Page 64 of Recipe for Temptation

“This ain’t no damn summer fling,” Michael snarled, incensed by her repeated attempts to trivialize what may have been the most spectacular night of his life.

“Oh, come on, Michael,” she scoffed. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I mean, you’re Michael freaking Wolf. You can have any woman you want, whenever you want, wherever you?—”

Something snapped inside him, and he exploded, “I don’t want just any woman! I want you!”

Reese stared at him, her eyes wide with stunned disbelief.

He glared back at her, his jaw tightly clenched as he fought for self-control. His heart was hammering against his ribs, and his entire body was vibrating with the fierce, overpowering urge to pin her to the mattress and make love to her in a way that would leave no doubt in her mind that she belonged to him. Because she did. She totally fucking did.

“Oh my.” Reese bit her lip, shaking her head slowly at him. “You really are going to make me fall in love with you, aren’t you?”

Michael’s pulse thudded. An emotion suspiciously akin to hope sprang to life in his chest. And then he saw a trace of humor glittering in her eyes.

“What’s so damn funny?” he snapped.

“You. Me. Us.” She sighed, shaking her head again. “The truth is, Michael, I’ve been halfway in love with you for the past three years. My family, friends and colleagues tease me constantly about having a major crush on you. It’s so bad they’ve even taken to calling you my fantasy boyfriend.”

Michael wasn’t amused. “So what’re you saying? Last night was about you living out some sort of fantasy?”

She sighed. “You have no reason to be offended. What we shared last night far exceeded my fantasies, and I didn’t think that was even possible. But just because you completely rocked my world doesn’t mean I foolishly expect you to become my boyfriend.”

“And why the hell not?” Michael growled. “What would be so damn crazy about that?”

She gave him a wryly amused look. “C’mon, Michael. You’re not real-boyfriend material. You’re fantasy-boyfriend material. You’re that smokin’ hot guy every girl fantasizes about. The guy who, though you know he’s totally unattainable, you’d jump at the chance to spend one wild night of sex with. And then years down the line—long after you’d settled into a comfortable life with the safe, sweet, reliable man you ended up marrying—you’d indulge in a moment of girlish whim and tell your daughters all about that one reckless night of passion you had with your fantasy lover.” She smiled demurely. “I’m very lucky. Not every woman gets such an opportunity.”

Michael glowered at her, seething with anger and something darker, something infinitely more dangerous. Something that made his heart ache with raw, primal yearning.

Reese’s smile wavered. “Uh, Michael?—?”

He lunged for her.

She let out a squeak and scuttled back against the headboard, slapping her palm against his chest to stop him in his tracks.

“Who’s Shauna?” she demanded.

His eyes narrowed to a squint. “Who?”

“Last night when we stopped for gas, a woman texted you. Your phone was lying on the console, so I saw her name on the screen.” A pulse jumped in her throat, betraying her agitation. “Who’s Shauna, Michael?”

So that was why she’d been subdued on the way home.

“She’s not important,” he muttered. “Just someone I hooked up with a few times.”

A faint smirk touched Reese’s lips. “Like I said. Fantasy boyfriend.”

Michael glared down at her, his jaw clenched so hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t shatter. His heart was thumping like a machine out of control, and he wanted to kiss her so badly it was an acute physical ache.

Her warm hand flexed against his chest, right over his jackhammering heart. He saw her pupils dilate, her nostrils flaring slightly. She kept her gaze locked on his until finally, unable to resist, she lowered her eyes to his mouth.

Blood rushed straight to his groin.

“Reese,” he growled just as a phone suddenly rang, intruding like the blast of an explosion in the room.

Reese scrambled to the other side of the bed, looking as relieved as a little doe that had narrowly escaped the clutches of a savage predator.

Scowling, Michael watched as she reached over the bed, grabbed her phone out of her handbag—when the hell had she brought that upstairs?—and answered in a breathless rush, “Hello?” Pause. “Yes, this is Reese St. James.”

The sheet had become dislodged in her mad scramble to reach the phone. Michael stared, his dick twitching at the sight of her big breasts crowned with berry-dark nipples. He remembered the delicious weight of them in his hands. Remembered the way they’d swelled beneath the hungry lash of his tongue, the way they’d bounced and jiggled as he drove into her.

---