The Sweetest Temptation

by Rochelle Alers

  “Please hold on, Mrs. Fiori,” she said to her caller.

  She wouldn’t have answered the call, but Tomasina, Tommi to her close friends, Fiori was one of her best clients; she wintered in Palm Beach, Florida, and divided her summers between her Park Avenue penthouse and a Mill Neck, Long Island, beachfront estate. The wealthy widow, relaxing in the Florida sunshine, wanted her to come to Florida to bake a cake for her ten-year-old granddaughter. The Valentine’s Day party, which included a guest list of seventy-five, was to be a surprise for the overindulged child.

  Placing her thumb over the mouthpiece, Faith pressed the talk button on the intercom. “Who is it?”

  “Ethan.” Her pulse quickened when she heard his deeply modulated voice. How, she thought, had she forgotten the rich timbre, that his voice was merely an integral component of his overall blatant virility?

  She depressed another button, disengaging the lock on the downstairs door, then unlocked the one to her apartment, opened it and waited for Ethan to walk up three flights. She moved her thumb. “It’s impossible for me to come to Florida because I have two wedding receptions on that day,” she said, resuming her conversation with her client. This year the lovers’ holiday fell on a Saturday. “Do you mind if I suggest an alternative?” Faith asked at the same time Ethan walked through the door.

  Her breathing faltered slightly when she stared at the exquisite cut of his black cashmere topcoat over a tailored dark-gray suit he’d paired with a stark spread-collar white shirt and gunmetal-gray silk tie. He looked like a million dollars! Smiling, she inclined her head, and she wasn’t disappointed when he returned her smile with a seductive dimpled one. Her gaze fused with his until he turned and closed the door.

  “What are you suggesting, Miss Whitfield?” asked Mrs. Fiori.

  “I can ship you the cake.”

  “I don’t trust the post office, Miss Whitfield. Either it’ll arrive too late, or when I open the box it will be to a pile of crumbs.”

  “I’m not talking about using the postal service. I use a shipping company who take special care with fragile items.”

  “Special care or not, I’m not willing to tempt fate.”

  Faith knew the woman wouldn’t relent, while she looked forward to going out with Ethan. Other than her bimonthly get-togethers with her cousins her social life was nonexistent.

  She stared at Ethan watching her, wondering what was going on behind his sherry-colored gaze. “I’ll check my calendar again, Mrs. Fiori, and I’ll call you Monday morning.”

  * * *

  Ethan couldn’t pull his gaze away from Faith Whitfield when she continued her telephone conversation, her expression registering exasperation. He hadn’t realized until he walked into her apartment that he’d spent the week attempting to recall the sound of her voice, the incredible slimness of her body, which was curvy and feminine, and her natural beauty that had enthralled him the moment he saw her face.

  Tonight, instead of her curly hairdo, Faith had applied a gel and brushed her short hair until there was no hint of a curl, and she’d replaced her jeans and T-shirt with an off-the-shoulder, drop-waist, long-sleeved black bodice-hugging dress that ended midway to her shapely calves. His gaze moved lower like a river of slow, red-hot lava to her legs and feet in sheer black nylons and matching satin, sling-back stilettos. Her accessories were a pair of diamond studs and four narrow diamond eternity bands stacked on the middle finger of her right hand.

  Waiting until she ended her call, Ethan came to her, lowered his head and kissed the side of her long neck. “You look fantastic for a dessert lady.” The smoky shadow on her eyelids had changed her into a mysterious, alluring siren.

  “Pastry chef, Ethan,” Faith said softly, correcting him.

  He winked at her. “Okay, pastry chef.”

  Resting her hands on the lapel of his coat, Faith smiled up at him. “And you look pretty good for a chauffeur.”

  Ethan didn’t want to move, and if possible he didn’t want to leave Faith’s apartment because after seeing her he wanted her all to himself. Jealousy, an emotion he’d never experienced before, swept over him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want other men staring or lusting after his date.

  He put on an impassive expression. “Does it bother you that I’m a chauffeur?”

  He didn’t tell Faith that he’d become his cousin’s driver after WJ suspended the services of his regular driver while he took steps to ensure the safety of his son. He also wouldn’t tell her that he was the president of a company with two corporate jets and a car service with a half-dozen luxury cars.

  A slight frown formed between her eyes. “No. Why would you ask me that?”

  “Some women will only date Wall Street brokers, doctors or lawyers.”

  Faith’s frown disappeared. “I’m going out with you, aren’t I, so that should answer your question. But didn’t you say that we weren’t actually going out on a date!”

  Lowering his head, Ethan stared at Faith’s slender feet in the stilettos that put the top of her head at eye level with his. He liked that she was comfortable with her height. His head came up and he stared into twin pools of liquid brown eyes.

  “Yes, I did. I’d like to think of tonight as a brief encounter that could lead to a possible date.”

  Faith mentally gave Ethan another check under the Prince column. His ego wasn’t so inflated that he just assumed she’d go out with him again after tonight. She affected an attractive moue, bringing his gaze to linger on her burgundy-colored lips.

  “We’ll see,” she said, unwilling to commit to going out on a real date with the impeccably dressed man who’d promised her a brief encounter of dining and dancing.

  Faith walked over to the love seat and picked up a tuxedo-style mink jacket at the same time Ethan reached for the fur garment, holding it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Gathering her evening purse and keys, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

  Ethan waited for Faith to lock the door to her apartment, wondering if she was ready for him, because he certainly was ready for her. Too often his “brief encounters” ended before they actually began, but within several hours he would know whether he was attracted to Faith Whitfield because she was just another pretty face, or if she was the woman with whom he could have a mature ongoing relationship free of angst and drama.

  Reaching for her hand, he led Faith down the three flights and out to the street. An all-day rain earlier in the week had washed away the mounds of dirty snow, and the temperatures had risen steadily to the midforties, but New Yorkers weren’t so gullible as to believe warmer temperatures signaled the end of winter. There was still the rest of January, all of February and March, the most unpredictable month of the year.

  Tightening his hold on her gloved hand, Ethan steered Faith to the corner. “I’m parked in the alley behind your building.”

  “This must be your lucky night.” Parking in Manhattan was a feat unto itself.

  Patting the hand tucked into the bend of his elbow, Ethan smiled. “It is,” he said confidently. He considered himself very lucky to have met Faith Whitfield when he’d rescued her from his cousin’s unwarranted advances, and even luckier when Faith agreed to go out with him.

  Pressing the button on a remote device, he unlocked the doors to the coupe parked in the cobblestone alley. Opening the passenger-side door, he seated Faith, waited until she was belted in before circling the vehicle. He took off his topcoat and suit jacket, placing them across the rear seats before taking his place behind the wheel.

  “Would you like some music?” he asked Faith when he started up the engine.

  “Anything soft would be nice.”

  Faith didn’t know why, but something about Ethan’s profession didn’t sit right with her. She wanted to know how many chauffeurs drove top-of-the-line luxury cars for their personal use—not unless the car belonged to their employers. And the black-on-black Mercedes-Benz coupe with a six-figure price tag was the sa
me color and model driven by her father, Henry Whitfield. Who else, she wondered, other than William Raymond did Ethan work for? And how much could he possibly earn in a year transporting wealthy clients?

  A jazzy number by the Brand New Heavies came through the speakers, filling the interior of the vehicle with incredible sound as Faith stared out the windshield. She was confused by the man sitting beside her, because first she’d been taken aback by his attire and now his car. It wasn’t just the style of his wardrobe, but the quality.

  When she’d hosted the Monday gathering and when her cousins discussed the upcoming Whitfield-Sanborn wedding, the focus had been on what to wear. Tessa had insisted on simplicity with her gown and Micah’s suit, and as a professional fashion designer she always kept up with the changing styles. She talked about the more slimming silhouette of the contemporary man’s suit with a two-button closure, narrow lapels in a high-notch or peak style, high armholes, narrowly set and thinly padded shoulders, low-waist and slim-cut pants with hems that did not touch the top of shoes.

  The man who’d stood in the middle of her living room wore the suit Tessa spoke of, a suit that was priced in the two-thousand-dollar range. His shirt and shoes probably cost close to five hundred dollars each and his tie about one hundred. She couldn’t begin to imagine the cost of his cashmere topcoat. Ethan had admitted to being a chauffeur, and it was apparent he was paid well for his services, or, she wondered, was he into other things?

  She didn’t want to jump to conclusions or prejudge the man, but Faith knew she had to be very, very careful, because she didn’t want to become involved with someone who walked the fine line between legal and illegal.

  “Do you mind if I ask you another question?” she asked, when Ethan stopped for a half a dozen teenage girls crossing the wide avenue against the light.

  He gave her a sidelong glance, his face awash from lights on the dashboard. “What do you want to know now?”

  “You don’t have to say it like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “You make it sound as if I were a bother.”

  Ethan flashed an easy smile. “You may be a few things, but never a bother.”

  Her eyes widened. “Do you mind elaborating on that?”

  Returning his attention back to the road, Ethan took off in a burst of speed to make it to the next green light. He’d driven in Manhattan enough to be able to time the lights so that he’d cover at least half a mile before having to stop for a red one.

  “You’re the most incredibly beautiful woman I’ve met in the past ten years.”

  Faith’s eyebrows lifted with his disclosure as she shifted slightly on her seat to look at his distinctive profile. “What happened to her?”

  There came a slight pause. “I married her.”

  “You married her.” Her question was a statement.

  He nodded. “Yes. It was a mistake and we both knew it.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “We managed to make it to eight months before calling it quits.”

  Faith turned away to look out the side window. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t figure into the equation, Faith. Divorce was preferable to destroying each other.” A thread of hardness had crept into his normally soft voice.

  “I said I’m sorry because I’m in the wedding business and I believe in happily ever after.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No”

  “Isn’t it somewhat ironic that you’re in the wedding business, you believe in fairy-tale endings, yet you’re not married?”

  Careful, Mac, she mused, because you’re about to get your first Frog check.

  “No, it’s not,” she said.

  Faith knew she sounded defensive, but she didn’t much care. She wasn’t going to marry any man because she was thirty and in a few years her biological clock would start ticking loudly enough for everyone to hear. And, no matter how much her mother complained about wanting grandchildren, Faith refused to succumb to pressure and marry the first man who flashed his cuspids at her.

  She pressed the back of her head to the headrest. “I never figured you for someone who’d be so superficial.”

  Ethan gave Faith a quick glance. “You think I’m superficial?”

  “Yes. Are a woman’s looks that important to you?”

  He lifted a shoulder under his white shirt. “That’s all I have to go on until I get to know her better. For example, if we’d attended the same party and I spotted you across the room, it would be what you look like that would prompt me either to turn away or attempt an introduction. And after the introduction, then other factors would come into play—your voice, body language, manner of speech and above all how you conduct yourself in a social setting. I have to assume it’s the same for you when you meet a man.”

  “Somewhat,” she admitted reluctantly. “To me manners are much more important than physical attraction.”

  “By manners, do you mean home-training?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I have to assume you have a criteria of do’s and don’ts.”

  “Yes.” Faith wanted to tell Ethan they weren’t do’s and don’ts, but categories relegated to frogs and princes. “Don’t you?”

  “We’ll continue this over dinner,” Ethan said as he maneuvered into a parking garage at 48th Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues.

  The parking attendant opened the driver’s-side door. “How long are you staying, sir?”

  “At least four hours.”

  Ethan stepped out and reached into the pocket of his trousers to give the young man a generous tip.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll park it on the lower level.”

  Ethan nodded before reaching in to retrieve his jacket and coat. Once he left the restaurant, he didn’t want Faith to have to wait outside in the cool night air while the attendants brought his car from the garage’s upper level.

  He rounded the coupe to assist Faith. He’d made a dinner reservation for eight o’clock, and the entertainment from a live big-band orchestra went on until one in the morning. He’d had the promise of one brief encounter with Faith Whitfield, and before it ended he hoped it would lead to an actual date.

  Taking her hand, he held it as they navigated their way down the crowded sidewalk. People were getting out of cars and taxis in front of Radio City Music Hall as others were filing into the landmark theater.

  They entered 30 Rockefeller Plaza, rode the elevator to the sixty-fifth floor, walked into the Rainbow Room and checked their coats. Faith didn’t know whether it was the sound of the orchestra playing a seductive tango, or the elegantly dressed dancers gliding on the revolving dance floor in the center of the dining room, the panoramic views of north, south and east Manhattan, or the man holding her to his side, but she felt like a princess in one of her childhood fairy tales.

  If she and Ethan were only going to share a brief encounter, then it was her intent to enjoy her time with him.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ethan and Faith were shown to a table, the maître d’ stepping back to permit Ethan to seat her, given menus and informed that their waiter would be with them momentarily.

  Rather than study the wine listings, Ethan stared across the table at his dining partner. Faith had accused him of being superficial because he’d admitted he was attracted to her face. What she failed to realize was that any normal-sighted man would be drawn to her because of her natural beauty, and if that made him superficial, then he was. However, it wasn’t only her face and body that sent his libido levels off the chart. Faith Whitfield as the total package.

  In the short time he’d interacted with her he recognized her intelligence, talent, independent spirit, ambition, spunkiness and dependability. In other words, she was perfect—almost too perfect, and he wondered why some man hadn’t put a ring on her finger.

  Ethan stared at the extensive wine list offering red, white, dessert wines and champagne from France, as well as sparkli
ng wines from Italy and California. “Will you share a bottle of wine?” he asked.

  “What do you prefer?” Faith asked, perusing the list.

  Looking up, he met her eyes before his gaze moved lower to her parted lips. “I’m partial to champagne.”

  Faith lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Then champagne it is.”

  “Which one do you want?”

  “You choose.”

  Shaking his head slowly, Ethan leaned forward. “Tonight is your night, Faith. I’m just here to try to make it special for you.”

  It was Faith’s turn to shake her head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ethan. Tonight is your brief encounter, so I’m here for you. We also wouldn’t be here if I’d given you your one little itty-bitty dance at your cousin’s penthouse.”

  A rush of color flooded Ethan’s tawny-brown face, and she found the gesture both surprising and endearing. The added color made his short-cropped graying hair appear lighter than it actually was. He compressed his lips and the elusive dimples winked at her.

  “You’re right, Faith. I knew I wanted to see you again, so I came up with the excuse that I wanted to dance with you.” Her delicate jaw dropped at his candid admission.

  Faith closed her mouth, shocked by Ethan’s candidness. “And what if I’d danced with you at your cousin’s place? Would you’ve devised another plan to get me to go out with you?”

  Ethan inclined his head. “Yes.”

  “What?” The single word came out in a hushed whisper.

  Reaching across the table, he placed his left hand over her right, his thumb caressing the rings stacked on her slender finger. “Tell me what you want to hear, Faith. Would you’ve preferred that I lie to you?”

  Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “No.”

  He smiled. “Good. I’m not a very complex man, so what you see is what you get.”

  “And just what is that?” she asked.

  “I find myself quite taken with the woman sitting across from me. It’s as if you’ve cast a spell over me.”