Page 18 of Recipe for Temptation

Reese’s breath caught. She could feel her pulse thudding as his gaze wandered over her, taking in her white ruffle blouse and linen slacks before easing back up to her face. Though his expression didn’t change, there was no mistaking the subtle challenge that glinted in his eyes.

Reese lifted her chin defiantly, answering with her own silent message: Bring it on!

A smile played at the corners of his lips before he glanced away to finish conferring with his producer.

“You’re on in three minutes.” The production assistant led Reese onto the stage, where a cameraman clipped a tiny microphone to her lapel. “For the audition, you’re going to assist Michael with preparing a basic recipe. As I told the other contestants, the judges are more interested in your stage presence and the way you interact with Michael than your culinary skills. So just relax and be yourself.”

“Good advice,” Reese murmured, trying not to notice that dozens of strangers were watching and critiquing her every move. She was relieved that she didn’t have to audition before a live studio audience.

Michael awaited her at the large center island that was the focal point of the kitchen. It featured a restaurant-style electric cooktop and enough counter space for him to spread out his ingredients and display his culinary masterpieces at the end of each episode.

As Reese took her place beside him, he slanted her a faintly mocking glance. “Think you can keep up?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

Before he could respond, the director began his countdown. “Five, four, three, two?—”

On cue Michael flashed his trademark grin into the camera—the slow, wicked grin that melted women the world over and kept their eyes glued to their television sets. “Today we’ll be whipping up a classic Southern favorite—shrimp and grits. As any true Southerner knows, eating grits is a way of life. But they’re not just for breakfast anymore, and today we’re gonna show you why. But first I’d like to introduce you to the lovely Reese St. James, who’ll be assisting me in the kitchen today.”

Reese smiled and waved as the people gathered around the set applauded loudly in an effort to simulate a live audience.

“Reese hails from the Lone Star state,” Michael said, smiling so easily at her no one would’ve believed they were enemies. “Houston, right?”

“That’s right,” Reese said cheerfully. “It’s a pleasure to be here with you, Michael. Feel free to put me right to work.”

Michael grinned at the judges’ table. “I like ’em eager and ready to please,” he drawled with a suggestive wink that earned him a round of wicked laughter.

Not to be outdone, Reese picked up a piece of chilled shrimp from a bowl on the counter. “So what’re we working with today, shrimp? Er, I mean chef.”

More laughter filled the room.

“That’s right, Reese,” Michael said, plucking the shrimp out of her fingers and dropping it into the bowl. “Today we’re working with shrimp. I’ve got some big, fat, juicy?—”

Reese fanned herself with her hand, drawing another burst of raucous laughter. Someone even whistled.

Shaking his head, Michael muttered under his breath, “Good help is so hard to find,” which elicited some sympathetic chuckles.

“What do you want me to do, Michael?” Reese asked breathily.

He looked her up and down slowly, then raised his eyes heavenward. “Lord, why do you tempt me so?”

More chortles and catcalls ensued.

When the noise had subsided, Michael said to Reese, “Why don’t you stir those grits on the stove?” As she moved to comply, he explained to the audience, “Most folks use instant grits, and that’s fine if you’re really pressed for time. But I’m a purist who believes that the best grits are stone-ground and cooked slowly in butter and cream for at least two hours.”

“Two hours?” Reese echoed in surprise.

“Absolutely.” He met her gaze, his voice dipping low. “The slower the better.”

Reese’s belly flip-flopped as the onlookers reacted with wolf whistles. This time she really did need to fan herself.

“So while your grits are simmering on the stove,” Michael continued, dragging his gaze from hers, “you need to spice up your shrimp. Being a Southern boy, I like mine really spicy. So that means plenty of Cajun seasoning, as well as Italian seasoning, paprika, salt and pepper. You’re gonna sprinkle the combined spices over the shrimp until they’re good and coated. And then you’re ready to sauté them bad boys.”

As he pulled out a large pan and joined Reese at the stove, he said gruffly, “Keep stirring, woman. I don’t want my grits sticking to the bottom and burning.”

Reese gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir.” Under her breath she muttered, “You can kiss my grits.”

As laughter erupted around the set, Michael leaned close to her, his hand cupped to his ear. “I didn’t hear that. Did you say something?”

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