Reese stared up at him, arrested by the tender expression on his face. When their eyes caught and held, her heart thundered.
After a prolonged moment Michael stepped back, clearing his throat and glancing around at everything but her. “Ready to go?”
She let out a shaky breath, then nodded.
They left the historic black neighborhood and returned to Midtown to visit the High Museum of Art. The popular museum was housed in a striking contemporary building that featured four floors of European and American paintings, decorative artifacts, photography, graphics and an impressive collection of African art. Unlike Victor, Michael didn’t sigh impatiently or complain as Reese wandered from one exhibit to another, sometimes lingering for long stretches of time. He seemed to take quiet pleasure in her spirited enjoyment of the museum. When they stopped for an early dinner in the piazza, he gave her his undivided attention as she enthused about her favorite artists and explained how a college professor had turned her on to the Renaissance period.
“That’s another reason I’m dying to visit Italy,” she told Michael. “To see the works of Michelangelo and da Vinci, to visit Florence Cathedral and St. Peter’s Basilica.” She sighed wistfully. “One of these days.”
“What’s stopping you?” Michael asked curiously. “You’re a doctor, so it can’t be the money.”
“No, it’s not that.” She bit her lip, remembering with renewed irritation that were it not for Victor, she could be in Venice right now.
“So what is it?” Michael probed, watching her with a quiet, focused intensity that made her wonder if he’d somehow discerned her thoughts.
She heaved another sigh. “I don’t know. Growing up, I’d always intended to travel a lot, see the world. But after college there was med school, then my residency. Once I started working at the hospital, time just got away from me.” She shrugged. “I guess we all have to make sacrifices to achieve our goals.”
“That’s true,” Michael murmured, and she wondered about the personal sacrifices he must have made along the way to becoming an international celebrity.
Before she could ask, he said suddenly, “Why are you on sabbatical?”
Reese tensed. “What do you mean?”
“You’re only thirty-four. So I’m guessing you haven’t been practicing medicine long enough to be burned out. So what would make you take a two-month hiatus from a job you obviously love?”
Reese stared into his keen dark eyes, dismayed by his perceptiveness. She thought of not answering him, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t let her get away with that.
“I lost one of my patients in childbirth,” she said dully.
His expression softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. When did it happen?”
“Two months ago.”
He nodded slowly. “You blame yourself.” At her surprised look, he gently explained, “You didn’t say one of your patients had died in childbirth. You said you lost a patient, as if it were your fault.”
Reese swallowed hard, wanting to close her eyes against his intense scrutiny. “I did everything I could to save her.”
“Of course.” He wasn’t patronizing her. He’d spoken with absolute certainty, as though there was no room for doubt regarding her innocence. “So what happened?”
It was the tender concern in his voice that broke her. The raw emotions she’d been holding in check welled up inside her and spilled out: the grief, the guilt, the frustration over her inability to convince Deidra Thomas that she had too many risk factors to have another baby. By the time Reese finished blurting out everything, Michael had brought his chair around to hers and pulled her into his arms. As she quietly sobbed into his chest, he stroked her back and murmured soothingly to her. It didn’t matter to Reese that they were in public. His arms were strong, his voice was understanding and she’d needed a good shoulder to cry on for far too long.
Still, she felt a little embarrassed when she finally pulled away and met the sympathetic stares of several other diners, many of whom had asked for Michael’s autograph when he and Reese first arrived. What must those people be thinking now?
Reese fumbled out the handkerchief Michael had given her earlier and mopped at her streaming eyes. “I knew this would come in handy again,” she joked with a whispery laugh.
Michael smiled, kissing the top of her head.
“God, I didn’t mean to cause a scene.” She blew her nose, glancing around furtively. “I hope there aren’t any paparazzi around. They’ll run an exposé about a woman reduced to hysterical tears after you broke up with her.”
Michael chuckled. “I never do breakups over a meal. It’s sacrilegious.” He ran a thumb under her eye, wiping at the moisture she’d missed.
She gave him a rueful smile. “I assure you that I’m not always this weepy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a good cry. And you definitely needed one.”
He put a finger under her chin and lifted it. His gentle eyes searched hers. “Feel any better?”
“I do,” Reese admitted, surprised. “That was very…cathartic.”
In a moment of clarity, she’d decided to donate her grand prize money to Deidra Thomas’s family. It wouldn’t bring back Deidra, but the hundred thousand dollars would help cover the family’s medical expenses and would enable Ian Thomas to start a college fund for little Faith.
Reese touched Michael on the shoulder. “Thank you for loaning this to me.”
He smiled into her eyes. “Anytime.”
Seeking to lighten the mood, she picked up her wineglass and smiled at him. “So getting back to our original conversation. How many times have you been to Italy?”
He chuckled, not leaving her side. “How do you know I have?”
She gave him a look. “Any chef worth his knives has been there. So come on, Michael. Tell me all about it. Let me live vicariously through you.”
He smiled again, and she listened with rapt absorption as he told her about his forays to Italy over the years. When he casually mentioned owning a small cottage in Tuscany, Reese groaned with envy and jokingly lobbied to have the apprentice episodes shot from that location—which Michael didn’t think was such a bad idea.
When they left the museum, he surprised her by asking, “Have you ever played paintball?”
She laughed. “Not since childhood.”
He flashed a wicked grin. “Then you’re long overdue.”
Reese snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. And I know just the place. It’s usually closed to the public on Sundays, but they’re running a summer special.”
“Great,” Reese said weakly.
He winked at her. “It’ll be fun.”
He took her to a place called Paintball Atlanta. In exchange for two tickets to a live taping of Howlin’ Good, the manager gave Michael and Reese their own private field, and they spent the next two hours chasing each other around with loaded paintball guns.
Michael was fast, hunting Reese down with a stealth that any Navy SEAL would admire.
She found herself alternately squealing with laughter and howling with frustration every time she got hit—which was often. Whenever she did manage to pick him off, she was so ecstatic that she didn’t even care that he’d probably let his guard down just to level the playing field.
It was the most fun she’d had in years. Afternoon stretched into night, and all too soon Michael was driving her home and walking her to the front door.
“I had a wonderful time,” Reese said warmly, her sandals dangling from her fingertips. On the way to the paintball complex, they’d stopped at an outlet mall so she could get more appropriate footwear. Before she could even think about pulling out her credit card, Michael had paid for the new sneakers and strolled out the door, whistling cheerfully to drown out her protests.
He’d paid for everything, making their day together feel almost like a…date.
By far the best date she’d ever had in her life.
She blushed at the thought. “Thank you for giving up your entire Sunday to take me sightseeing. I know you probably would’ve preferred to stay home and catch up on sleep,”
she added ruefully.
Michael smiled down at her. “Sleep is overrated.”
Ignoring the way her heart fluttered, she gave him a teasing grin. “You probably won’t think so tonight when you’re knocked out cold and drooling into your pillow.”
He chuckled softly. “I don’t drool.”
Speak for yourself, Reese mused, staring at his full, sensual lips and remembering how incredible they’d felt against her own. The memory of that searing, soul-shattering kiss they’d shared would haunt her long after she’d returned to Texas.
Inexplicably, the thought of going home made her throat tighten.
“So,” Michael drawled, “what’re you doing tomorrow?”
“Sleeping.”
They both laughed quietly, calmly, never taking their eyes off each other.
A sultry breeze kicked up, caressing Reese’s skin. She wished it were Michael’s hands, his mouth. She wanted nothing more than to invite him inside, to spend the night making love to him. But she knew she couldn’t. Not until she’d decided what to do about Victor.
“When you’re done sleeping tomorrow,” Michael said, smiling, “maybe I could pick you up and take you to the studio. You know, to give you a tour and introduce you to the crew before we start taping next week.”
Reese nodded quickly, so excited at the prospect of spending more time with him that she would have agreed to accompany him anywhere. “I’d like that very much.”
“Good.” He hesitated, then reached out and brushed his thumb across the pulse beating at the base of her neck.
Reese shivered. Everything inside her went hot and sensitive.
His eyes met hers. “Paint,” he explained.
She nodded. She had to fight the intense urge to capture his hand and draw his thumb slowly into her mouth. And she didn’t want to stop at his thumb.
“Good night, Reese,” he said huskily.
She swallowed hard. “Good night, Michael.”
With one last lingering look at her, he turned and sauntered to his car, which he’d parked beside hers in the driveway. She stood watching as he climbed inside the low-slung Maybach and closed the door. The engine purred to life.
He met her gaze through the windshield. Go inside, he mouthed.
Reese obeyed without hesitation. After closing and locking the front door, she sagged against it and lifted a trembling hand to her throat, where her skin still burned from Michael’s whisper-soft touch.
When she closed her eyes, she swore she heard her relationship with Victor flatlining.
Chapter 8
The next morning, Michael was awakened by his ringing cell phone. He grabbed it off the nightstand and checked caller ID. When he saw Reese’s number, his heart gave an involuntary bump.
He pressed the talk button more eagerly than he’d have preferred. “Hey, you.”
“Good morning.” That soft, smoky voice spilled into his ear like sun-warmed honey. “I know it’s only seven-thirty. Did I wake you?”
He smiled. “For the second day in a row, sunshine.”
“Uh-oh.” She sounded amused. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re positively terrifying first thing in the morning?”
He chuckled softly. “I’m not a morning person. Especially if I’m operating on less than three hours of sleep,” he added pointedly.
She laughed. “Touché.”
His smile widened. He was enjoying this too damn much. “Actually, Reese, I was going to call you as soon as I woke up.”
“You were?”
“Yeah. I wanted to see what— Hello? ”
The line had gone dead.
Michael held the phone away from his ear and stared at it in bewildered disbelief.
Had she just hung up on him? Or had they gotten disconnected?
Frowning, he quickly dialed her number.
When she answered the phone laughing, he had his answer.
“Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but apologetic. “I just couldn’t resist.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” Michael murmured, humor tugging at the corners of his lips. “I said I was going to call you, so you figured you’d let me do it. Clever.”
“I thought so.” She sighed contentedly.
He grinned wryly. “I see that you’re a morning person.”
She chuckled. “I’m a doctor. I’m used to getting calls at all hours of the night.
Babies who decide to be born at 2:00 a.m. don’t care whether or not I’m a morning person.
So I’ve learned to adapt my moods. Any who,” she continued cheerfully, “the reason I was calling was to find out what time you wanted to go to the studio. I have to run a few errands.”
Run them tomorrow, Michael thought. I’ve been dreaming about you all night and I can’t wait to see you again. The sooner, the better.
Aloud he said smoothly, “Take your time. We can go around eleven.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to mess up your schedule.”
“Nah, it’s all good. I need to hit the gym for a couple hours, anyway.”
She groaned. “That’s what I should be doing. I need to burn off all that food you let me gorge on yesterday.”
Michael grinned. He could think of at least one way he’d like to help her burn off calories—and it had nothing to do with the use of Nautilus equipment.
“You must spend a lot of time in the gym,” she said appreciatively. “You’re very…in shape.”
He chuckled at the subtle compliment. “I played basketball in high school and college. So, yeah, keeping fit is important to me. Especially since I’m surrounded by food all the time.”
“Good point. Where do you work out?” she asked. “I might as well find a gym while I’m in town.”
“There’s a fitness center in my building. You’re more than welcome to join me anytime.”
“You’re allowed guests?”
“Sure.” At the thought of seeing her voluptuous body glistening with sweat after a good workout, his mouth watered and blood rushed straight to his groin. “You wanna come today?”
“Well…” she hedged.
He held his breath.
“No, that’s okay. I’d better go ahead and take care of my errands. Besides,” she added as an afterthought, “between sightseeing and playing paintball yesterday, we did a lot of walking and running. So that should tide me over for another day or two.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Michael teased.
She laughed. “I know, I know. But I’ll be there with you in spirit.”
She’d been “there” with him for the past six days. He couldn’t get her out of his mind.
“I’ll call you when I’m on my way,” he told her.
“Sounds good. See you soon.”
Not soon enough, Michael thought as he hung up the phone and set it on the nightstand.
Smiling, he clasped his hands behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling as images from yesterday tumbled through his mind. He remembered their incredibly romantic breakfast on the balcony at his restaurant. When he had introduced her to his staff afterward, he’d been fascinated by the way she’d laughed and chatted easily with everyone, charming the apron off his temperamental pastry chef and graciously accepting Griffin’s profuse apologies for the mix-up with the food critic.
Reese had a way about her, an infectious warmth coupled with an earthy sensuality that was utterly bewitching. As the day progressed, Michael had found himself falling deeper under her spell. By the time they’d finished shooting up each other with paintball guns—the most fun he’d ever had with a woman, bar none—he knew he was in trouble.
In the span of one day he’d gone from wishing he’d never laid eyes on her, to lamenting any time spent apart from her.
“Whoa,” Michael whispered, shaken by the turn of his thoug
hts. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Here it was barely eight o’clock in the morning, and he was lying in bed with a goofy smile on his face, obsessing over some woman he hardly even knew.
What the hell?
It was crazy. Totally out of character for him. He’d lost his damn mind.
Yet as he untangled himself from the covers and swung out of bed, he knew the extra spring in his step had everything to do with the fact that he’d be seeing Reese again soon.
Recipe for Temptation Page 9
