Page 77 of Recipe for Temptation

The twitch of Quentin’s mouth told her he saw right through her. “That’s Andrea Barrister, Mike’s publicist.”

“No wonder. I’ve seen her before.”

“No surprise there,” Quentin drawled ironically. “Wherever you see Mike, Andrea’s never too far behind.”

Reese felt a sharp pang of jealousy. “I see.”

“No, you don’t. He’s not sleeping with her.”

“But you just said?—”

“I said that Andrea follows him around everywhere. That doesn’t mean they’re involved.”

“Oh.” Reese hesitated, then shrugged dispassionately. “Doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business.”

“No?” Quentin couldn’t have conveyed more amused skepticism if he’d tried.

She bristled. “In case you haven’t noticed, your friend hasn’t said two words to me all evening.”

Quentin chuckled. “Aw hell, girl. He’s been watching you the whole night.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“How would you know?” Those hazel eyes glinted perceptively. “Unless you’ve been watching him, too?”

Heat stung her face. Averting her gaze, she sipped her champagne.

“You don’t believe me? You think I’m lying about him watching you?”

“Yes,” Reese said gloomily.

Quentin stood, holding out his hand to her.

She gave him a blank look. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

“I don’t feel like?—”

“Come on, baby girl. You look too damn good to be sitting around moping.”

“I’m not?—”

But Quentin had already tugged her to her feet and started toward the dance floor.

When Michael glanced up from conversing with his publicist to see Quentin leading Reese onto the dance floor, his first instinct was to storm across the garden and smash his fist into Quentin’s face. It took every shred of self-control he possessed to remain where he was, to keep his distance from Reese as he’d been doing all night.

He’d spent the past few days force-feeding himself a litany of reasons why the two of them shouldn’t be together. She lived too far away. He didn’t do long-distance relationships, so one of them would have to relocate, and he honestly didn’t think he was ready to make that kind of sacrifice. Besides, with their busy careers, how much quality time would they really spend together, anyway?

And, of course, there was the matter of her boyfriend. Michael was superstitious enough to believe that if he got Reese by taking her from another man, their relationship might be doomed forever.

But one look at her that morning, and all those rationales—excuses—had gone right out the window. One smile from her, and he’d been a goner. Right then and there, as he was about to go onstage before a live studio audience, he’d looked into Reese’s eyes and made the most stunning discovery of his life: He was in love with her.

After that, everything else had been a blur. He was so shaken, so distracted, that it was a miracle he hadn’t burned down his kitchen during the taping. Hours later he was still rattled, to the extent that he’d avoided contact with Reese for the entire evening. But he’d seen her.

God, how he’d seen her.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her in that slinky white siren’s dress that hugged every dangerous curve. The first time she turned around, he’d gotten a mind-blowing glimpse of smooth bare skin revealed by the dress’s plunging backline. His eyes had bulged, and he’d nearly swallowed his damn tongue.

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