Page 27 of Recipe for Temptation

One heavy brow winged upward. “Next time?”

“Sure.” She smiled bravely.

His gaze roamed over her, from head to toe and slowly back up again. After another moment, he reached out and accepted the proffered cup from her hand. As their fingers brushed, heat sizzled through her veins.

They stared at each other.

Reese unconsciously licked her lips, watching his hooded eyes follow the path of her tongue. “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?” she asked, a touch breathless.

Michael hesitated, then staggered aside to open the door wider for her. As she stepped past him, her shoulder grazed the iron slabs of his chest. Her breasts tingled and her pulse drummed erratically.

Ignoring her body’s reaction to him—no easy feat—she advanced into the foyer and swept a look around. The stunning two-story penthouse featured Italian marble floors, elegant crown molding, ultramodern lighting and solid, contemporary furnishings done in masculine earth tones. Just off the main living area was a dramatic floating staircase that wound to an upper level. There were walls of nothing but windows that revealed spectacular views of Buckhead and, in the distance, downtown Atlanta.

The luxurious penthouse transcended the definition of a bachelor pad. It was a showplace—and immaculate to boot.

Reese whistled softly. “Wow. This is quite a crib.”

Behind her, Michael grunted something unintelligible.

Smiling, she turned in time to catch him checking out her ass in her tight jeans. The hungry gleam in his eyes sent another rush of tingling heat through her body.

Pretending not to notice what he’d been doing, she grinned playfully at him. “I thought you might live in one of those McMansions that Buckhead is famous for.”

A shadow of a smile touched his lips, softening his features a little. “I don’t need all that space. I spend more time at the restaurant and my father’s house than here.”

“Which would explain why the place is spotless. You’re never home.”

“Exactly.” He raised the cup to his mouth and took a long sip. As he swallowed, his eyes closed in an expression of ecstasy that made her envy the coffee.

“Good?” There was a husky catch to her voice.

He nodded slowly. “Very.”

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t take you for one of those artsy-fartsy gourmet coffee lovers. So I just stuck with something basic. Something dark and strong.”

“You done good,” he drawled.

Reese warmed with pleasure, which made her feel like the world’s biggest idiot. “I’m sorry. It didn’t even occur to me that you might be at church this morning…or entertaining company.”

His eyes glittered with amusement. “Are you asking me if I had a date over last night?”

She shook her head quickly. “Of course not. That’s none of my business.” Yet she couldn’t suppress a stab of jealousy at the thought of him spending a long, steamy night between the legs of some faceless woman.

“You’re right. It’s none of your business.” He shuffled past her, sipping his coffee. “But since you obviously want to know?—”

“I don’t?—”

“—I was at the restaurant until six in the morning finalizing preparations for an event I’m catering next week. I was hoping to sleep in late,” he added with a sardonic glance over his shoulder.

“Oh.” Reese bit her bottom lip, feeling guilty. “Sorry.”

After less than three hours of sleep, Michael should have looked like death warmed over. Instead his bed-rumpled appearance only added to his virile sexiness. And was there anything the man didn’t look good wearing? As if his powerful biceps weren’t mouthwatering enough in that sleeveless T-shirt, now she couldn’t take her eyes off the way his pajama bottoms clung to his round, well-toned butt. She imagined digging her nails into those clenching and unclenching muscles, urging him deeper as he thrust into her. The image was so vivid, so explicitly carnal, that her clit throbbed in wanton response.

Mesmerized, she followed him into the enormous living room, more than a little disappointed when he sank down heavily on the sofa, cutting off her view of that amazing ass. Leaning his head back against the sofa, he regarded her tiredly for a moment, his lids at half mast. Like he was fighting to keep his eyes open.

Reese felt another pang of guilt. She, who’d never known the meaning of the word impulsive until she met this man, had chosen the worst possible day to act on a spontaneous urge.

“You never did answer my question,” Michael murmured.

---