Henry put down a knife, wiped his hands on a towel and motioned to Faith. “Come, baby, and do your thing.”
“Daddy, you know how to make chive butter,” Faith insisted.
“It’s time I set up the warming trays, or we’re going to eat cold food.”
Ruby pointed to the walk-in refrigerator. “You’ll find the chives in a container on a lower shelf.”
Faith hadn’t come to Franklin Lakes to cook, but it was preferable to playing touch football in the dead of winter.
* * *
Faith lay across the bed in Bridget’s old bedroom with Tessa, while Simone reclined on a daybed with Kimika cradled to her chest. The little girl, thumb in mouth, had fallen asleep. After what had become a fun-filled three-hour brunch, everyone had retreated to their respective bedrooms to relax.
“I can’t believe I ate so much,” Tessa crooned sleepily.
“Do the Sanborns eat like this every Sunday?” Faith asked, not opening her eyes.
“With the exception of the sirloin steaks and fried chicken and waffles, yes,” Tessa said. Her father had suggested the chicken and waffles, and the Sanborns’ response to the crispy fried chicken drizzled with honey over crisp Belgian waffles was overwhelming.
“Damn,” Simone whispered, “it’s no wonder they play football to work off the calories.”
“I’m not complaining, because everything was delicious,” Faith said, smiling.
Tessa turned over to face Faith. “The steak with the chive butter was working.”
“You have to teach me how to make it,” Simone said.
“Don’t tell me you want to learn how to cook now,” Faith teased.
Simone pushed out her lower lip. “I know how to cook, but what I make isn’t fancy like yours and Tessa’s.”
Sitting up, Faith leaned on an elbow. “Anyone can throw a steak on a grill, but when you take the time to marinate it beforehand that’s what makes it above average.”
Tessa also sat up, supporting her back on a mound of lace-trimmed pillows. “You have to take the time to make it fancy, Simone.”
Simone angled her head. “Is that how you snagged Micah, Tessa? Once you cooked for him he couldn’t resist you?”
Tessa shook her head slowly. “No. Micah’s no neophyte when it comes to cooking.”
“Unlike Tony, who couldn’t boil water for a cup of tea,” Simone spat out.
Faith met Simone’s angry stare. “What was your cockroach ex-husband good for aside from looking pretty?”
Vertical lines appeared between Simone’s large hazel eyes. “Now that I’m finally able to step back and assess what went wrong with my marriage—not much.”
“I hope he was good in bed,” Tessa said with no emotion in her voice.
Simone sucked her teeth loudly. “He even struck out in that department, too.”
“No!”
“Damn!”
Tessa and Faith had spoken in unison.
“That’s some kind of pathetic, Simi,” Faith said, shaking her head. “Anytime a man gets a failing grade in everything, and that includes lovemaking, then it’s time to show him the door.”
“Speaking of men,” Simone said. “What’s happening with you and Ethan McMillan?”
“Is he a prince or a frog?” Tessa asked, running her fingers through her short hair.
Faith felt a warm glow flow through her. “So far he hasn’t earned any ribbits.”
Simone’s smile was dazzling. “Good for you.”
Faith felt comfortable telling her cousins about her date with Ethan, and the more she talked about him the more she realized just how much she looked forward to going out with him again.
The softly falling snow had changed over to sleet, then finally rain, and it was the hypnotic tapping against the windows that finally lulled everyone to sleep.
CHAPTER 8
Faith, a towel wrapped turban-style around her head and a bath sheet swathing her body, walked out of the bathroom to answer the phone. The two days she’d spent with the Sanborns that were relaxing and fun-filled had set the stage for the week. The weather changed, and seemingly the pace of the city quickened with the warmer weather as afternoon temperatures topped out in the mid-and lower sixties; however, New Yorkers were not fooled by spring-like weather, so they enjoyed it while they could.
She and Ranee had baked and decorated more than fifteen cakes for her book, bringing the total to twenty. Faith had decided to use piping bags to make the realistic-looking flowers, colorful characters and lifelike animals rather than mold them by hand, which would’ve taken many hours to complete one flower. Ranee photographed each cake with a digital camera and later that evening Faith downloaded the pictures onto her laptop, then typed up recipes and descriptions for decorating each cake. It was the last week of January and she’d completed one-fifth of her book project.
Picking up the receiver without glancing at the caller display, Faith rested a hip against the kitchen’s countertop. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully into the mouthpiece.
“Is it really a good morning?” asked the deep male voice on the other end of the connection.
Faith froze, her heart beating a double-time rhythm. “E-than?” She hadn’t realized there was a quiver in her voice.
There was a pause before he said, “Are you all right, Faith?”
She recovered quickly. “Yes…yes, I am. I just didn’t expect to hear your voice.”
“I did promise to call you.”
Her heart settled back to its normal rhythm. “Yes, I know.”
“Are you sure you’re all right? If this is a bad time or if you have company, then I’ll call back another time.”
“I don’t have company, Ethan McMillan.”
“If you’re going to be pissed off at me, then you should use my full name, Miss Faith Whitfield.”
“What is it?”
“Ethan James McMillan.”
A hint of a smile played at the corners of Faith’s mouth. “For your information, Ethan James McMillan, I’m not angry with you. It’s six-thirty in the morning, I just got out of the shower and I hadn’t expected to answer my phone and hear your voice.”
His sensual chuckle caressed her ear. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, how was your week?”
“It was wonderful. And yours?”
“Other than a little residual jetlag, I’m good. I called to ask you whether you’d go out with me tomorrow night.”
Faith smiled. “It just so happens I’m free tomorrow night.” She’d gotten up early to go into Let Them Eat Cake to complete decorating a cake that resembled a teddy bears’ picnic for a bank president’s daughter’s sixth birthday.
“Do you like jazz?”
“Yes, I do.” She’d grown up listening to her father and uncle playing their favorite jazz performers on vinyl records.
“Good. I’m going to take you to a club that’s off the beaten track in Philly. It’s a little seedy, but the food and live music more than make up for the lack of ambience.”
Faith wanted to ask Ethan why rule out the celebrated Greenwich Village jazz venues to drive to Philadelphia to hear live jazz but held her tongue. If they survived the encounter to set up another date, then she would suggest one in her neighborhood.
“What time should I be ready?”
“I’ll pick you up at six. By the way, dress is casual.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait,” Ethan said softly.
Stomach muscles contracting, Faith bit down on her lower lip. “Hang up, Ethan,” she whispered.
His sensual chuckle reverberated in her ear again. “Did I embarrass you, sweetness?”
“Goodbye, Ethan.” Depressing a button, she ended the call.
Removing the towel from her damp hair, Faith chided herself for getting flustered because a very sexy man had admitted that he couldn’t wait to see her.
Although not vain about her looks, Faith knew men were at
tracted to her face and—those who preferred slim women—her body. She’d grown up believing her mother was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, unaware that she and Edith Whitfield looked exactly alike. Her body eventually filled out, and girls whom she’d considered her friends turned into heifers when she secured her first modeling assignment and shattered her fairy-tale world where everyone and everything was good. The realization that her face and body set her apart from her peers made her uncomfortable when it should’ve empowered her.
If Ethan couldn’t wait to see her, then the truth was she also couldn’t wait to see him again.
* * *
Ethan shifted the pillow beneath his head and turned over on his side. He’d been counting the hours and number of miles it took for him to return to the East Coast, because he’d left Faith’s telephone numbers in New Jersey. Calling her from California had become a temptation he wasn’t certain he’d be able to resist.
Everything about Faith Whitfield was tempting: her face, body, smell, voice and the way she lowered her head slightly to glance up at him from under her lashes. He doubted whether she was aware of the seductiveness of the gesture because she executed it with a spontaneity that was effortless.
Ethan admitted to Faith that he was undergoing jet lag when what he felt went beyond circadian rhythms gone awry. He was exhausted. William Raymond had asked that he fly him to Las Vegas for pre-Grammy parties before traveling on to Los Angeles for the actual ceremonies. WJ, surrounded by a cadre of bodyguards and trailed by reporters and photographers from the major entertainment tabloids and magazines, never seemed to tire from the nonstop parties, blasting music and the forced laughter from those who hadn’t had enough sleep, food and definitely had too much to drink. He suspected the frenetic energy of the partygoers was fueled by illegal substances that made them forget who they were and what they did, hours after they came down off their high. Cognizant that his cousin didn’t drink or take drugs, Ethan marveled that WJ hadn’t exhibited any signs of exhaustion until he collapsed within minutes of boarding the jet for the return flight. He slept throughout the flight, waking when the aircraft landed on a private airstrip near Newark Airport.
If his client had been anyone other than his cousin, Ethan wouldn’t have made the cross-country flight. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths to slow his respiration. Minutes later he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, and his last images were those of the face of a woman who’d occupied his every waking moment.
* * *
For the first time in his life Ethan found himself at a loss for words. The woman standing on the other side of the door looked as if she’d just stepped off the catwalk or off the set for a photo shoot. This time she hadn’t brushed her hair, but left it natural. The short black curls softened her delicate features, making her look much younger than thirty. Dark shadows on her lids and arching eyebrows above her wide-set eyes drew his rapt attention.
“Please come in.”
The sound of her smoky voice broke the spell as he stepped into Faith’s apartment. Dipping his head, he kissed her cheek. “How are you?”
Faith felt a shiver shake her body when she inhaled the scent of Ethan’s cologne that was intensified by the heat from his body. He was casually dressed in black cashmere: jacket, modified V-neck sweater that bared his strong throat and slacks.
“I’m good, thank you.” She turned to find him staring at her with a strange expression on his face. “Is something wrong?”
Ethan blinked as if coming out of a deep trance. “No. I just can’t believe that you could improve on perfection. You look incredible.”
Faith wore a long-sleeved black sweater over a pair of matching cuffed black stretch slacks that hugged every curve of her slender body. Black sheer hose and a pair of black patent-leather peep-toe pumps completed her winning look. There was no doubt she was quite comfortable with her height to wear three-inch heels. Her only accessory was a pair of large yellow-gold hoops in her pierced lobes.
Lowering her head and peering up at Ethan through her lashes, Faith gave him a demure smile. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “Don’t thank me, Faith. I had nothing to do with the way you look. What I will thank you for is agreeing to go out with me.”
She wanted to tell Ethan that he looked incredible, but didn’t want to turn it into a mutual admiration competition. Reaching for a lined leather jacket, she handed it to him. He held it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Then she gathered a small purse and her keys.
“I’m ready.”
Are you really ready? Ethan wanted to ask Faith. Was she ready for him? Ready for what he’d planned for them? It’d been a long time since he’d found himself so enthralled with a woman that he felt as if he were embarking on his first solo flight. He, who’d flown an F-16 “Viper” armed with six air-to-air sidewinder missiles or cluster bombs, was about to embark on his most important mission where he hoped to get Faith Whitfield to trust him. Reaching for her hand, he led her out of her apartment building to where he’d parked his car.
* * *
Ethan pushed a button for the ignition, but paused before shifting into gear. “Would you mind listening to a few Motown oldies?”
Faith shook head, staring at the man sitting inches from her. Everything about him made normal breathing difficult for her, and she couldn’t fathom what it was about her date that made her feel as if he’d sucked up all of the air around her. Ethan was too close, too potent and now she knew what songwriters and poets meant when they wrote about love and its effects on one’s senses.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said as if in a soporific trance.
Turning her head, she stared out the side window rather than look at Ethan. He’d removed his jacket, and the contours of his chest and broad shoulders were clearly defined under the black sweater molded to his upper body. She smiled when the distinctive gravelly sound of David Ruffin’s voice singing lead on “It’s Growing” filled the coupe.
“Motown and jazz,” she said in a quiet voice. “You have an eclectic taste in music.”
Maneuvering smoothly away from the curb and into the flow of traffic, Ethan concentrated on the taillights of the car in front of his. “You can’t imagine how eclectic it is.”
Faith turned to stare at his profile. “Are you saying you’re into classical music, too?”
He nodded, smiling. “I like Ludwig, Wolfgang Amadeus and Johannes the same way teenagers are into hip-hop and R & B.”
“Who’s your favorite?”
“Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.”
Now, Faith was more than intrigued by Ethan. “I went to see The Nutcracker Suite at Lincoln Center one Christmas.”
“Which did you enjoy more, the music or the dancers?”
“Both. What about you, Ethan?”
“I would have to say the music. One time I sat through the entire production with my eyes closed, listening and imagining what was happening onstage. I came away more awed than if I’d viewed it.”
“Who exposed you to classical music?”
Ethan gave Faith a quick glance. “I come from a musical family. My parents both play the piano. They’re also amateur ballroom dancers. My sisters teach music and voice at different high schools. Tonight I’m taking you to a jazz club that has been in my family for more than seventy years. I’ve heard relatives say that my great-uncles sold moonshine and ten-cent dinners to their customers during Prohibition and the Depression to keep the doors open. They patched a leaking roof with tin and filled the cracks in the walls with newspaper to keep out the elements during hard times, but every Friday and Saturday night the place was filled with wall-to-wall regulars who came to eat, dance and listen to live music.”
“That sounds fascinating.” Faith’s voice was filled with awe at the same time her eyes sparkled like polished onyx. “What instruments do you play?”
“Piano, sax and occasionally the clarinet.”
“Are you going to sit in toni
ght?”
Ethan shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I asked you to come with me so we could be together. And if I sit in with the band, then that would be ignoring you.”
“I told you before that I don’t need you to entertain me, Ethan.”
“I beg to differ with you, Faith. If I play tonight, then I would be entertaining you.”
“Don’t try and twist my words.”
“You were the one who mentioned entertaining. How did you spend your week?” he asked smoothly, changing the topic.
Faith was grateful that Ethan had changed the subject or else she would’ve found herself engaged in a debate that would’ve probably ended with him earning his first frog point; she told him that her cousin was getting married in June and that she would become a maid of honor for the first time, therefore the Whitfields had spent the weekend with the Sanborns. He laughed softly when she told him that there’d been nonstop cooking and eating. Traffic slowed on the ramp leading to the turnpike and Ethan pushed a button to activate the navigational screen. Within seconds several alternate routes were displayed.
“Hold on,” he warned, maneuvering expertly around the car in front of them once he saw an opening, and turning onto to a less-traveled road. “It’s going to take us a little longer getting there, but it’s worth it if we don’t have to sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic.”
“Do you like driving?” Her question seemed to startle him, because the seconds ticked off before he answered.
“It pays the bills.”
“It pays the bills,” Faith echoed. “Piloting planes also pay bills.”
Ethan knew he’d walked into a trap of his own choosing with his reply. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so glib, yet it was too late to take back his words. “I love flying, but I’m not as passionate about it as I used to be.”
The Sweetest Temptation Page 10
