Recipe for Temptation (10 page)

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Reese.” Quentin held her hand a little longer than was necessary, earning a scowl from Michael.

While both men were tall, wide-shouldered and incredibly good-looking, the similarities ended there. Where Michael was dark and smoldering, Quentin had a golden complexion and bright hazel eyes that sparkled with irrepressible mischief.

“So tell me something, Reese,” he drawled. “Where’s Mike been hiding you?”

She grinned. “Actually, he hasn’t. I’m visiting from Houston.”

“Visiting Mike?”

“Not exactly.” She paused. “I’m going to be his new apprentice on
Howlin’ Good.
”

“Is that right?” Quentin slanted a knowing grin at Michael. “You sly, sly dog.”

Michael glared at him. “Don’t you have someplace else to be?”

His grin widened. “Not at the moment. I just came from church and decided to swing by my favorite restaurant to get my eat on.” He winked at Reese. “Best places to meet beautiful single women—the Lord’s house and Wolf’s Soul.”

Reese chuckled. “Good to know you’ve got your priorities straight.”

“Always.” His gaze roamed across her face. “So, what do you do down there in Houston?”

Michael rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What’s up with the interrogation, Q?”

“It’s all right.” Reese smiled at Quentin. “I’m a doctor.”

“A doctor, huh?” His expression turned downright roguish. “Maybe you can help me out with this little problem I’ve been having. See, I—”

“She’s an ob-gyn,” Michael told him smugly.

“She is?”
Quentin had the decency to look embarrassed. “Damn. Never mind.”

Michael and Reese laughed.

Deciding to turn the tables on Quentin, Reese asked, “So what do
you
do for a living?”

“Nothing as noble as what you do,” he answered, lazily dipping his hands into his pockets. “I’m just a lawyer.”

“Q is a managing partner at my brother’s law firm,” Michael elaborated.

Quentin winked at Reese. “Marcus was the only one in this town crazy enough to hire me.”

Michael chuckled drily, shaking his head at Reese. “As much as I’d like to agree with him, he’s being modest—which is rare. The truth is, he was working at one of the biggest law firms in the country when my brother lured him away. Marcus considers Quentin a real asset to his company.”

“I’m impressed.” Reese smiled at Quentin. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No,” Michael said flatly.

“Sure,” Quentin replied at the same time.

They stared each other down. Or rather, Michael glowered while Quentin looked unabashedly amused.

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at their standoff, Reese said,

“Don’t mind him, Quentin. Please pull up a chair and join us.”

He did, flashing a triumphant grin at Michael as he sat right next to Reese. She decided not to read too much into Michael’s narrowed eyes and clenched jaw.

“How long have you guys known each other?” she asked, dividing a curious glance between both men.

“Mike and I go way back,” Quentin drawled, stretching out his long legs as he settled more comfortably into the chair. “We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to Morehouse together. Pledged the same fraternity.”

“Another Omega man, huh?” Reese gave him a whimsical smile. “So you’re Q the Que.”

He grinned. “Yep, that’s what they called me.” A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “We called Mike the Wolfman, and not just because of his last name, either. You know that howl he does on his TV show, the famous howl that his fans go crazy over? Well, he’s been doing that for over twenty years. Wanna know how it got started?”

“She doesn’t need to know that,” Michael cut in brusquely.

“Oh, but I
want
to,” Reese countered. “I happen to really enjoy that howl, and if there’s an interesting story behind it, I’d like to hear it.”

Michael didn’t blink. “No.”

Quentin winked conspiratorially at Reese. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Like hell you will,” Michael growled, leveling a glare at his friend that promised violent retribution if Quentin defied him.

“On second thought, baby girl, it’s probably better that you
don’t
know.” Quentin’s grave tone was belied by the mischief twinkling in his hazel eyes. “I wouldn’t want to offend your feminine sensibilities.”

Reese laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“That
good,
you mean.” Quentin sighed nostalgically, drawing a dirty look from Michael.

Reese grinned. She could easily envision the two friends ruling campus parties, along with a pack of rowdy, high-stepping fraternity brothers who rushed the dance floor every time “Atomic Dog” blared over the speakers. With their good looks and killer smiles, Michael and Quentin must have had their way with the ladies. No doubt they still did.

Michael looked relieved when one of his busboys appeared to clear their table and to tell him that his sous chef wanted his advice on wine pairings for tonight’s house specialty.

“Go on and handle your business,” Quentin urged, waving Michael off. “I’ll keep Reese company while you’re gone.”

“Hell, no,” Michael growled, rounding the table.

Before Reese could react, he grabbed her hand, tugged her out of the chair and dragged her downstairs with him.

They spent the rest of the day sightseeing around Atlanta.

Their first stop was the Martin Luther King, Jr. National Historic Site, where they toured the civil rights leader’s birth home, former church and neighborhood. As they strolled the beautifully landscaped grounds of Peace Plaza and walked around the King Center, people recognized Michael and pointed him out excitedly to their companions. But for the most part they kept a respectful distance, perhaps in deference to the solemn locale.

Later, as Reese and Michael stood beside the clear reflecting pool that surrounded Dr. King’s marble tomb, she was so moved that tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

Wordlessly Michael pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her.

She let out a teary laugh as she dabbed at her eyes. “Only a true Southern gentleman would carry around a hankie in his jeans.”

Michael smiled softly. “I came prepared.”

She sniffed. “So you knew I’d be reduced to a blubbering idiot if we came here?”

“You wouldn’t be the first. As many times as I’ve been here, I’m always moved by the experience. Believe me, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

His gentle words earned him a grateful, albeit wobbly smile. Reese held up the damp wad of handkerchief. “I’m gonna hang on to this—just in case.”

Michael chuckled softly. “It’s yours.” He reached out, his knuckle gently skimming her cheek as he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

Reese stared up at him, arrested by the tender expression on his face. When their eyes caught and held, her heart thundered.

After a prolonged moment Michael stepped back, clearing his throat and glancing around at everything but her. “Ready to go?”

She let out a shaky breath, then nodded.

They left the historic black neighborhood and returned to Midtown to visit the High Museum of Art. The popular museum was housed in a striking contemporary building that featured four floors of European and American paintings, decorative artifacts, photography, graphics and an impressive collection of African art. Unlike Victor, Michael didn’t sigh impatiently or complain as Reese wandered from one exhibit to another, sometimes lingering for long stretches of time. He seemed to take quiet pleasure in her spirited enjoyment of the museum. When they stopped for an early dinner in the piazza, he gave her his undivided attention as she enthused about her favorite artists and explained how a college professor had turned her on to the Renaissance period.

“That’s another reason I’m dying to visit Italy,” she told Michael. “To see the works of Michelangelo and da Vinci, to visit Florence Cathedral and St. Peter’s Basilica.” She sighed wistfully. “One of these days.”

“What’s stopping you?” Michael asked curiously. “You’re a doctor, so it can’t be the money.”

“No, it’s not that.” She bit her lip, remembering with renewed irritation that were it not for Victor, she could be in Venice right now.

“So what is it?” Michael probed, watching her with a quiet, focused intensity that made her wonder if he’d somehow discerned her thoughts.

She heaved another sigh. “I don’t know. Growing up, I’d always intended to travel a lot, see the world. But after college there was med school, then my residency. Once I started working at the hospital, time just got away from me.” She shrugged. “I guess we all have to make sacrifices to achieve our goals.”

“That’s true,” Michael murmured, and she wondered about the personal sacrifices he must have made along the way to becoming an international celebrity.

Before she could ask, he said suddenly, “Why are you on sabbatical?”

Reese tensed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re only thirty-four. So I’m guessing you haven’t been practicing medicine long enough to be burned out. So what would make you take a two-month hiatus from a job you obviously love?”

Reese stared into his keen dark eyes, dismayed by his perceptiveness. She thought of not answering him, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t let her get away with that.

“I lost one of my patients in childbirth,” she said dully.

His expression softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. When did it happen?”

“Two months ago.”

He nodded slowly. “You blame yourself.” At her surprised look, he gently explained, “You didn’t say one of your patients had died in childbirth. You said you lost a patient, as if it were your fault.”

Reese swallowed hard, wanting to close her eyes against his intense scrutiny. “I did everything I could to save her.”

“Of course.” He wasn’t patronizing her. He’d spoken with absolute certainty, as though there was no room for doubt regarding her innocence. “So what happened?”

It was the tender concern in his voice that broke her. The raw emotions she’d been holding in check welled up inside her and spilled out: the grief, the guilt, the frustration over her inability to convince Deidra Thomas that she had too many risk factors to have another baby. By the time Reese finished blurting out everything, Michael had brought his chair around to hers and pulled her into his arms. As she quietly sobbed into his chest, he stroked her back and murmured soothingly to her. It didn’t matter to Reese that they were in public. His arms were strong, his voice was understanding and she’d needed a good shoulder to cry on for far too long.

Still, she felt a little embarrassed when she finally pulled away and met the sympathetic stares of several other diners, many of whom had asked for Michael’s autograph when he and Reese first arrived. What must those people be thinking now?

Reese fumbled out the handkerchief Michael had given her earlier and mopped at her streaming eyes. “I knew this would come in handy again,” she joked with a whispery laugh.

Michael smiled, kissing the top of her head.

“God, I didn’t mean to cause a scene.” She blew her nose, glancing around furtively. “I hope there aren’t any paparazzi around. They’ll run an exposé about a woman reduced to hysterical tears after you broke up with her.”

Michael chuckled. “I never do breakups over a meal. It’s sacrilegious.” He ran a thumb under her eye, wiping at the moisture she’d missed.

She gave him a rueful smile. “I assure you that I’m not always this weepy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a good cry. And you definitely needed one.”

He put a finger under her chin and lifted it. His gentle eyes searched hers. “Feel any better?”

“I do,” Reese admitted, surprised. “That was very…cathartic.”

In a moment of clarity, she’d decided to donate her grand prize money to Deidra Thomas’s family. It wouldn’t bring back Deidra, but the hundred thousand dollars would help cover the family’s medical expenses and would enable Ian Thomas to start a college fund for little Faith.

Reese touched Michael on the shoulder. “Thank you for loaning this to me.”

He smiled into her eyes. “Anytime.”

Seeking to lighten the mood, she picked up her wineglass and smiled at him. “So getting back to our original conversation. How many times have
you
been to Italy?”

He chuckled, not leaving her side. “How do you know I have?”

She gave him a look. “Any chef worth his knives has been there. So come on, Michael. Tell me all about it. Let me live vicariously through you.”

He smiled again, and she listened with rapt absorption as he told her about his forays to Italy over the years. When he casually mentioned owning a small cottage in Tuscany, Reese groaned with envy and jokingly lobbied to have the apprentice episodes shot from that location—which Michael didn’t think was such a bad idea.

When they left the museum, he surprised her by asking, “Have you ever played paintball?”

She laughed. “Not since childhood.”

He flashed a wicked grin. “Then you’re long overdue.”

Reese snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. And I know just the place. It’s usually closed to the public on Sundays, but they’re running a summer special.”

“Great,” Reese said weakly.

He winked at her. “It’ll be fun.”

He took her to a place called Paintball Atlanta. In exchange for two tickets to a live taping of
Howlin’ Good,
the manager gave Michael and Reese their own private field, and they spent the next two hours chasing each other around with loaded paintball guns.

Michael was fast, hunting Reese down with a stealth that any Navy SEAL would admire.

She found herself alternately squealing with laughter and howling with frustration every time she got hit—which was often. Whenever she
did
manage to pick him off, she was so ecstatic that she didn’t even care that he’d probably let his guard down just to level the playing field.

It was the most fun she’d had in years. Afternoon stretched into night, and all too soon Michael was driving her home and walking her to the front door.