Page 5 of Recipe for Temptation

As he signed each of their books, they raved about his show and told him how much they’d always enjoyed eating at his restaurant, which they declared to be the best in all of Georgia. He took their compliments in stride, smiling and conversing with them with a lazy charm that Reese found utterly disarming.

At one point, the taller woman whipped out her phone and turned to Reese with a giddy smile. “Would you mind taking a picture of us with Michael?”

“Not at all,” Reese said.

She snapped a group photo, then two more as each woman insisted on posing alone with Michael.

After they left—with obvious reluctance—Reese said to Michael, “I’ve kept you from the rest of your customers. I’m sorry.”

His eyes glinted. “Are you?”

She paused. “Not really.”

They smiled at each other. The moment stretched into two.

Dragging her gaze away, Reese returned her attention to her plate. “So,” she began idly, “do you always come to the restaurant dressed in a tux?”

Michael glanced down at himself, as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “I was at a fundraiser dinner. I decided to stop by the restaurant on my way home.” His voice deepened as he stared at her. “I’m glad I did.”

Reese felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl. “So am I.”

His mouth curved with a slow, sexy smile. “What brings you to Atlanta, Miss?—?”

“St. James.” Reese took a long sip of wine. No way was she telling him about the devastating tragedy that’d sent her fleeing from home. He didn’t need to hear about her personal problems.

Smiling demurely, she said, “What if I told you that I came to Atlanta just to eat at your fine establishment?”

Michael chuckled softly. “I suppose I’d be flattered. If I actually believed you.”

“You should. I’m one of your biggest fans, remember?”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

They exchanged playful grins.

Finished with her meal, Reese sat back in her chair with a deep, satisfied sigh. “That was heavenly.”

“Ready for dessert?” Michael asked.

Only if you’re on the menu!

Aloud she said laughingly, “I don’t know if I have any room left. I’m stuffed.”

“Come on. You can’t leave my restaurant without trying one of our amazing desserts.”

Of course, Reese needed little convincing.

On cue, the waiter materialized with the dessert menu.

“What do you recommend?” Reese asked Michael.

He smiled. “I think everything’s good, but of course I’m biased. Why don’t you try the sweet potato pecan pie?”

Reese smiled. “Sounds good.”

As the waiter bustled away, Michael shook his head slowly at Reese. “Dangerous,” he murmured.

“What?”

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