and Maine shrimp for shrimp chowder. She had most of the ingredients on hand for her seafood menu with the exception of the snow peas, scallions, garlic, potatoes, leeks and chives, and that meant she would have to make a trip to Balducci’s, her favorite gourmet grocery at 14th Street and Eighth Avenue.

  Fortified with a cup of coffee, she turned on the radio to a station f
eaturing the latest R & B, pop and hip-hop, singing along and dancing to a few of her favorite artists. Snow accumulations measured three inches, not enough to close schools, but enough to make walking hazardous for pedestrians trying to jump over mounds of snow created by sanitation department plows.

  Faith emptied the laundry hamper, stripped her bed and changed the towels in the bathroom, putting everything in two bags. Although there was a self-serve Laundromat on the avenue around the corner, she was loath to spend hours in the place, waiting for a washer or dryer, then having to fold up clothes and carry the bags up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. The owner of the laundry offered pickup and drop-off. She willingly paid for the additional service.

  She called the laundry for a pickup, cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, dusted all the furniture and changed her bed. She hadn’t thought of Ethan again until she recognized the lingering scent of his aftershave on one of the pillows.

  Faith wasn’t certain what it was about the man who’d appeared to have more than his share of ego, a trait she didn’t particularly like in a man, yet she didn’t find it repulsive. She’d dated men who were so aggressive that their behavior bordered on bullying. One had insisted because he wanted her that she would eventually surrender to his will. What he failed to realize was that Faith Vinna Whitfield surrendered to no one—especially a man. She might not have known what she wanted, but she knew without a doubt what she did not want, and that included men who took rejection as a personal affront and those who were so full of themselves that they were unable to fathom that a woman might not want to have anything to do with them.

  They were nothing more than insufferable, egotistical, nauseating frogs! She would go out with Ethan McMillan, but if he exhibited even the slightest indication that he was like the rest of her past dates, then he would also be relegated to frog status.

  * * *

  The downstairs bell chimed, and Faith glanced around the apartment before going over to the intercom. Depressing a button, she spoke into the tiny speaker next to the door. “Who is it?”

  “We’re here,” the sisters said in unison.

  Tessa had called to let Faith know that she and Simone were meeting at the West 4th Street Washington Square subway stop. Both had decided to leave their cars in Brooklyn Heights and White Plains respectively, and take the subway and railroad.

  Smiling, Faith pressed the button that would release the lock on the outer door. She was ready for her Monday-night get-together. It’d been several months since her cousins had come to Manhattan for their bimonthly dinner because she hadn’t been available. Unlocking the door, she opened it slightly before walking over to the refrigerator to remove a bowl of salad. She’d even included her shrimp theme in the salad.

  “Something smells good,” Simone announced, sticking her head through the slight opening in the door. At the same time she removed her boots, leaving them on the thick straw mat.

  Faith smiled at Simone. “I made one of your favorites.” She knew how finicky her cousin was when it came to food.

  Petite, hazel-eyed, with a profusion of red and gold-streaked curly hair falling down her back, Simone Whitfield had been blessed with a natural seductiveness that was startling and breathtaking at the same time. The talented, divorced, thirty-three-year-old floral decorator always shocked men when she revealed her age because she looked as if she were barely out of her teens. While most women would’ve given anything to look years younger without help from a plastic surgeon, Simone complained that she was still carded when ordering a drink.

  Simone walked into Faith’s apartment, set a shopping bag on the floor, removed her coat and hung it up. Her eyes widened when she saw a quartet of shrimp perched around the rim of crystal cocktail glasses filled with cocktail sauce at each place setting.

  “Thank you, Faith,” she crooned, moving over and hugging her cousin.

  Faith returned the hug. “You’re welcome.” She didn’t get along with Simone as well as she did Tessa because of Simone’s occasional dark moods. Simone blamed her mercurial disposition on seasonal affective disorder, but Faith attributed most of it to her on-again, off-again relationship with her shiftless, trifling ex-husband.

  “Everything looks nice,” Tessa said, walking in and closing the door. She slipped out of her coat, draping it over a hook on the coat tree.

  There was no mistaking Tessa and Simone for sisters, although Tessa’s hair, eyes and complexion were darker than Simone’s. Thirty-one-year-old Tessa had become a preeminent wedding and event planner in the four years since starting up Signature Bridals and Event Planners, Inc. with her sister and first cousin. Tessa owned sixty percent of the company, while Simone and Faith shared equally in the remaining forty. The company had afforded the thirty-something Whitfields a very comfortable lifestyle.

  “Thanks. I love your haircut, Tessa,” Faith said, smiling. She was surprised to see that Tessa had cut her hair. For years she’d affected a flyaway hairdo that was a modified throwback to the Afro of the seventies. The shorter style was a combination of punk and chic.

  “Enough chitchat,” she said, extending her hand to Tessa. “Let me see it.” Tessa held out her left hand. Prisms of light sparkled from a magnificent cushion-cut diamond with round and baguette diamonds set in platinum. Faith turned her hand over. There were pavé diamonds on the band. “It is exquisite, Tessa.” There was no mistaking the awe in Faith’s voice. She placed her arms around her cousin’s neck and kissed her cheek. “You deserve all of the good things coming to you.”

  “Stop, Faith, before I start crying. And I did enough of that yesterday to last me a lifetime.”

  Simone removed a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of pink hydrangeas and grape hyacinths and a bottle of white wine from the shopping bag. “Tessa had everyone crying, Mama, Daddy and Aunt Edie. Even Uncle Henry wiped away a tear or two.”

  “Did your soon-to-be, manly man brother-in-law cry?” Faith teased.

  “No. In fact, he seemed rather amused. I can’t wait to see what happens when we go to Franklin Lakes this coming Sunday to have dinner with the Sanborns. And please, Faith, don’t tell me you have something on your calendar for Sunday,” Simone drawled facetiously.

  A slight frown appeared between Faith’s eyes. “I don’t believe I do.”

  “Go check!” the sisters chorused.

  Hiding a grin, Faith crossed the room and picked up her PDA from the bedside table and scrolled through her calendar. “I’m good.” She hadn’t planned anything for the day, but she would’ve used the time to bake and decorate a couple of cakes for her book.

  “I’ll call and let you know what time Micah and I will pick you up,” Tessa said. “And if it’s not raining or snowing, then dress casually. And bring a change of clothes,” she added cryptically.

  “Why?”

  “That’s because the Sanborns get together to play touch football on Sundays.”

  Faith shook her head while waving a hand. “Forget it, Tessa. I don’t do sports.”

  “Neither did I before I got involved with Micah,” Tessa admitted reluctantly.

  “I love rolling around in the dirt,” Simone said, as she filled a vase with water and skillfully arranged the colorful blooms.

  Faith gave her cousin an incredulous look. “That’s because to you dirt equals money.”

  “No lie,” the floral decorator quipped.

  “And, by the way, the flowers are beautiful.” Simone knew she was partial to pink flowers.

  Affecting a curtsey, Simone flashed a wide grin. “Thank you.” She’d just signed a contract with a well-known White Plains law firm to deliver floral arrangements for their reception area and conference rooms. She’d built a greenhouse on a portion of her property where she grew and cultivated herbs and flowers year-round. She’d grown her business, Wildflowers and Other Treasures, selling bouquets and corsages for birthdays, holidays and proms. Her involvement with Signature Bridals expanded into specialty wedding bouquets, and now she’d a
dded her first corporate client. She set the vase of flowers on the table, glancing around the studio apartment.

  “Tessa’s right. Your place does look nice.” Soft music flowed from concealed speakers, lighted lemon-scented votives and the lowest setting from the three-way bulb in the floor lamp provided a calming, subdue setting for laid-back dining pleasure. “You should be entertaining a man tonight, not your cousins,” Simone said in a quiet tone.

  Faith rolled her eyes upward. “I’ve dated more men than the two of you combined, so please don’t mention entertaining a man.”

  “But how many have you slept with, Faith?” Simone asked.

  She lowered her gaze. “Not many.”

  “How many is ‘not many’?” Simone questioned.

  “I’m not going to tell you that!” Faith said in protest. Although she’d dated a lot of men, she hadn’t slept with them. “And that’s because most of them weren’t worth taking off my clothes to even consider sleeping with them.” Faith looked at Tessa. “I know you’re getting your freak on with Micah, but you, Miss Simone Whitfield, are a different story. Once you fell under Anthony Kendrick’s spell you never looked at another man.” She cupped a hand to her ear. “How many men, other than Tony, have you slept with in the past…” She paused. “How long has it been—seven or eight years?”

  “Eight,” Simone mumbled. “But that’s over and done with, and Tony knows it.”

  Faith blinked once. “You told him?”

  Simone nodded. “Yes. Tessa is my witness.”

  “Yes!” Faith said through clenched teeth. “I know I’ve kissed a lot of frogs, but with all you have going for yourself, Simone, I always thought you could do so much better than that…Tony,” she said, biting back the criticism she usually reserved for her cousin’s highly educated, bum-ass ex-husband.

  Tessa smiled at her sister and cousin. “Now that we’re done discussing men, I’m going to wash up so we can eat. I’m starved.”

  Both pairs of eyes, one light and the other dark, stared at Tessa. “Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” Simone asked.