Recipe for Temptation (11 page)

“I had a wonderful time,” Reese said warmly, her sandals dangling from her fingertips. On the way to the paintball complex, they’d stopped at an outlet mall so she could get more appropriate footwear. Before she could even
think
about pulling out her credit card, Michael had paid for the new sneakers and strolled out the door, whistling cheerfully to drown out her protests.

He’d paid for everything, making their day together feel almost like a…date.

By far the best date she’d ever had in her life.

She blushed at the thought. “Thank you for giving up your entire Sunday to take me sightseeing. I know you probably would’ve preferred to stay home and catch up on sleep,”

she added ruefully.

Michael smiled down at her. “Sleep is overrated.”

Ignoring the way her heart fluttered, she gave him a teasing grin. “You probably won’t think so tonight when you’re knocked out cold and drooling into your pillow.”

He chuckled softly. “I don’t drool.”

Speak for yourself,
Reese mused, staring at his full, sensual lips and remembering how incredible they’d felt against her own. The memory of that searing, soul-shattering kiss they’d shared would haunt her long after she’d returned to Texas.

Inexplicably, the thought of going home made her throat tighten.

“So,” Michael drawled, “what’re you doing tomorrow?”

“Sleeping.”

They both laughed quietly, calmly, never taking their eyes off each other.

A sultry breeze kicked up, caressing Reese’s skin. She wished it were Michael’s hands, his mouth. She wanted nothing more than to invite him inside, to spend the night making love to him. But she knew she couldn’t. Not until she’d decided what to do about Victor.

“When you’re done sleeping tomorrow,” Michael said, smiling, “maybe I could pick you up and take you to the studio. You know, to give you a tour and introduce you to the crew before we start taping next week.”

Reese nodded quickly, so excited at the prospect of spending more time with him that she would have agreed to accompany him
anywhere.
“I’d like that very much.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then reached out and brushed his thumb across the pulse beating at the base of her neck.

Reese shivered. Everything inside her went hot and sensitive.

His eyes met hers. “Paint,” he explained.

She nodded. She had to fight the intense urge to capture his hand and draw his thumb slowly into her mouth. And she didn’t want to stop at his thumb.

“Good night, Reese,” he said huskily.

She swallowed hard. “Good night, Michael.”

With one last lingering look at her, he turned and sauntered to his car, which he’d parked beside hers in the driveway. She stood watching as he climbed inside the low-slung Maybach and closed the door. The engine purred to life.

He met her gaze through the windshield.
Go inside,
he mouthed.

Reese obeyed without hesitation. After closing and locking the front door, she sagged against it and lifted a trembling hand to her throat, where her skin still burned from Michael’s whisper-soft touch.

When she closed her eyes, she swore she heard her relationship with Victor flatlining.

Chapter 8

T
he next morning, Michael was awakened by his ringing cell phone. He grabbed it off the nightstand and checked caller ID. When he saw Reese’s number, his heart gave an involuntary bump.

He pressed the talk button more eagerly than he’d have preferred. “Hey, you.”

“Good morning.” That soft, smoky voice spilled into his ear like sun-warmed honey. “I know it’s only seven-thirty. Did I wake you?”

He smiled. “For the second day in a row, sunshine.”

“Uh-oh.” She sounded amused. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re positively terrifying first thing in the morning?”

He chuckled softly. “I’m not a morning person. Especially if I’m operating on less than three hours of sleep,” he added pointedly.

She laughed. “Touché.”

His smile widened. He was enjoying this too damn much. “Actually, Reese, I was going to call you as soon as I woke up.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. I wanted to see what—
Hello?
”

The line had gone dead.

Michael held the phone away from his ear and stared at it in bewildered disbelief.

Had she just
hung up
on him? Or had they gotten disconnected?

Frowning, he quickly dialed her number.

When she answered the phone laughing, he had his answer.

“Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but apologetic. “I just couldn’t resist.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Michael murmured, humor tugging at the corners of his lips. “I said I was going to call you, so you figured you’d let me do it. Clever.”

“
I
thought so.” She sighed contentedly.

He grinned wryly. “I see that
you’re
a morning person.”

She chuckled. “I’m a doctor. I’m used to getting calls at all hours of the night.

Babies who decide to be born at 2:00 a.m. don’t care whether or not I’m a morning person.

So I’ve learned to adapt my moods. Any who,” she continued cheerfully, “the reason I was calling was to find out what time you wanted to go to the studio. I have to run a few errands.”

Run them tomorrow,
Michael thought.
I’ve been dreaming about you all night and I
can’t wait to see you again. The sooner, the better.

Aloud he said smoothly, “Take your time. We can go around eleven.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to mess up your schedule.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I need to hit the gym for a couple hours, anyway.”

She groaned. “That’s what
I
should be doing. I need to burn off all that food you let me gorge on yesterday.”

Michael grinned. He could think of at least one way he’d like to help her burn off calories—and it had nothing to do with the use of Nautilus equipment.

“You must spend a lot of time in the gym,” she said appreciatively. “You’re very…in shape.”

He chuckled at the subtle compliment. “I played basketball in high school and college. So, yeah, keeping fit is important to me. Especially since I’m surrounded by food all the time.”

“Good point. Where do you work out?” she asked. “I might as well find a gym while I’m in town.”

“There’s a fitness center in my building. You’re more than welcome to join me anytime.”

“You’re allowed guests?”

“Sure.” At the thought of seeing her voluptuous body glistening with sweat after a good workout, his mouth watered and blood rushed straight to his groin. “You wanna come today?”

“Well…” she hedged.

He held his breath.

“No, that’s okay. I’d better go ahead and take care of my errands. Besides,” she added as an afterthought, “between sightseeing and playing paintball yesterday, we did a lot of walking and running. So that should tide me over for another day or two.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Michael teased.

She laughed. “I know, I know. But I’ll be there with you in spirit.”

She’d been “there” with him for the past six days. He couldn’t get her out of his mind.

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way,” he told her.

“Sounds good. See you soon.”

Not soon enough,
Michael thought as he hung up the phone and set it on the nightstand.

Smiling, he clasped his hands behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling as images from yesterday tumbled through his mind. He remembered their incredibly romantic breakfast on the balcony at his restaurant. When he had introduced her to his staff afterward, he’d been fascinated by the way she’d laughed and chatted easily with everyone, charming the apron off his temperamental pastry chef and graciously accepting Griffin’s profuse apologies for the mix-up with the food critic.

Reese had a way about her, an infectious warmth coupled with an earthy sensuality that was utterly bewitching. As the day progressed, Michael had found himself falling deeper under her spell. By the time they’d finished shooting up each other with paintball guns—the most fun he’d ever had with a woman, bar none—he knew he was in trouble.

In the span of one day he’d gone from wishing he’d never laid eyes on her, to lamenting any time spent apart from her.

“Whoa,”
Michael whispered, shaken by the turn of his thoughts. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Here it was barely eight o’clock in the morning, and he was lying in bed with a goofy smile on his face, obsessing over some woman he hardly even knew.

What the hell?

It was crazy. Totally out of character for him. He’d lost his damn mind.

Yet as he untangled himself from the covers and swung out of bed, he knew the extra spring in his step had everything to do with the fact that he’d be seeing Reese again soon.

And the sooner, the better.

But three and a half hours later when he pulled up to the now-familiar bungalow and saw a florist’s delivery truck parked at the curb, he got a sinking feeling in his gut. And that was before he saw Reese standing in the doorway, her cell phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she signed for the delivery. When the driver handed her a long white box tied with a red satin bow, she beamed with pleasure.

It was like a blow to Michael’s chest.

He waited until the delivery truck had rumbled off before he climbed out of the car and slowly started up the walk. By the time he reached the front door, his good mood had completely disintegrated, replaced by a dark, seething emotion he didn’t want to identify.

“Michael.” Reese looked surprised to see him. Or maybe
guilty
was a better word.

“I thought you were going to call when you were on your way.”

He’d been so eager to get there that he’d forgotten. Not that he was about to tell
her
that. “Since I said we could go around eleven,” he said mildly, “I figured you’d be ready.”

“I am. I just… Never mind.” She opened the door wider and nervously gestured him inside.

As he stepped into the foyer, his gaze went immediately to a box of two dozen long-stemmed red roses that lay open on the table.

“Nice,” Michael murmured, slowly removing his sunglasses. Roses were the kind of gift a guy sent to get himself out of the doghouse—or into a woman’s bed. Unoriginal, but highly effective.

Reese wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Yes, they are nice.”

“For you?”
Please say no. Please say they came for your friend Layla.

Reese hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. “Yes. They’re mine.”

His heart sank, though he should have known better than to get his hopes up. “So my hunch was right about you,” he said, his voice pitched low.

Her hand fluttered to her throat. “What hunch?”

“I suspected that you might have a boyfriend. And you do.”

She met his gaze then, but only for a moment before her eyes slid guiltily away.

Coward,
he silently mocked her.

Instead of answering him, she walked quickly to the table, saying, “I’m, uh, going to put these in water, then we can go.”

As she scooped up the box of roses, a small white card floated to the floor. She didn’t see it, so intent was she on beating a hasty retreat. As she continued to the kitchen, Michael bent down and picked up the card. Unable to resist, he read the typed message.

You didn’t say I couldn’t send roses. I miss you. Come back to me. Love, Victor.

Michael clenched his jaw as some strange new emotion washed over him—raw, fierce, primitive. Entirely foreign, entirely unwelcome.

He got slowly to his feet as Reese returned to the foyer, sucking her thumb where she’d presumably been pricked with a thorn. “Okay,” she said briskly. “I’m ready to go.”

Michael held up the card, and watched as a deep, embarrassed flush swept across her face. “It fell out of the box,” he told her.

“Oh. Thanks,” she muttered, practically snatching it out of his hand. She tapped it against her open palm for a moment, then looked up at him with an unspoken question in her eyes. Michael didn’t have to guess what she was asking. She wanted to know whether he’d read the card.

He just looked at her, letting the tense silence hang between them.

Not surprisingly, she was the first to glance away. “We should probably go,” she mumbled.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Michael said flatly.

She started away from him. “I left my handbag in the—”

“Did your boyfriend send the roses?”

“I don’t—”

“Did he?”
Michael demanded.

“Yes!” She rounded on him, those dark eyes flashing with fiery defiance. “Yes, the roses are from my boyfriend! His name is Victor. We’ve been together for over a year. We work at the same hospital. He loves my cooking. Anything else you want to know?”

“Yeah.” Michael smirked, surprised by the strength of the jealousy he felt. “How does your
boyfriend
feel about you kissing other men?”

It was a low blow, and he knew it.

Reese flinched, hurt and anger flaring in her eyes. She took a step backward, glaring at him. “Maybe you should just leave,” she said coldly.

“No,” Michael snarled, his heart beating so savagely he thought he might go into cardiac arrest at any moment. “I came to take you to the studio, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Then I’m getting my damn purse.”

“Fine. I’ll wait in the damn car.” He turned and stalked out of the house.

Reese joined him in the Maybach a few minutes later, slamming the door hard enough to make his teeth snap together. Without sparing her a glance he turned the ignition and gunned the accelerator, pinning her against the seat with a tight-knuckled grip on the door handle that gave him a perverse twinge of satisfaction.

He knew he was being irrational, that he had no right to feel so possessive over her.

Yet he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her, damn it. Wanted her like no other woman he’d ever wanted before. But as long as she had a boyfriend, she was completely off-limits to him. Because as much as Michael enjoyed playing the field, he’d always drawn the line at sleeping with women who were already taken. There were too many other fish in the sea for him to poach on another man’s territory.