“Layla will be sorry she missed you,” Reese told Michael.
“She’s eaten at your restaurant several times, but she’s never had the pleasure of meeting you.”
“How long will she be gone?” Michael asked.
“Two months.”
A wolfish gleam filled his dark eyes. “So we’ve got the place to ourselves…all night long.”
Reese felt a quiver of anticipation at his words and the deep, seductive timbre of his voice. Holding his gaze, she softly repeated, “All night long.”
That was all the invitation Michael needed.
Before Reese could react, Michael grabbed her into his arms, bringing her flush against his hard, powerful body. Her breath momentarily stopped and her heart rate tripled.
As she stared up into his eyes, he framed her face between his big hands and slanted his mouth hungrily over hers. Pleasure exploded in her veins. She wrapped her arms around his neck, melting against him with a low moan.
His lips were even softer than she’d imagined, moving sensually over hers. The taste and heat of his body were unbearably arousing as he eased his tongue into her mouth slowly, deeply. She opened to him, shaking so hard she could barely stand. He wrapped one of his arms around her, holding her so tightly their bodies could have been joined.
She didn’t realize he was backing her up until she felt the wooden edge of the sideboard against her backside. Michael lifted her with astonishing ease and set her down on the table. Reese clung to his broad shoulders as he took her mouth again in another deep, smoldering kiss.
MAUREEN SMITH
is the author of fourteen novels and one novella. She received a B.A. in English from the University of Maryland with a minor in creative writing. She is a former freelance writer; her articles have been featured in various print and online publications. Since the publication of her debut novel in 2002, Maureen has been nominated for three RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Awards and twelve Emma Awards, and she has won the Romance in Color Reviewers’ Choice Awards for New Author of the Year and Romantic Suspense of the Year.
Maureen currently lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband, two children and a miniature schnauzer. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached at [email protected]. Please visit her Web site at www.maureen-smith.com for news about her upcoming releases.
RECIPE FOR TEMPTATION
MAUREEN SMITH
To the wonderful ladies of my Yahoo group, who have been faithfully staking their claim to the “Wolf Pack” for years
Dear Reader,
In 2006 you were introduced to Michael Wolf in my novel Taming the Wolf. Since then, I have received an outpouring of e-mails from readers whose hearts were stolen by the sexy, charming chef. Once I decided to give Michael his own story—really, I had no other choice—my next big task was to find the right woman for him. I likened it to being a casting director in search of the perfect actress to share the silver screen with a popular leading man.
I scoured my imagination day and night, searching for the woman who would heat up more than Michael’s gourmet kitchen. And then—bam!—along came Reese St. James from Touch of Heaven. She was perfect in every way. And you know what? I hope you’ll think so, too!
As always, please share your thoughts with me at [email protected].
Until next time, happy reading and bon appétit!
Maureen Smith
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My utmost gratitude to Tanisha Holmes, who graciously took me on a “virtual tour”
of the beautiful, lively city of Atlanta.
A very special thanks to Dr. Keisha Loftin, who took time out of her busy schedule to answer my questions about medical procedure, and to Sylvia Hightower, R.N., whose heartrending experiences in an operating room helped bring my prologue to life.
And a heartfelt thank-you to my editor, Kelli Martin, who patiently brainstormed with me and helped whip this book into shape.
Prologue
May 2010
Houston, Texas
“Time of death.” Dr. Reese St. James glanced up at the clock hung on the east wall of the operating room. “Nine thirty-four.”
A somber hush fell upon the room.
The medical personnel gathered around the operating table watched as Reese slowly pulled the sheet over Deidra Thomas’s lifeless face.
Reese couldn’t believe her patient was gone. It seemed impossible, like a horrific nightmare from which she would soon awaken.
Everything had happened so quickly. One minute Reese had been performing a routine cesarean section on Deidra Thomas. The next minute the woman was coding, in the throes of sudden cardiac arrest. Pandemonium had erupted in the operating room as Reese and her colleagues raced to save both mother and child.
But it was too late for Deidra.
A hard lump of sorrow rose in Reese’s throat. Her gaze traveled across the room to where the pediatric surgeon, flanked by two nurses, was tending to the newborn. Feeling as though she was in a trance, Reese walked over to the warmer to get a better look at the baby girl she’d just delivered.
She was flailing her tiny arms and wailing in protest of being poked, weighed and measured. But as Reese approached, the infant turned her head and eyed her curiously.
Reese’s throat tightened when she saw that the baby had inherited her mother’s almond-shaped brown eyes and dimpled chin.
Reese smiled tenderly. “Hello, Faith.”
The newborn grew silent, gazing alertly at her.
The attending pediatrician glanced up from his patient to look at Reese. Above his surgical mask, his green eyes were kind and sympathetic. “She’s going to be fine, Reese,”
he assured her. “She’s perfectly healthy.”
Reese nodded, swallowing with difficulty. “I have to go…tell her father.”
The pediatrician nodded. As Reese turned away, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
With slow, painstaking precision, Reese removed her bloodstained surgical gown, gloves and mask, then dropped the soiled items into the biohazard waste container near the double doors. Raw emotion was clawing at her throat, choking her, but outwardly she remained calm and composed. She had to. She was a professional. So she had to forget that Deidra Thomas was the first patient she’d ever had. She had to forget that she’d delivered all of Deidra’s babies. She had to forget that Deidra and her family held a special place in her heart.
Drawing a deep breath, Reese left the operating room and started down the brightly lit corridor on leaden legs.
Ian Thomas was anxiously pacing back and forth in the waiting room. He’d been at his wife’s bedside when she began seizing. For as long as Reese lived, she would never forget the sound of his panicked shouts as he was hastily removed from the operating room.
He glanced up now as Reese approached. He took one look at her face and began shaking his head in vehement denial. “No. No. Nooo! ”
Reese gently explained, “Deidra had an amniotic fluid embolism, Mr. Thomas. It’s a rare disorder where amniotic fluid enters the mother’s bloodstream, causing the heart and lungs to collapse. We did everything we—”
“No. This can’t be happening.” Ian Thomas’s face contorted with anguished grief.
“Please God… Not my Deidra. Not my Deidra! ”
Reese’s heart constricted in her chest. Tears burned her eyes. Yet all she could say was, “I’m so sorry.”
Chapter 1
Two months later
Atlanta, Georgia
“Ma’am? This is your stop.”
Reese blinked, dazedly staring out the window of the taxicab she’d taken into Midtown Atlanta that evening. She couldn’t believe she’d already reached her destinati
on.
She’d meant to take in the sights and sounds of the bustling metropolis during the cab ride into town. Instead she’d zoned out, succumbing to painful memories of the day her patient died in childbirth.
Deidra Thomas’s untimely death had left her husband and family reeling with shock and grief. Although Reese had tried her damnedest to distance herself emotionally from the tragedy, every time she closed her eyes at night, she saw Ian Thomas’s ravaged face, heard his anguished wails of denial. Every time Reese delivered a new baby, she was gripped by a terrible fear that something would go wrong. She was losing sleep, becoming withdrawn and finding it difficult to concentrate at work, which was not only unfair to her patients, but dangerous, as well.
And then one day out of the blue, she’d received a phone call from her longtime friend Layla Chase. An award-winning photojournalist for National Geographic, Layla had mentioned that she was looking for someone to house-sit for her while she was on assignment in Somalia for two months. Almost immediately Reese had known that this was the lifeline she’d so desperately needed, an opportunity to take a sabbatical before she had a nervous breakdown. She’d made the arrangements with Layla, cleared her leave of absence with the hospital, then packed her bags and headed to Atlanta.
She’d made a pact with herself not to discuss or even think about work for the next two months. Yet there she was, torturing herself with thoughts of Deidra Thomas and the motherless children she’d left behind.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?”
Reese glanced up, embarrassed to realize that the cabdriver had opened the back door and was patiently waiting for her to get out so he could be on his way.
Glancing quickly at the electronic meter, Reese fished three twenties out of her Louis Vuitton handbag and passed the money to the cabbie. “Keep the change,” she told him as she climbed out of the taxi.
He beamed at her. “Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy your dinner. You can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.”
“So I’ve heard,” Reese said with a smile.
As she joined the flow of patrons heading into the brick-fronted restaurant, she couldn’t help feeling a thrill of excitement. For the past three years she’d dreamed of visiting Wolf’s Soul, a world-renowned restaurant made famous by owner and executive chef Michael Wolf. Reese, whose favorite hobby was cooking, had been a huge fan of the hunky celebrity chef ever since he burst onto the national scene with his cable television show Howlin’ Good. Reese owned all four of his bestselling cookbooks, religiously TiVoed his program and had prepared many of his recipes for her family and friends, who often teased her about having the hots for the popular chef. Not that anyone in their right mind could blame her. With his dark good looks and smoldering charisma, Michael Wolf had stolen the hearts of women everywhere, solidifying his status as a bona fide sex symbol.
Located just a few blocks from the Fox Theatre in Midtown Atlanta, Wolf’s Soul boasted a clientele that included famous celebrities, athletes and politicians whose images were captured in framed photographs that graced the mahogany-paneled walls. Over the years Michael Wolf had hosted everyone who was anyone—from movie mogul Tyler Perry to President Barack Obama, who’d made a stop at the restaurant during the historic election campaign two years ago.
As Reese waited in line to be seated, she wondered if she’d be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Michael Wolf tonight. Despite his busy schedule—which included the daily taping of his show, book signings and regular visits to his six other restaurants scattered around the country—he still managed to put in several hours a week at the Atlanta location whenever he was in town. As luck would have it, she’d heard on the radio that morning that he’d just returned from a national media tour to begin taping the new season of Howlin’ Good. After years of admiring him from afar, the possibility of seeing Michael Wolf in person filled Reese with giddy anticipation. She’d even brought a copy of his very first cookbook in the hopes of getting his autograph.
As the maître d’ escorted Reese to her table, she eagerly took in her surroundings.
With the restaurant’s high ceilings and recessed lights turned strategically low, she felt as if she were entering the heart of a plush cave. The tables were made of gleaming mahogany and accentuated with soft candlelight. Music floated from a baby grand piano tucked into a shadowy corner, subtle enough to add to the intimate ambiance without drowning out the pleasant buzz of laughter and conversation.
Reese was led to a small table in a private corner that gave her an unobstructed view of the entire dining room, which was perfect. She could enjoy her meal and people-watch in peace.
After she was seated, the maître d’ passed her a leather-bound menu and a thick wine list. Almost at once, a waiter appeared to fill her water glass and drape a linen napkin across her lap.
After placing her order, Reese glanced around the restaurant. Even on a Tuesday night the place was packed, every table and booth occupied. Reese made eye contact with an attractive stranger seated alone at a nearby table. He smiled invitingly and raised his glass in a toast to her. She returned his smile before glancing away.
She hadn’t come to Atlanta looking for romance. In fact, romance was the last thing on her mind these days. For the past year she’d been dating one of her colleagues at the hospital, a cardiothoracic surgeon named Victor Carracci. Handsome, intelligent and incredibly gifted, Victor was everything Reese could ever want in a man. From the very beginning he’d wined and dined her and made her laugh. Yet something was still missing between them.
It didn’t help that over the past few months she’d sensed a growing distance between them. She told herself that their busy careers were putting a strain on their relationship, but deep down inside she knew that their problems were more complicated than conflicting schedules.
Before leaving Houston, she’d suggested to Victor that they use the time apart from each other to figure out what they both wanted. He’d agreed, but not without first telling her that she couldn’t solve her problems by running away.
The waiter returned at that moment, interrupting Reese’s grim musings. She took a grateful sip of wine, then dug into the steaming lobster bisque. It was delicious. She ate slowly, savoring each spoonful.
Halfway through dinner, her cell phone rang. Reluctantly she reached inside her handbag and checked caller ID. She frowned when she saw Victor’s number. She’d barely been gone two days. He’d promised to give her time to settle in before he called her.
Damn it, Reese thought as she turned off the phone and resumed eating. She wasn’t ready to talk to Victor. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.
“I hope that frown has nothing to do with what’s on your plate,” said a deep, masculine voice laced with Southern heat.
Reese’s head snapped up.
Her breath stalled in her lungs.
Staring down at her was a pair of dark, mesmerizing eyes set in an arrestingly handsome face. A face she recognized immediately.
“Michael Wolf.” His name escaped in a throaty whisper of awe.
A hint of a smile curved lush, sensual lips that promised untold delights. “At your service,” he drawled.
Reese gulped, heart hammering against her ribs. She couldn’t believe it. Michael Wolf was actually standing at her table and speaking to her!
She’d always imagined that when—and if—this moment ever came, she wouldn’t be reduced to a fawning idiot. Nope, not her. She’d be the epitome of calm, cool and collected. She’d be charming and witty, impressing Michael with clever little anecdotes that demonstrated her own culinary prowess.
But when she opened her mouth to speak, what came out was a breathy “I’m one of your biggest fans.”
Those dark, penetrating eyes glittered with amusement. “Is that right?”
Reese instantly wanted to duck under the table. What the hell was wrong with her?
She’d graduated at the top of her class from a prestigious medical school. She was a respected obstetrician who’
d given lectures to some of the best minds in medicine. She was a smart, confident, articulate woman. Yet all she could come up with was a lame I’m one of your biggest fans?
So much for not being reduced to a fawning idiot.
Michael gave her a slow, lazy smile that tripled her heart rate. “I just stopped by to see if you were enjoying your meal.”
“Oh, yes. Absolutely. Everything is delicious.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
After following his career and fantasizing about him for so long, Reese couldn’t believe she was finally face-to-face with Michael Wolf. She’d always thought he was good-looking on television, but nothing compared to seeing him up close and personal. Her hungry gaze swiftly catalogued smooth mahogany skin, low-cut black hair, heavy eyebrows and chiseled cheekbones. His nose was strong and masculine, and his firm chin hinted at a cleft that was indescribably sexy. He was tall, with shoulders as wide as a mountain range and a ruggedly powerful build to match. He wore a black Armani tuxedo with the silk tie hanging loose around his collar, as if he’d yanked it free the first chance he got. No television camera could begin to capture the overwhelming virility of the man, a raw animal magnetism he exuded like a potent drug.
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