Page 15 of Recipe for Temptation

“Sure. Why not? After the way you raved about the recipe she submitted, I have to admit I’m a little curious about her. She could be the one.”

“Maybe,” Drew hedged. “But none of the other finalists received a personal phone call from you. It might look suspicious, like we’re playing favorites.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Michael said smoothly. “What’s her number?”

Chapter Five

Sleep hadn’t diminished Reese’s anger.

Not that she’d actually gotten much sleep.

She’d tossed and turned all night, reliving every embarrassing second of her confrontation with Michael Wolf. She couldn’t believe he’d accused her of impersonating a food critic in order to lure him into bed. Of all the damn nerve!

And to think she’d spent the past three years admiring the man and fantasizing about him. She should have known better. She was thirty-four years old, too damn old to have idolized—and idealized—a perfect stranger. Michael Wolf was a celebrity chef, a TV personality who entertained people for a living. It shouldn’t have shocked her to discover that the man behind the charming persona was arrogant, cruel and conniving. Yet she was shocked. And humiliated.

While she’d been thinking what a great guy he was, he’d been secretly laying a trap for her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make a fool out of her.

Bastard, Reese thought with renewed anger. If she never saw Michael Wolf again, it’d be too soon.

Turning her head on the pillow, she leveled a bleary glare at the bedside clock. It was just after seven. Bars of sunlight slanted through the shutters across the room. She couldn’t have gotten more than two hours of sleep last night, but she was too agitated to stay in bed any longer. She might as well take a shower and go about her business. Michael Wolf had already cost her one sleepless night. She’d be damned if she let him ruin her entire day.

Remembering that she’d turned off her phone at the restaurant last night, she reached inside her handbag on the floor. When her searching fingers encountered the smooth surface of a hardcover book, she felt a fresh burst of anger. It was Michael’s cookbook, which she’d taken to dinner hoping to get his autograph.

Scowling, Reese yanked the book out of her purse and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a loud, satisfying thud and slid to the floor. Making a mental note to toss it into the fireplace the first chance she got, she pulled out her phone and pressed the button to retrieve her voicemail messages.

As expected, the first one was from Victor. “It’s me. I guess you’re out having dinner right now. Alone, I hope.”

Reese bit her bottom lip, guilt gnawing at her conscience as he continued. “Look, I know I agreed to us taking a break. Not that you really gave me much of a choice—” Catching himself, he broke off and blew out a frustrated breath. “I just wish you’d reconsider staying in Atlanta for the whole damn summer. It’s not fair to either of us. But I promised not to badger you about this anymore. So just…give me a call as soon as you can.”

As the message ended, Reese fell back against her pillows and groaned. Why was Victor making this so difficult? Why couldn’t he give her the breathing room she so desperately needed? Didn’t he understand that this separation could ultimately help their relationship? And why was he suddenly acting so clingy?

Maybe absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

Expelling another heavy sigh, Reese deleted Victor’s message and played the next one.

“Hello, Dr. St. James. This is Drew Corbett, executive producer of Howlin’ Good with Michael Wolf. I was calling to congratulate you on being a finalist in our apprentice contest. I’d like to invite you to Atlanta to audition for the show this Friday. Please call me as soon as possible to discuss the arrangements.”

As he rattled off his phone number, Reese sat up slowly, her eyes wide with shock. Was someone playing a prank on her? Was she being “punk’d”?

Six months ago, she’d been watching Howlin’ Good when Michael Wolf announced to viewers that he was launching a nationwide search for an apprentice to appear on his show that fall. On a whim Reese had entered the contest, never expecting anything to come of it. Between work, Victor and helping to plan her sister’s wedding, she’d forgotten all about the contest. And now she learned that she was a finalist?

“Un-freaking-believable,” she whispered.

If she’d received the news twenty-four hours ago, she would’ve been positively ecstatic. But after last night’s disastrous encounter with Michael Wolf, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the despicable man.

What a difference a night makes.

Since she had no intention of auditioning for the show, she decided she’d better return the producer’s call so he could find another sucker to replace her.

She’d just jotted down the man’s number when her phone rang.

She looked at the screen and frowned. It was an unfamiliar number with a local area code. The only person she knew from Atlanta was Layla Chase, and she was halfway around the world in Somalia.

Realizing that the caller might be the television producer, Reese answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Miss St. James?” a deep, masculine voice rumbled into her ear.

Her traitorous heart knocked against her ribs. That voice. She’d recognize it anywhere. “Yes?”

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