Page 43 of Recipe for Temptation

Celeste ushered Reese through the house to a set of double French doors that opened onto an enormous veranda. As they stepped outside and crossed to the wraparound railing, Reese saw that Celeste had not exaggerated about the backyard. It was huge and nothing short of breathtaking.

Before she could take it all in, her attention was diverted by a burst of loud, angry voices. Celeste muttered under her breath as a man and a woman suddenly emerged from a dense thicket of trees and began marching toward the house.

Reese stared in incredulous disbelief. What shocked her wasn’t the sight of two grown adults squabbling like children on a playground. Rather, it was the sight of the tall dark-skinned man who bore such a striking resemblance to Michael, she wondered if she’d unwittingly stumbled into a time warp twenty years into the future.

Her gaze moved to the woman next. She was tall, curvaceous and stunningly beautiful—an exquisite cross between Iman and Naomi Campbell. Dressed in a stylish white pantsuit and stiletto heels, she strode down the flagstone walkway with the icy hauteur of a seasoned runway model.

As Reese stared at the woman, recognition dawned. Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. Is that?—”

“Asha Dubois,” Celeste finished sourly. “Yes, it is.”

Judging by her tone and the grim set of her mouth, it was obvious that Celeste was no fan of Asha Dubois, a world-renowned fashion designer who was in town to celebrate the grand opening of her Lenox Square boutique—an event that was garnering as much buzz on local radio stations as Michael’s return home the week before.

In her youth, Asha had been a supermodel whose exotic beauty graced countless magazine covers. After retiring from the runway, she’d gone on to successfully launch her own clothing empire, becoming one of the first African-American designers to conquer the cutthroat world of haute couture.

Reese, whose own closet was filled with House of Dubois fashions, couldn’t help feeling a little star-struck at the prospect of meeting Asha Dubois. Though barely fifty, the woman was already a living legend.

“My son Marcus is married to her daughter,” Celeste volunteered.

“Really?” Reese silently marveled at the odds of her meeting a celebrity chef, a prominent neurosurgeon and a famous fashion designer in less than a week. And—astonishingly—they were all in the same extended family.

As Sterling Wolf and Asha Dubois drew nearer to the house, Reese couldn’t help noticing what a striking pair they made. But based on the way they were quarreling with each other, it was abundantly clear there was no love lost between them.

“…I don’t even know why I bothered to consult with you,” Asha was venting. Even in her anger, her voice was cool and cultured. “You don’t know the first thing about hosting a classy affair. My God, if it were up to you, we would have served pork ribs and beans at our children’s wedding reception!”

“And what the hell’s wrong with that?” Sterling fired back. “In case you haven’t noticed, woman, we’re in the South. And we Southerners happen to enjoy our barbecue!”

Asha shuddered. “Not at a wedding.”

“Even at a wedding!” He snorted derisively. “Hell, if you weren’t such a stuck-up witch?—”

Asha glared at him. “Who’re you calling a witch, you old?—”

Celeste cleared her throat loudly, and the two combatants looked around in surprise. When they saw Celeste and Reese watching them from the railing, their expressions turned sheepish.

“We have company,” Celeste announced sweetly.

“So I see.” Sterling Wolf stepped onto the veranda, his dark eyes homing in on Reese. “Well, hello there. And who might you be?”

Reese smiled, suddenly nervous about coming face to face with Michael’s father. He cut an imposing figure with his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, keenly intelligent gaze and tall, robust build.

Seeing that Reese was momentarily tongue-tied, Celeste came to her rescue. “Sterling, this is Reese St. James, Michael’s new apprentice.”

Sterling’s heavy brows shot up, and a wide grin swept across his ruggedly handsome face. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss St. James,” he said, his large, callused hand enveloping hers in a firm handshake. “Welcome to Atlanta.”

Reese smiled shyly. “Thank you, Mr. Wolf. You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you kindly. I’ve learned to appreciate it.” His eyes twinkled, giving her a glimpse of the devilish charm that obviously flowed in the Wolf gene pool.

“Reese is a doctor,” Celeste told him proudly.

“So I’ve heard.” Sterling smiled, leaving Reese to wonder what else he knew about her. “Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?”

Before Reese could respond, an amused voice drawled, “Doesn’t waste any time, does he?”

Both Sterling and Celeste turned to glare at Asha, who sat at a white wrought-iron table idly sipping from a glass of wine that had materialized out of nowhere. Her long, shapely legs were crossed, and her black hair was slicked back into an elegant chignon that accentuated her high cheekbones, sultry dark eyes and lush, sensual mouth.

“Asha,” Celeste murmured, forcing a smile that looked as if she had a lip full of Novocain. “You’re looking well.”

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