Page 79 of Recipe for Temptation

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was after three a.m. by the time the cleanup crew finished their work and departed. After seeing them off, Michael returned to the backyard for a final inspection. Since his father had been generous enough to allow his home to be commandeered by Asha, Michael had given the old man his word that everything would be restored to perfect order after the party.

After walking the landscaped grounds and satisfying himself that his father would find nothing to complain about, Michael started back toward the house. As he reached the veranda, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

He turned, his pulse thudding when he saw Reese’s shadowy silhouette in the gazebo.

He started down the flagstone path, strolling at a leisurely pace when all he really wanted to do was run to her like the lovesick fool he was. To distract himself, he admired the gazebo that was painted white with a redbrick roof to match the main house. Surrounded by lush garden beds and draped with a twinkling canopy of fairy lights, it was the perfect spot for a romantic rendezvous.

When he reached it, he found Reese lounging on the wraparound bench, her head tucked into her hand and her legs curled under her. Her feet were bare; the ice-pick stilettos she’d worn earlier now lay on the floor. Michael was pleased to see that she hadn’t changed out of the siren’s dress, though something would have to be done about her pinned-up hair.

All in good time.

Leaning in the entrance to the gazebo, he dipped his hands into his pockets and gazed at her. “It’s late.”

“I know.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Haven’t tried.”

“Why not?”

Those sultry eyes held his. “I was waiting for you.”

His heart went into overdrive.

She sat up slowly, patting the bench beside her. “Come. Sit.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

He’d barely sat down before she reached for his tuxedo jacket and began dragging it off his shoulders. He helped her, shrugging out of the jacket and tossing it to the floor.

“Take off your shirt.” Her voice was calm.

“Why?” His was not.

“I want to give you a massage.” She smiled. “I think you’ve earned one.”

Michael wasn’t about to argue. Hurriedly he unbuttoned his shirt, removed his platinum cufflinks and cast them aside with no regard to where they landed. Reese helped him tug his shirt from his waistband and shrug out of it.

When her warm fingers settled over his bare skin, he groaned and closed his eyes.

“Look at all these knots you have,” she crooned, massaging the cramped muscles. “You poor baby.”

“It’s been a long day,” he mumbled, his head falling limply forward.

“Of course. And you’ve been working so hard.” Her soft, firm hands moved over his shoulders and back, locating and kneading pressure points until he thought he’d melt into a puddle.

“You amaze me, Michael,” she murmured. “A man in your position can just sit back and let the people you’ve hired do all the work. I certainly can’t imagine any other celebrity chef helping with kitchen duty at his restaurant, especially after a long, grueling day.”

“How do you know…” Michael’s brain felt so sluggish he had to stop and try again. “How do you know I didn’t do that because you were helping?”

She chuckled. “Because one of your waitresses told me you always pitch in. That’s one of the many things they admire and respect about you. You never hesitate to get in the trenches with your soldiers.”

Speaking of his “soldiers,” the heat of her fingertips had need throbbing in his groin as currents of electric sensation sizzled through his veins. Before he knew it, he had a monster of an erection.

He let out another deep, satisfied groan as her skilled fingers worked at a stubborn knot in his back. “God, that feels good. Where’d you learn to give such incredible massages?”

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