Recipe for Temptation (16 page)

They were as opposite as any two people could be, and had absolutely nothing in common.

With one exception. They both doted shamelessly on their grandsons.

While Asha would be the first to admit that she’d been a lousy mother to Samara, no one could dispute what an excellent grandmother she was. The boys couldn’t ask for a more loving, attentive grandma.

So it shouldn’t have surprised Sterling to find Asha sitting quietly in a corner when he crept into the twins’ bedroom late that night.

Matthew and Malcolm had been born premature, requiring a monthlong hospital stay that had put everyone—especially Marcus and Samara—through the wringer. Though both boys were now as strong and healthy as could be, Sterling had taken to checking up on them in the middle of the night whenever they came for a visit.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one.

The tender expression on Asha’s face as she gazed upon their sleeping grandsons made something tighten in Sterling’s chest.

When she glanced up and their eyes met, a strange current of awareness passed between them.

He froze, staring at her in the warm glow of the lightning-bug night-light. She sat in the big rocking chair Sterling had bought for the nursery after the twins were born. She wore a silk kimono and matching slippers, and her thick black hair fell in soft disarray about her shoulders. With her face scrubbed clean of expensive cosmetics, she looked even younger than usual. Softer, almost wholesome.

Sterling thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

As he stepped into the room, she raised her finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet.

He scowled. As many times as he’d snuck into the twins’ bedroom, he’d never woken them up. Stealth was practically part of his DNA.

Feeling Asha’s gaze on him, he walked over to the matching fire-truck toddler beds where his grandsons slept peacefully. Normally he stayed and watched them for a while, basking in the adorable little noises they made in their sleep. But with Asha watching him from across the room, he suddenly felt too self-conscious to linger at the boys’ bedside. So he settled for kissing their foreheads and adjusting their brightly patterned blankets.

Asha followed him out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind them. “I think Matthew does karate in his sleep,” she whispered with a soft smile.

Sterling chuckled. “Michael was the same way. That boy slept so wild we could never keep a blanket on him.”

“Hmm. That’s the sign of a restless spirit.”

“Think so?” Sterling pondered his firstborn son, who changed girlfriends the way he changed underwear. If that didn’t qualify as “restless,” nothing did.

“He needs a good woman,” Asha murmured. “Someone to keep him grounded.”

Sterling’s eyes narrowed. “I hope to hell you’re not volunteering yourself.”

Her chin lifted in defiance. “And if I were?”

“Woman, have you lost your damn mind?”

“Keep your voice down!” Asha hissed, glancing up and down the darkened corridor.

Gritting his teeth, Sterling said in a low, controlled voice, “You’d better not have any crazy ideas about sinking your claws into Michael. You’re not right for him.”

“Says who?”

“Me!”

Without realizing it, they’d walked toward the master suite on the opposite wing of the second floor. “
If
I were interested in dating Michael,” Asha said seethingly, “that would be none of your damn business, Sterling Wolf. You have no say—”

Something snapped inside Sterling. Before he could stop himself, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Hard and possessively.

After several moments—the sweetest, most pleasurable moments he’d enjoyed in ages—Asha broke the kiss and staggered back, staring at him in wide-eyed shock.

Mortified by his actions, Sterling hung his head in sheepish contrition. “Aw, hell.

I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over—”

Asha lunged at him, throwing her arms around his neck and crushing her soft mouth to his.

With a muffled groan of hunger, Sterling swept her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom.

Chapter 12

T
he scene at the breakfast table the next morning would have been good material for a sociological study on human dynamics.

In an ironic role reversal from last night, Reese was sullen and subdued while Michael bantered cheerfully with his family. His upbeat mood rankled her, taunting her with memories of their illicit moonlight encounter—an encounter that had left her body thrumming with sexual tension and frustration for the rest of the night.

Every time Michael laughed or flashed one of his killer grins, Reese wanted to stab him with her fork. Once, when he’d caught her glaring at him, he’d smiled and winked at her. If small children hadn’t been present, she might have given him the finger.

But Michael wasn’t the only one in an exceptionally good mood. Marcus and Samara were back to stealing private smiles at each other, while Sterling was so jovial and relaxed that if Reese didn’t know better, she would think Marcus wasn’t the
only
member of the Wolf pack who’d gotten laid last night.

In sharp contrast, Celeste was silent and grim faced, shooting dirty looks at Asha throughout the meal. But Asha seemed unconcerned, exuding an aura of serenity that repelled any and all daggers thrown her way.

Only Grant, buried behind a newspaper, seemed oblivious to all the undercurrents at the table. When Celeste discreetly nudged him at one point, he set aside the paper with a sheepish grin and reached for his coffee mug. As he drank, he appeared to be casting about for something to contribute to the conversation.

Finally, he blurted the first thing that obviously came to mind: “That sure was a beautiful full moon last night.”

“Sure was,” Michael agreed, his wicked gaze meeting Reese’s. She hated herself for blushing.

Marcus smiled lazily. “You know what they say. Strange things happen when there’s a full moon.”

Sterling chuckled into his coffee. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Asha choked on the orange juice she’d been sipping.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Samara asked in concern.

Asha nodded quickly, her dark eyes glimmering with mirth as she set down her glass and delicately fanned her face with her hand. Celeste frowned.

Marcus grinned at his father and brother. “Hey, remember what we used to do on our camping and fishing trips? When ever there was a full moon, we’d all sit around the campfire—”

“—and howl at the moon,” Sterling and Michael finished, laughing.

“Is that where Michael got his famous howl from?” Reese asked curiously, still not addressing him directly.

Sterling grinned. “If anything,
we
got it from him. Starting from the time he was five years old, he’d always howl after eating something he really liked. So we started putting food into two categories—there was
good,
and then there was
howlin’ good.
”

Reese smiled at Michael, so charmed by the anecdote that she temporarily forgot she was supposed to be mad at him. “So that’s how you came up with the name of your show.”

He nodded, his eyes glinting with amused satisfaction. As if he, too, realized that she’d let her guard down.

“Needless to say,” Celeste chimed in, brightening for the first time all morning,

“whenever my cooking received one of Michael’s coveted ‘howlin’ good’ ratings, I strutted around for the rest of the day like I was Julia Child.” Everyone laughed.

Reese didn’t miss the smug glance Celeste shot at Asha, while Grant looked pleased that his innocuous comment had generated such a lively discussion.

Unable to resist an opportunity to make Michael squirm, Reese said ever so innocently, “Someday I’d love to hear the
other
story behind the howl.”

“What other story?” Sterling asked.

Everyone looked inquiringly at Michael, whose expression had gone carefully blank.

“Oh, come on, Michael,” Reese prompted in a deceptively puzzled voice, as if she couldn’t understand why he was playing dumb. “You know the story I’m talking about.

Remember? The one Quentin said would offend my feminine sensibilities?”

Celeste gasped. “Michael Sterling Wolf,” she scolded, as only a scandalized mother could.

As Michael ducked his head, laughter erupted around the table.

From beneath the thick veil of his lashes, he gave Reese a look that promised retribution. She responded with a huge, triumphant grin.

She’d already learned that when it came to besting this man, she’d take whatever victories she could get. Because she knew they’d be few and far between.

Reese’s cell phone rang as she stepped through the front door that evening, her arms laden with shopping bags. Bumping the door closed with her hip, she divested herself of her baggage and fumbled the phone out of her handbag on the final ring.

“Hello?” she answered breathlessly.

“Hey.” Michael’s deep voice poured into her ear.

And just like that, her knees went weak.

Dragging her fingers through her hair, she made her way into the living room and sank into the nearest chair. “I just got home,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “I know.”

“You know?” She glanced around, half expecting to find him lurking in the shadows with his phone pressed to his ear.

Michael chuckled, as if he’d intercepted her paranoid thoughts. “I just spoke to Marcus. Samara had called to tell him that they were dropping you off and would be home soon.”

“I see. And had you already instructed Marcus to call and give you a heads-up?”

“Pretty much.” There was a smile in his voice. “How was the shopping trip?”

She sighed. “Fun. Exhausting. I see why Lenox Square Mall is considered the Shopping Mecca of the South. And Asha wore me and Samara out.”

Michael chuckled. “And she’s the older one. What’s wrong with that picture?”

Reese grinned. “What can I say? The woman was in her element.”

“I can imagine. So, did you get something pretty?”

“I got
a lot
of something pretty,” Reese said laughingly, surveying the mountain of bags bearing the emblems of glitzy, upscale shops. Not only had Asha handpicked every outfit for her—the woman knew fashion like nobody’s business—she’d also footed the bill for the entire shopping excursion. Though Reese had vigorously protested, Asha had refused to take no for an answer. And, as expected, they’d received red-carpet treatment everywhere they went, greeted by gushing salespeople who’d tripped over themselves to do Asha’s bidding. The first time they were served champagne, Reese had gaped at Samara, who’d shrugged and grinned, saying, “It’s a pain in the ass, but you get used to it.”

Reese didn’t see how that was remotely possible. Though she’d thoroughly enjoyed shopping with Asha, the dizzying pace of the experience had left her craving a hot, relaxing bath and a glass of chilled wine.

But first she had to get Michael off the phone.

She opened her mouth to tell him good-night, but what came out instead was

“Where are you, anyway?”

“At the restaurant.”

“You’ve been there all day?”

“Yeah.”

She slipped off her flat sandals and rubbed her sore feet, thinking of their sublimely sensual midnight encounter. It alarmed her to realize that this man, whom she hardly knew, could possess such mastery of her body. If they ever made love, she’d be ruined forever.

“I don’t hear a lot of noise in the background,” she observed.

“That’s because I’m sitting on the balcony,” Michael murmured. “At our table.”

Our table.
The words reverberated in her mind as a melting warmth spread through her, a deep longing.

She forced out a laugh that sounded strangled to her own ears. “So now we have a table?”

“Yeah,” he said huskily. “We do.”

“Come on,” she scoffed. “Do you really expect me to believe you’ve never taken another woman up to the balcony?”

“You’re the first, Reese.”

God help her, she believed him. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, shaky breath and slowly exhaled. “Michael…”

“I need you—”

“Michael.”

“—to come down to the restaurant.”

Her eyes snapped open. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “You need me to do what?”

“Come to the restaurant. That’s actually the reason I was calling. If you want to be my apprentice, you should familiarize yourself with the inner workings of a restaurant. So tonight I’m giving you a front-row seat to our busy kitchen.”

Reese groaned. “That sounds lovely, Michael, but does it have to be
tonight?
”

“Tonight’s perfect. Tuesdays are generally our slowest nights, so it won’t be a complete madhouse. Besides, aren’t you the one who said you were trying to get into your new role as my apprentice?”

The man remembered everything, damn him. “I did, and I am. But tonight doesn’t work for me.”

“Tonight, Reese.”

“Oh, come on, Michael,” she wheedled. “It’s already after seven. And Asha ran me ragged today. My feet are
killing
me.”

He laughed. “Don’t ever whine to a chef about having sore feet after a leisurely afternoon of shopping. Trust me, you won’t get any sympathy.”

She bit her lip, feeling a pang of shame. “I guess you
have
been on your feet all day, slaving in a hot kitchen.”

“That’s right, and you don’t hear me complaining. So suck it up, buttercup.”

Reese heaved a dramatic sigh of resignation. “All right. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Mmm,” came his low, husky rumble. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

Heat stung her cheeks at the sexual innuendo. “Down, boy.”

“Too late.” He chuckled. “Anyway, your cab should be there in a few minutes.”

“
What?
You already called me a cab?”

“Yeah. I’ll drive you home afterward.”

Her hackles rose. “Don’t you think it was a bit presumptuous of you to call a cab before you’d even spoken to me?”

“Absolutely.” He was infuriatingly unapologetic. “Look, babe, I have to go. I’ll see you when you get here.”