Page 83 of Recipe for Temptation

Gussied up in a Brioni tux, with a champagne flute held awkwardly in his hand, Sterling had felt out of place as Asha led him around the garden, introducing him to her snooty friends. Between the French and the couture lingo, Sterling had had a hard time following any conversation. He’d finally given up and retreated to the house to hang out with the normal folks from Michael’s television studio.

He didn’t belong in Asha’s world, and he never would.

This thing between them—whatever it was—would fizzle out as soon as she returned to her glamorous, fast-paced life in New York. If being a cop hadn’t been good enough for Celeste, being a retired cop definitely wouldn’t be good enough for the likes of Asha Dubois. Sure, Sterling’s circumstances were much different now than they’d been during his marriage. In addition to his pension, he was well provided for by his sons, who gave him a generous monthly stipend and saw to it that he never wanted for anything. Hell, if he’d been a greedy, materialistic man, Michael and Marcus would’ve had him living larger than a rap star, with flashy vacation homes and luxury cars galore. Those boys loved to spoil their old man, and they made no apologies for it.

But all the money in the world couldn’t buy a woman like Asha.

After finding herself pregnant and divorced by the age of nineteen, she’d become as jaded about romance as Sterling was. Although she’d been romantically linked to several tycoons over the years, she’d made it perfectly clear she had no interest in shackling herself to another man.

Sterling had no illusions about their future.

They had no future.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting her in his bed. They’d been sneaking around for the past week, having the kind of sex that could put a man his age in the hospital. Asha was a sensual, passionate lover who knew how to satisfy a man’s every need. She was also a screamer, which was why they’d relocated their nightly trysts to the guesthouse.

Sterling was so addicted to her that he’d even invited her to accompany him and the family on a relaxing five-day getaway to Sea Island, a luxury golf resort off the coast of Georgia. He’d been thrilled—and shocked—when Asha agreed to go. Now that her boutique was open and the party was over, there was nothing keeping her in Atlanta. He knew she had pressing matters awaiting her in New York. Her phone rang constantly, and she’d frequently been overheard fretting over preparations for her upcoming fall collection. But for whatever reason, she’d decided to extend her stay in Atlanta. And Sterling—to his detriment—couldn’t be happier.

“You never did answer my question.”

Pulled out of his reverie, Sterling gazed down at Asha. “What question was that?”

“Forgot already?”

He chuckled. “I’m old, remember?”

“Mmm,” she purred, snaking a satiny thigh between his legs. “I beg to differ.”

Sterling’s heart thudded. Another night with this woman and he’d need a damn pacemaker. “Oh, that’s right. You asked me if I think anyone suspects that we’re sleeping together.”

“We haven’t actually done much sleeping,” Asha pointed out.

Sterling gulped. “I don’t think my boys suspect anything, or they would’ve called me out already.” He thought fleetingly of Celeste, who’d been even more hostile to Asha than usual, for reasons unknown. “What about Samara? Has she said anything to you?”

Asha smiled against his chest. “I’ve caught her giving me strange looks every now and then. And I think she was a little suspicious when I told her I’d decided to stay here instead of her house. But I just explained that it made more sense for me to be here to meet with the caterers and to finalize preparations for the party. And since we’re all leaving for the coast tomorrow, I don’t have to worry about coming up with another excuse for why I’m still sleeping at your house.”

Sterling grinned. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

“Um-hmm.” Her thigh slid higher. “Wanna hear what I’m thinking now?”

“Why don’t you just show me?” Sterling suggested, rolling her onto her back.

She laughed, her arms slipping around his neck. As he lowered his head to kiss her, she interjected, “Oh, but wait. Aren’t you the one who just said you’re old?”

He flashed a rakish smile. “I’m old, honey. Not dead.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next afternoon, Michael was in his office at the restaurant trying to get some paperwork done. He’d been at it for several hours and had barely made a dent. He couldn’t concentrate worth a damn. His thoughts kept straying to Reese, wondering where she was and what she was doing, wondering if she missed him as much as he missed her.

Needing a mental break, he rose from his desk and left the room, walking down a long hall toward the noisy hub of activity that was music to a restaurateur’s ears.

A young waitress bustled toward him on her way to the kitchen, flashing him a bright but harried smile. “Hey, boss. It’s a madhouse out there.”

“I know.” Michael smiled. “You’re doing good, Dearica. Keep it up.”

She beamed under his praise before hurrying along to the kitchen.

Reaching the end of the corridor between the bar and dining area, Michael propped his shoulder against the wall and surveyed the bustling scene. They had a big lunch crowd, every table and booth taken. There were people everywhere eating, talking, laughing while servers bustled between tables balancing large trays of food and drinks.

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