Page 72 of Recipe for Temptation

“That’s right, Michael,” Reese said with just the right touch of breathlessness. “You’re my favorite chef in the whole—” She broke off suddenly. “What’s wrong?”

Michael was frowning down at her white chef’s jacket, which had been monogrammed with RSJ—her initials.

“Uh, Reese?”

“Yes, Michael?”

“This is my show, right?”

She blinked innocently. “Of course.”

“So…why are you wearing your initials instead of mine?”

With a sheepish grin, she eased her hand over the embroidered letters. “Oops?”

Michael scowled, shaking his head at the audience. “This might end up being the shortest apprenticeship in history.”

As the crowd roared with laughter, Michael and Reese exchanged sly winks.

Backstage, after the taping of the show, Reese met the rest of the Wolf Pack men, an experience that left her feeling as awestruck as Dorothy after crash landing in Oz.

It wasn’t any one thing that dazed her.

It was the full force of their devastating good looks.

It was their amazing, almost indistinguishable resemblance to one another.

It was the deep, masculine rumble of their voices, their heart-stopping smiles and their husky laughter.

It was the confidence and charisma that oozed from their pores.

It was the combined impact of all these factors that packed a knockout punch.

Reese could feel herself blushing as they stood in a half circle around her, a towering wall of testosterone, looking and smelling so good as they congratulated her on her entertaining television debut and told her they’d never seen a woman go toe-to-toe with Michael like she did.

“My nephew has a heart of gold, but he can be a bully sometimes,” Stan Wolf revealed with a grin. “Looks like he might have finally met his match.”

“I hope so,” Reese laughed, feeling like a bit of an airhead. She had just seen Stan Wolf on the news that morning. As Atlanta fire chief, he’d stood at the podium answering questions about a new community initiative, and all she could think about was how dashingly handsome he looked in his impeccable dress uniform.

His five strapping sons were formidable in their own right.

Manning, the eldest, was founder and CEO of a Fortune 500 biotech company.

Montana was a Grammy Award-winning jazz musician whose saxophone-playing prowess was the stuff of legend.

Magnum was a decorated firefighter and a chip off the old block.

Maddox was a New York Times bestselling author whose deliciously diabolical imagination kept his horror novels flying off shelves.

And then there was NFL superstar Mason Wolf, all badass tattoos, trademark cornrows and cocky arrogance. While the others had given Reese warm handshakes, Mason had gone a step further. Closing his big broad fingers around hers, he’d leaned down and brought her hand to his full lips, kissing the back of it while staring right into her eyes.

Despite being head over heels in love with his cousin, Reese wasn’t immune to Mason’s wicked charms. His slick move had her pulse fluttering and her cheeks heating with a blush.

The man was downright dangerous. Seriously. It was scary.

When a hand touched Reese lightly on the back, she turned around to find Prissy Wolf standing there with a sparkling smile.

“Hello, Reese,” she said, pulling her into a warm hug. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

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