Recipe for Temptation

by Maureen Smith

  Always would be.

  “I think she’s waiting for you,” Griffin told him.

  “I know,” Michael murmured, holding the woman’s dark gaze. “I’m driving her home.”

  He thought about calling her out on her lie and sending her packing. But then a better idea came to him. He’d play along with her just to see how far she was willing to go.

  Then, when she least suspected it, he’d spring his trap.

  By the time he was through with her tonight, the woman would think twice about pulling another stunt like this.

  Reese’s stomach was a vicious tangle of nerves as she and Michael left downtown Atlanta and cruised onto the freeway in a sleek black Maybach. She stared out the passenger window, too preoccupied with her racing thoughts to register the passing scenery.

  She couldn’t believe she’d asked Michael Wolf to drive her home.

  It was the most impulsive thing she’d ever done in her life. Her sister, Raina, had always teased her about being the older, wiser, sensible sister—one who was never ruled by her hormones or emotions. But that Reese had been nowhere to be found tonight. In her place was a woman who’d seen something she wanted and had gone after it, consequences be damned.

  Boyfriend be damned.

  Reese bit her lip, suffering a sharp pang of guilt at the thought of Victor. They’d only been apart for two days, and already he’d been reduced to an afterthought. She definitely hadn’t been thinking about him when she’d invited Michael to keep her company over dinner. And she definitely hadn’t been thinking about Victor when she’d asked Michael to take her home, to which he’d responded in a voice like dark velvet, “Nothing would please me more.”

  Reese shivered at the memory of that steamy, tantalizing exchange. She couldn’t believe she’d been so bold, so reckless.

  “Where are you from?”

  Michael’s deep voice snapped Reese out of her reverie. Startled, she turned from the window to stare blankly at him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “I asked where you’re from.”

  “Oh.” She let out a breath. “Houston.”

  Michael nodded. “Right.”

  Reese thought she detected a hint of mockery in his expression. But, no, it must have been a trick of the passing streetlights.

  “I’ve been thinking about expanding to Houston,” he told her.

  “Really? That’d be wonderful!” Reese grinned, unable to contain her enthusiasm.

  “I’ve been hoping you’d open a restaurant in my hometown. So have a lot of people I know.”

  “That’s definitely good to hear. I can’t take credit for the idea, though. It was pitched to me by someone I met at a book signing.”

  Reese nodded. “I’m no market analyst, but something tells me that Wolf’s Soul would do extremely well in Houston.”

  “My marketing and research team seems to think so, too.” He slid her a lazy smile.

  “Maybe you’d be the first to review the restaurant.”

  Reese grinned. “I’d be honored.”

  “I assure you, Miss St. James, the honor would be mine.”

  Reese flushed with pleasure. Am I dreaming? she wondered, not for the first time that evening. Is any of this really happening?

  As Michael returned his attention to the road, she couldn’t help admiring his handsome profile. The strong bridge of his nose, the sculpted perfection of his square jaw, the curve of those full, masculine lips she wanted so badly to kiss and taste. Her gaze drifted lower, lingering on the strong column of his throat before continuing to the hands resting on the steering wheel. They were big, broad and long fingered, the nails clipped to the quick. Reese thought about the culinary masterpieces those talented hands had produced. She could only imagine the things they could do to a woman’s body. To her body.

  At that moment Michael turned his head, meeting her gaze. Slowly he smiled, as if he’d read her mind. Her stomach fluttered.

  “And to think that I almost went home after the fundraiser,” he said softly. “What a shame that would have been.”

  “A travesty.” Reese smiled. “Of course, this wasn’t going to be my only visit to your restaurant. I planned to keep returning until I’d tasted everything on the menu.”

  Michael chuckled. “Is that right?”

  “Of course.” She grinned playfully. “Any food critic worth her salt knows that multiple visits to a restaurant are absolutely necessary in order to provide a fair, accurate review.”

  “But of course.” Michael gave her a long, appraising look. “Do you enjoy what you do for a living?”

  Reese’s grin faded at the reminder of the hospital, and Deidra Thomas. She turned away, staring out the window. “I do enjoy my job,” she said quietly. “I enjoy it very much.

  But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about work.”

  Michael said nothing.

  She could feel his gaze on her, and could only speculate about what must be going through his mind. She hoped to God that she hadn’t offended him. Things had been going so well between them. She didn’t want to ruin the evening with depressing topics of conversation.

  After a prolonged silence, Michael murmured, “You’re quite an intriguing woman, Miss St. James.”

  Reese was about to tell him to call her by her first name when she got sidetracked by a giant image of him splashed across a billboard along the freeway. It was an advertisement for his TV show. In it Michael stood with his arms akimbo, a white chef’s hat slanted low over one eye and a wickedly sexy grin curving his mouth. Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? the bold caption declared.

  “Very clever,” Reese said, laughing. “But what does the big bad wolf have to do with cooking?”

  Michael chuckled. “They couldn’t resist the play on my last name.”

  “Clearly.” She stared wonderingly at him. “Do you ever get used to it?”

  “What?”

  “Being famous. Seeing your face plastered everywhere—on TV, on billboards, on book and magazine covers.”

  “It took some getting used to at first. But nowadays I don’t give it much thought.”

  “Really?”

  He glanced at her. “Fame can be fleeting. Here today, gone tomorrow. It always helps to keep things in perspective.”

  Reese felt her admiration for him go up another notch.

  Soon they exited off I-85 and headed into Buckhead, an affluent section of Atlanta renowned for beautiful mansions, upscale shopping and fine restaurants. Reese’s friend Layla lived in the historic Buckhead Forest neighborhood, an eclectic enclave of cottages, ranch houses and European stucco homes situated on wooded lots.

  As Michael pulled up to a Tudor-style bungalow, the butterflies in Reese’s stomach returned. This is it, she thought. Once you invite him inside the house, there’ll be no turning back.

  As if sensing her nervousness, Michael reached over and touched her hand, a subtle stroke that sent her pulse jumping. Their eyes met and held in the shadowy interior of the car.

  “Thank you for the ride,” Reese said softly.

  “My pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed your dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, I did. Very much.” She smiled demurely. “Your company made it even better.

  I must have been the envy of every woman in the restaurant.”

  Michael smiled wryly. “I’m the one who was getting dirty looks from all the guys who’d been trying to work up the nerve to approach your table.”

  Reese laughed. “If that’s true, I’m glad you beat them to it.”

  “Me, too,” he murmured, his eyes roaming appreciatively across her face.

  Reese’s heart was hammering. Never before had she been so powerfully aware of a man. But this wasn’t just any man. This was Michael Wolf, who, for the past three years, had had a starring role in her steamiest fantasies.

  But this wasn’t one of her fantasies. Tonight she didn’t have to settle for daydreaming abo
ut Michael after watching an episode of Howlin’ Good. Tonight she could make her dreams a reality.

  So what are you waiting for?

  Drawing a deep breath to summon her courage, Reese gave Michael what she hoped was her most alluring smile. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee?”

  His eyes glinted wickedly. They both knew what she was really offering, and it had nothing to do with the dark roast blend stashed in the kitchen cupboard.

  But Michael played along. “I’d love some coffee.”

  Reese waited as he got out of the car and came around to her side. “Thank you,” she said as he helped her out of the Maybach.

  The night air was thick and sultry. Even the clouds drifted sluggishly across the moon.

  “Is it always this hot during the summer?” Reese asked as they started up the walk.

  Michael smiled lazily. “They don’t call it Hotlanta for nothing.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “Being from Houston,” Michael drawled, “I would think you’d be used to this kind of heat.”

  “Oh, I am.” I’m just making inane small talk to hide the fact that I’m nervous as hell!

  “Is that your friend’s car?” Michael asked as they passed a silver Lexus parked in the driveway.

  “No, her car’s in the garage. That’s mine. I took a cab to the restaurant tonight.”

  “Hoping you’d meet me and talk me into giving you a ride home?” Michael teased.

  Reese laughed. “Not quite.”

  Once they were inside the house, she set her handbag on the console table and turned on the small lamp. The soft amber glow spilled through the foyer and into the living room.

  “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.”

  “So we’ve got the place to ourselves…all night long.”

  Reese felt a quiver of anticipation at his words. Holding his gaze, she murmured,

  “All night long.”

  That was all the invitation Michael needed.

  Before Reese could react, he dragged her into his arms, bringing her flush against his hard, powerful body. Her breath caught, and her heart rate tripled. As she stared up into his eyes, he framed her face between his 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 him were unbearably arousing as he eased his tongue into her mouth slowly, deeply. She opened her mouth to him, shaking so hard she could barely stand. One of his arms went around her, holding her tightly. She kissed him back, licking into his mouth the way he was doing to her. A dark, savage sound came from his throat.

  She didn’t realize he was backing her up until she felt the wooden edge of the foyer table digging into her backside. Without warning an image of Victor penetrated the intoxicating haze of lust clouding her brain.

  Abruptly she tore her mouth from Michael’s and buried her face against his hard chest. “W-we have to stop.”

  He growled something that she could barely hear over the rampaging pulse in her ears.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but I can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” he demanded hoarsely.

  “Because…” She trailed off, words failing her. Beneath her burning cheek, she could feel his heart pounding as hard and fast as her own. She wanted him, craved him with every fiber of her being. But she couldn’t have him. Despite their recent problems, she owed Victor her loyalty.

  Still, it took every ounce of her willpower to pull away from Michael, and almost at once she felt bereft. “We really have to stop.”

  Michael stared down at her with a mixture of fascination and wry amusement.

  “Bravo, Miss St. James. I must admit I didn’t see that coming.”

  Reese frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You. Playing hard to get to make me want you even more.” He shook his head slowly. “You’re not the first woman who’s ever tried that tactic, but you’re definitely the first woman who’s been successful. Congratulations.”

  Reese bristled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t playing hard to get.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Of course not.”

  A shadow of cynicism twisted his mouth. “Right.”

  Reese scowled, her temper flaring. “Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea—

  ” He laughed. “If?”

  She winced, an embarrassed flush heating her face. “Okay, fine. I asked you to drive me home tonight because I intended to seduce you. But I changed my mind. I’m sorry if I bruised your ego—”

  Again his nasty bark of laughter cut her off. “My ego isn’t what’s bruised, sweetheart. If that kiss had lasted a second longer, you would’ve had me begging to make love to you. Trust me, that had nothing to do with my ego.”

  Her face grew hotter. “Look, the kiss was a mistake.”

  His jaw hardened. “You’re damn right it was, Miss St. James, or whatever the hell your real name is.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Reese demanded, frowning in confusion. “That is my real name.”

  “Right,” Michael said mockingly. “I suppose you’re also going to tell me that you’re a food critic.”

  “What? Why on earth would I tell you something like that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re delusional. Or maybe because you’re a damn liar.”

  Stunned, Reese gaped at him, feeling as though she’d been transported to some alternate universe where all of the inhabitants spoke in strange riddles. What Michael was accusing her of made no sense whatsoever.

  Striving for composure, she said evenly, “Look, there must be some misunderstanding. I never claimed to be a food critic—”

  “My maître d’ seems to think otherwise.”

  “Then he’s mistaken!”

  “Is he?” Michael challenged, his eyes narrowing on hers. “So what about that line you fed me in the car? The one about ‘any food critic worth her salt’ knowing that multiple visits to a restaurant are necessary to write fair reviews. Weren’t you implying that you’re a food critic?”

  “No! I was just flirting with you!” Struck by a sudden realization, Reese eyed him incredulously. “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting that I pretended to be a restaurant critic just to get your attention?”

  “I think that’s obvious.”

  “No, it’s ridiculous. You must be out of your damn mind!”

  “Said the pot to the kettle.”

  Reese glared at him. “If you think I’m such a nutcase, why did you agree to drive me home? What does that say about you? ”

  His expression hardened. “I plead temporary insanity. Trust me, it won’t happen again.”

  Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked out the front door.

  Reese charged after him, her chest heaving with fury. No way was she letting him have the last word!

  “I know this may be hard for you to accept, you arrogant son of a bitch, but you’re not God’s gift to women. Believe it or not, there are a few of us who are perfectly capable of resisting your charms.”

  Pausing at his car door, Michael glared back at her, his eyes hard and glittering in the night.

  Reese wasn’t finished. “I’m so glad I found out what an asshole you are before I wasted another second of my time watching your damn show. And you wanna know something else? I’ve always liked Bobby Flay better, anyway!”

  Before Michael could respond, she slammed the door hard enough to give the neighbors something to talk about.

  As far as she was concerned, being fodder for gossip was a small price to pay for the sw
eet satisfaction of having the last word with Michael. After the abominable way he’d treated her tonight, she’d take whatever victory she could get.

  Chapter 3

  Michael was still in a foul mood when he woke up the next morning at his father’s house, where he often spent the night to keep Sterling Wolf company.