The Sweetest Temptation

by Rochelle Alers

  “Please bring me some ice,” she ordered him softly.

  “Where did you learn to mix drinks?” he asked as he activated the ice feature on the refrigerator door.

  “My father taught me.” She reached for a clean glass from an overhead rack and gave Ethan a sidelong glance when he moved next to her at the cooking island. “My father and uncle own a catering business and I learned to mix drinks before I was the legal drinking age.”

  “Did you sample what you’d mixed?”

  She shook her head. “No. There was a strict rule in my house about underage drinking and smoking. Dad used a grading system similar to wine tasters. He has a very discerning palate, and one sip was enough to let him know whether I passed or failed.”

  Looping an arm around her waist, Ethan watched intently as the woman with whom he’d found himself entranced quickly and expertly mixed a dry Manhattan. “Is there anything you don’t do well?”

  “I don’t do commitment well.”

  His grip on her body tightened. “It’s usually guys who are reluctant to commit.”

  Faith smiled. “Well, guys aren’t the only ones who wish to remain unencumbered.” She handed him the glass, watching as he sampled her concoction, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. Seeing Ethan up close under the track lights revealed a light sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of his nose that made him appear suddenly boyish.

  But there was nothing boyish about a thirty-eight-year-old man who’d been trained to fly military fighter jets. More important, he hadn’t made love to her like a gauche boy but like a man who knew exactly what to do to bring a woman pleasure and ultimate sexual satisfaction.

  And she’d done to Ethan what she’d sworn she would never do: not be open with him. He’d admitted that he loved her, while she was unable to tell him that she also loved him. However, past experience revealed that the moment she told a man she loved him, their relationship became one of possession and control. She would continue to date Ethan, sleep with him but not reveal what lay in her heart until she was certain she could trust him completely. The sherry-colored eyes watching her darkened as Ethan lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers, the smell of whiskey on his breath heady and aromatic.

  “You taste good,” she crooned in a sultry tone.

  Raising the glass, Ethan put it to her lips. “Take a sip.” He stared intently as she swallowed. “Nice isn’t it?”

  First there was an iciness followed by heat spreading throughout her chest. Nodding, Faith smiled. She’d mixed the perfect dry Manhattan. “It’s nice and smooth. Hanging around you may get me to change my preference from sweet to dry.”

  The heat moved lower, settling in her belly and still lower to the area between her legs. Her arms circled Ethan’s trim waist at the same time her hands searched under his sweater to his warm flesh, fingertips feathering over his pectorals.

  “What are you doing?” he gasped, his breath quickening with a rising desire he was helpless to control.

  Moving closer, Faith pressed her breasts to his bared chest. “I’m feeling you up.”

  Ethan set down the martini glass and gripped her shoulders. Without warning, her mouth replaced her hand when she flicked her tongue over his chest, and he jumped as if branded by hot metal.

  “Faith—don’t!” He’d bellowed her name as a rush of blood hardened his sex. Ethan knew he was going to embarrass himself the moment her hand cupped his erection, squeezing gently. Reciprocating, his hand slipped between her legs and cupped her mound. Her gasp of surprise reverberated throughout the space.

  He wasn’t aware of the runaway beating of his heart slamming against his ribs, shaking knees or how close he was to ejaculating when he swept Faith up in his arms and walked in the direction of his bedroom.

  Time stood still for Faith and Ethan. Gazes locked, passion racing out of control, they tore off their clothes and reached for each other. What had begun as teasing became an unrestrained coupling that ended quickly in an explosive ecstasy that left them both trembling uncontrollably.

  Ethan barely had time to protect Faith from an unplanned pregnancy before she straddled him. This coming together was hers to dictate and control, and he surrendered all that he was and had to her.

  Faith melted against Ethan’s moist chest and gritted her teeth tightly to keep from blurting out that she’d fallen in love with him. That would remain her secret—for now.

  * * *

  “Please stop in front of the next house,” Faith said to the taxi driver as she pushed a bill through the slot in the Plexiglas partition. She’d contemplated canceling the Monday-night get-together with her cousins, but Tessa wanted her to see what she’d chosen as her wedding stationery.

  The warm feeling of making love and being in love still lingered. Ethan had driven her back to New York earlier that morning with a promise of taking her to a small Harlem jazz club Wednesday evening. Her first impulse was to decline his invitation because she wanted to work late, but she changed her mind. Everyone, including her parents, complained that she worked much too hard, didn’t eat enough and didn’t know how to relax and enjoy the fruits of her labor. Tessa’s pronouncement of Don’t forget that you pay people to run Let Them Eat Cake came back in vivid clarity whenever she pushed herself to the point of exhaustion. Not only had she told Ethan that she would go with him, but she also invited him to spend the night at her apartment.

  There was no doubt Ethan was good to and for her. She was more relaxed, had gained some of the weight she’d lost, and jump-started her hormones to a state where she found herself craving him at the most inopportune times. However, what was more important, she trusted him, had fallen in love with him, a love not based on a physical need but an emotional desire to give and receive all that she was and could have with that special man.

  Faith paid the fare on the taxi meter, got out and walked up the stairs to Tessa’s Brooklyn Heights town house with a shiny brass plate engraved with Signature Bridals affixed to the wall of the three-story structure. Within seconds of ringing the bell, the solid oak door with stained-glass panels opened, and she went completely still because she hadn’t expected to see Micah Sanborn. Their bimonthly Mondays had only been girls-only gatherings.

  Micah kissed Faith’s cheek. “I was just leaving,” he said softly as a way of explaining his presence.

  She rested a hand on the sleeve of his tailored dark blue, pinstriped suit jacket. He looked larger, more imposing in the business suit. “It’s always good seeing you, Micah.”

  He winked at her, smiling and flashing his straight white teeth in a smooth dark brown face. “Same here, Faith.” Micah gave her a mock salute. “Don’t work too hard.”

  “I won’t,” she countered, walking into the entryway and closing the door behind her cousin’s fiancé. Faith hung up her coat on the coat tree in the foyer illuminated with wall sconces and an Art Deco–inspired ceiling fixture. She glanced at the large, exquisite bouquet of fresh flowers in a glass vase with a creamy, whitewashed, leafy metal overlay; she recognized the arrangement as Simone’s signature. The flowers were a pink parfait bouquet of frilly lsianthus, fragrant carnations, velvety roses and double-petaled Angelique tulips.

  “I’m here!” Faith announced as she made her way into the kitchen and put the box from Let Them Eat Cake into the refrigerator. Mouthwatering smells reminded her that she’d shared breakfast with Ethan but hadn’t stopped to eat lunch. “Micah let me in,” she explained when Tessa gave her a questioning look.

  Simone turned from tossing a salad to smile at her cousin. She’d swept her long curly hair up into a ponytail. “Hey.”

  Faith returned her smile. “Hi. The flowers are incredible.”

  Simone and Tessa exchanged a knowing glance. “I told you she would mention the flowers because they’re pink,” the floral designer quipped. She extended her hand to her sister. “Now, pay up, Tessa.”

  Faith shook her head. “I can’t believe you guys were placing wagers on what I’d s
ay. How much did you win, Simi?” she asked, walking into the half bath off the kitchen.

  “A dollar.”

  She stuck her head out of the bathroom. “Damn! A dollar! I thought I’d be worth more than that.”

  “You are,” Simone said, “but I didn’t want to overtax Tessa’s bank account because of her wedding.”

  “Yeah, right,” Faith drawled. “Tessa has more money than both of us combined.”

  Tessa flashed a grimace. “I plead the Fifth.”

  Faith washed and dried her hands and returned to the kitchen. “What’s on the menu, Tessa?”

  “We’re having surf and turf, loaded baked potatoes and Caesar salad.”

  “Good, because I’m hungry.”

  “What did you bring for dessert?” Simone asked.

  “Tiramisu.”

  “Oh, damn!” Tessa moaned.

  “Ditto!” Simone shouted.

  The sisters had made it known years ago that tiramisu was their favorite dessert. “Is there anything you want me to do?” Faith asked Tessa, who’d uncovered a large pot of boiling water.

  “No. I’ve everything under control. As soon as I boil the lobster tails, I’ll broil them along with the steaks. How do you like your steak?” A platter held three two-inch-thick cuts of filet mignon covered with black, green and red cracked peppercorns.

  “Medium well.”

  Twenty minutes later, the three women sat down at the table to eat. Baked potatoes with a crisp outer skin dusted with sea salt and filled with crisp crumbled bacon, fresh green onion and melted crumbled blue cheese, perfectly broiled lobster tails, seared grilled steaks in a peppercorn-mustard sauce and an accompanying salad set the stage for another meeting of Whitfield women.

  The topics segued from their clients to the guest list for the Whitfield-Sanborn nuptials. Tessa delayed serving coffee and dessert as she showed Faith her wedding stationery. She’d chosen an elegant invitation, superbly crafted with vellum wrappings and extraordinary gray and robin’s-egg-blue ribbons that matched her color scheme.

  Faith ran a fingertip over the delicate ribbons. “I love them. What did Micah say?”

  Tessa closed her clear brown, gold-flecked eyes for several seconds. “He hasn’t been much help.”

  Reaching across the table, Faith placed her hand over Tessa’s. “What’s going on, cuz?”

  “He’s been no help to me. Whenever I ask him about something, he says ‘Whatever you want.’ Or ‘Whatever you think is best.’ Why wouldn’t I ask him a question or solicit his input if I didn’t want to include him about a decision that affects both of us?”

  Faith shook her head. “Consider yourself blessed, Tessa, because I remember you telling me about the fiancé who wouldn’t let his fiancée make a move or decision without consulting with him first. There was no doubt the man was a control freak. Can you imagine what kind of marriage you would have if Micah micromanaged your very existence? You’re going to be the bride and the consummate wedding planner, so why would he interfere in something he knows nothing about? All you should concern yourself with is making certain he shows up at the appointed time to make you his wife.”

  “Preach, girl,” Simone whispered softly.

  A rush of color darkened Tessa’s face. “So, you think I overreacted when I told Micah to think hard and long about whether he truly wants to marry me.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Faith whispered, shaking her head in shock.

  “Yes, I did,” Tessa shot back angrily.

  “When did you tell him this, Tessa?” Simone asked.

  “Last night.”

  “Is that why he was here when I got here?” Simone continued, questioning her sister. Tessa nodded. “And what did he say?”

  Tessa flushed again. “I can’t repeat it.”

  “I hope he tore you a new one,” Simone mumbled under her breath.

  Faith sucked her teeth. “I hear you, Simi. If your silly sister lets him go, then I’m certain there are hundreds or maybe even thousands of other sisters ready to snap him up. Haven’t we spent the past ten years bitchin’ and moanin’ about not being able to find a good black man? And we weren’t talking about marriage, but a relationship that’s based on honesty and trust. Simone married an educated bum, while I’ve dated more losers than I can shake a stick at. And please don’t forget the one who you warned me not to move in with and eventually became my jailer. This is not to say you haven’t dealt with your share of zeros, but now you have someone who’s the real deal, Tessa. Please, don’t blow it by becoming a Bridezilla.”

  Pushing back her chair, Simone stood up. “You tell her, Faith. Maybe she’ll listen to you because she thinks her sister is just blowing smoke when I tell her to get a grip. If she doesn’t want Micah, then I’ll take him. That way we can keep him in the family.”

  Tessa’s eyes widened as she stared at Simone as if she was a stranger. “You’d go after my man?”

  Faith wagged a finger at Tessa. “If you break off the engagement, then he’s not your man. What’s it going to be? Are you or are you not getting married?”

  There came a pregnant pause before Tessa said softly, “Yes, I’m going to marry Micah.”

  Forcing a plastic smile, Faith met Tessa’s stare. “You only get one time to act a fool, because the next time you’ll find yourself looking for a new maid of honor.”

  “Same here,” Simone said as she filled a coffee carafe with water. “Not only will you need another bridesmaid, but you’ll also have to search for another floral designer.”

  Tessa glared at her cousin, then her sister. “You know y’all ain’t right.”

  “Neither are you,” Faith countered, “when you’ve coordinated enough weddings to avoid the wedding catastrophe pitfalls.”

  “But it’s different because I’m the one getting married. You’ll know what I’m talking about when it comes time for you to get married, Faith.”

  She shook her head. “Remember, I’m the most levelheaded of this generation of Whitefield women. I’ve never given into histrionics or temper tantrums.”

  “That’s because you have ice water in your veins instead of blood,” Simone said as she measured coffee beans in a grinder.

  “Whatever,” Faith drawled sarcastically.

  Tessa stood and began clearing the table. “Are you still seeing—what’s his name?”

  “Ethan McMillan,” said Simone, supplying his name.

  Heat flared in Faith’s cheeks. “Yes. We’re still dating.”

  Simone snapped her fingers as she made a circle. “Good for you. By the way, does he have a brother?”

  “Unfortunately, he doesn’t.”

  “Bummer,” she mumbled.

  Tessa placed dishes and silver in one of the double stainless-steel sinks. “I thought you were getting along with one of the guys in our bowling league.”

  Simone shook her head slowly. “We went out to dinner two weeks ago, and all he talked about was his ex-wife. It’s apparent he’s still in love with her. I’m not looking to get married again, but I’m not about to compete with an ex for a man’s attention.”

  “That’s because you’re spoiled and vain,” Tessa said, teasing her sister.

  Resting her hands on her hips, Simone stared at Tessa through a long fringe of lashes. “Not! You’re talking to the wrong Whitfield when it comes to vanity. It’s Aunt Edie and Faith who were the models.”

  “That’s only because you weren’t tall enough,” Faith said in defense of herself and her mother. It was Simone who’d attracted all of the boys, and in later years men. But she was oblivious to all of them because of she’d given her heart to Anthony Kendrick.

  The topic changed again, this time to their fathers’ new business venture. The Mount Vernon zoning board had approved the site where Malcolm and Henry Whitfield planned to open an upscale bi-level bowling alley with a game room for those under eighteen and a jazz club for anyone twenty-three and older.

  The identical twin brothers were s
cheduled to close down and sell the catering hall and surrounding property to a developer before the end of the year. The developer planned to raze the two-story Revival Regency-style mansion with stone-colored brick, a bowed entry and portico constructed on sloping lawns that overlooked an English garden and a pond filled with water lilies and a family of magnificent, graceful swans. The brothers projected their new enterprise would be up and running in time for them to celebrate their sixtieth birthday.

  * * *

  Faith thought about her own life and what she would probably be doing at sixty, when she sat beside Simone as she drove her to Manhattan. Would she still own a patisserie? Would she still bake wedding cakes? Would she be married, have children or even grandchildren?

  “You’re kinda quiet,” Simone remarked as she maneuvered off the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “I’ve been thinking, Simi.”

  “What about?”

  “My life.”

  “Your life is wonderful, Faith. You’ve fulfilled all of your wishes. You’re a pastry chef, you’re writing a cookbook and you’re dating a man who isn’t a frog. What else could you possibly want?”

  “I don’t know, Simi.”

  Simone had asked Faith the same question she’d asked herself since Ethan’s declaration of love. He’d admitted to loving her, whereas none of the men with whom she’d had what she thought of as a relationship of long duration had ever uttered the three dreaded words. She’d heard “I like you,” “I’m fond of you” but never “I love you.” One had even told her that he adored her, yet he’d cheated on her.

  She was used to the adoring looks and the empty words and promises that slipped out in the throes of passion. What Faith had to ask herself was whether she’d become so jaded that she was unable to believe that a man could truly love her. She’d told Ethan that she trusted him, when in reality it was only a half-truth.

  What she feared most was that everything she’d shared with Ethan McMillan had happened much too quickly from their initial encounter. Was it because she’d lowered her defenses to let him become a part of her life, or was it because she wanted to prove that vanity and impulsiveness had led her to choose unwisely.