Page 32 of Recipe for Temptation

“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.

Chapter Eleven

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. and Mrs. King’s marble tomb, she was so moved that tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

Michael, who’d been watching her, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wordlessly 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.

She 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 she could’ve been in Venice right now if it weren’t for Victor.

“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?”

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