Page 4 of Recipe for Temptation

“How long have you been in town?”

“Two days.” Reese gave him a saucy smile. “How did you know I was from out of town?”

Michael chuckled softly. “We’ve been open for seven years. If you were really one of my biggest fans and you lived in Atlanta, it wouldn’t have taken you this long to visit the restaurant.”

Her smile widened. “Good point.”

They stared at each other. The voltage between them scorched her nerve endings and left her feeling hot and tingly all over.

“Well,” Michael murmured, “I’ll let you get back to your dinner.”

Reese felt a sharp pang of disappointment. She didn’t want him to leave. There was no guarantee she’d ever see him in person again.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Why don’t you join me?”

He looked at her, a smile lurking in one corner of his mouth. If he was surprised by her invitation, he didn’t show it. No doubt he was used to strange women throwing themselves at him.

“I already had dinner,” he told her, lips quirking.

Reese boldly held his gaze. “Then keep me company until I finish mine.”

Something hot and wicked flared in his eyes. “With pleasure.”

As he lowered his long, powerful body into a chair, she caught the subtle, masculine spice of an expensive cologne. She couldn’t help noticing that every eye in the restaurant was trained on them, as if a spotlight were beaming down on their table. Several women were glaring enviously at Reese, making her glad that looks couldn’t kill.

“What’s your poison?” Michael asked, nodding toward her half-empty glass.

“Riesling,” she answered.

With the barest hint of a nod, he signaled to her waiter, who must have been standing at the ready. A bottle of Riesling was produced within moments.

“Wow,” Reese said after the young waiter had topped off her glass and glided away. “You didn’t even have to crook a finger. I’m impressed.”

Michael chuckled softly. “I take good care of my employees. They like to return the favor. Finish your food before it gets cold.”

“Yes, sir.” Smiling, Reese picked up her fork and continued eating. “This stuffed salmon is to die for.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Michael said, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “It’s one of my favorite dishes on the menu.”

Reese gave him a teasing, hopeful grin. “Any chance you could share the recipe?”

“That depends.” There was a wolfish gleam in his eyes. “What would I get in return?”

Heat rushed into Reese’s belly. She stared at him, the air between them vibrating with sexual awareness. For several moments she forgot how to breathe, let alone speak.

“Well?” Michael prompted at length. “What would I get in return for giving you the recipe to one of my prized signature dishes?”

Reese smiled slowly. “My undying gratitude?”

Michael laughed, a low, husky rumble that made her nipples tighten. God, he was sexy. Sexier than any mortal man had a right to be. “And here I thought you’d promise to write a glowing review of the restaurant or something,” he teased.

Reese guffawed. “You already have a ton of those. What difference would mine make?”

Before he could respond, they were interrupted by two attractive black women clutching copies of Michael’s latest bestselling cookbook.

“Excuse us, Mr. Wolf,” gushed the taller of the pair. “We couldn’t wait for you to make your way over to our table. Could we have your autograph?”

“Of course,” Michael said smoothly, rising to greet the women like the Southern gentleman he was.

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