Page 29 of Recipe for Temptation

When their mirth had subsided, Michael set his coffee cup on a side table and rose from the sofa, no longer unsteady on his feet.

“Where are you going?” Reese asked him.

“To take a shower—a very cold one. And then I’m gonna get dressed and show you around my beautiful city.”

Her eyes widened as a wave of astonished pleasure swept through her. “Really? You’d give up your Sunday to take me sightseeing?”

“Sure, why not? You brought me coffee.”

“I can make you breakfast, too,” Reese called after him as he started from the room.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. He looked so surprised and touched by the offer that Reese wondered whether he’d gotten so used to cooking for others that no one ever bothered to cook for him.

“You know what?” he said softly. “I’m definitely gonna take you up on that. But can I get a rain check?”

“Of course.” She smiled shyly. “Do you want to just stop somewhere on the way out?”

“Yeah. And I know just the place.”

The Sunday jazz brunch at Wolf’s Soul was the place to be.

Locals and tourists alike flocked to the restaurant every weekend for an award-winning buffet that included everything from eggs Benedict to crawfish étouffée, along with a toe-tapping dose of live jazz music served up by the Howlin’ Good band. Kids ate free while college students and senior citizens enjoyed half-price discounts.

All proceeds from the brunch helped to fund nonprofit organizations that benefited Atlanta’s inner-city youth, who were near and dear to Michael’s heart. He mentored at-risk teens, gave them jobs at his restaurant and regularly had them in his studio audience. Two years ago his alma mater, Morehouse College, had established the Michael Wolf scholarship for economically disadvantaged students. Given Michael’s commitment to his community, it was no wonder Atlantans had proudly embraced him as their native son.

An hour after arriving at Wolf’s Soul with Michael, Reese pushed away her empty plate and sighed deeply. “That was absolutely wonderful.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Michael said, lounging across from her at a small table located on a second-story balcony overlooking Peachtree Street. Music from inside the restaurant drifted through the double French doors, a lazy blues instrumental. The morning sun hadn’t cranked up the temperature yet, so sitting outdoors was tolerable, even pleasant.

Reese sighed again. Filled with good food and nursing her second mimosa, she felt relaxed and deliciously content. She could have stayed there, with Michael, for the rest of the day.

He smiled, watching her with a look of quiet satisfaction, as he’d done throughout their meal. “Can I get you anything else?”

Reese laughed. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t eat another bite.”

His dark eyes glinted at her. “Are you sure? Our chocolate fountain is very popular.”

She groaned, rubbing her full stomach. “I’m sure it is. But if I go anywhere near it, I’m going to explode. God knows I’ve already eaten way more than I should have.” She shot him an accusing look. “I blame you.”

His expression was one of exaggerated innocence. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re the one who kept urging me to try this and try that. And everything sounded so good I just couldn’t resist. Like that brioche French toast, and the crab cake Benedict. And that sweet potato hash. Mmm, positively divine. Anyway,” she said pointedly, before she got off track, “after all that food we just ate, you have no business even mentioning that chocolate fountain to me. What are you—a sadist?”

Michael laughed, lazily running his finger around the rim of his champagne glass. “I like watching you eat. You take pleasure in food in a way that any chef would appreciate. There’s nothing worse than pouring your heart and soul into a meal, only to watch someone pick over it because they’re on a diet, or they don’t wanna mess up their lipstick, or they’re afraid to look greedy if they clean their plate and ask for seconds.” His eyes twinkled with humor. “You know how you women do.”

Reese grinned. “I would say you need to stop cooking for such ungrateful chicks, but I seriously doubt you’ve ever had to worry about anyone picking over food you’ve made.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, if I’m ever privileged enough to have you cook for me, I promise to bring a big appetite.”

Michael smiled. “And I promise to leave you satisfied.”

Reese’s mouth went dry. For a moment she just stared at him, wondering if they were talking about food or lovemaking. Either way, there was no doubt in her mind that Michael knew his way around a woman’s body the way he did a gourmet kitchen.

Holding his gaze, she reached for her glass and held it up. “A toast,” she said. “To good food.”

“And endless possibilities,” Michael added silkily, quickening her heart rate.

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