Reese grinned. “Yes, sir. We’re very proud of that accomplishment.”
“As you should be. Where did you go to medical school, Reese?”
“Johns Hopkins.”
Grant and Celeste traded looks of such unconcealed delight, you’d have thought Reese had just announced she’d found the cure for cancer.
As they left the busy airport terminal and headed toward the parking garage, Grant and Reese talked shop while Celeste fell in step beside Michael, slipping her arm companionably through his.
“Reese seems like such a wonderful young woman,” she gushed. “It looks like you really struck gold with your apprentice search.”
Michael did a mental eye roll, wondering if there was anyone Reese couldn’t charm and impress. His only hope was Sterling, who’d hated practically every woman Michael had ever dated. Though he’d never admit it to the old man, Michael had always valued his father’s opinion above anyone else’s. Not only did Sterling genuinely have his best interests at heart, but after thirty years as a homicide detective, he’d acquired an uncanny ability to read people. He knew bullshit when he smelled it, and he never hesitated to call a spade a spade.
If anyone could resist Reese’s charms, Sterling Wolf could.
Michael only wished he could say the same for himself.
Reclining in the luxurious backseat of the Maybach with Celeste Rutherford, Reese fielded questions about work, her family and growing up in Houston. She asked Grant Rutherford about his latest clinical research study and chatted about everything from the weather to the bad economy. But if asked later to recall specific details of the conversation, she would have been at a complete loss.
She’d been unable to concentrate on anything since arguing with Michael that morning. She was still reeling with shock, anger and confusion over the way he’d lashed out at her for having a boyfriend. He’d reacted like a scorned lover. Which was absurd, considering that he and Reese had hated each other’s guts just yesterday. If she hadn’t shown up at his penthouse seeking a truce, they’d still be bitter enemies today. He had no right to be jealous of her relationship with another man. But he had been jealous, and that realization left her shaken and more conflicted than ever.
When she’d received a call that morning from a local florist notifying her that a driver was en route to her house, Reese had known right away that Victor had sent her roses. Exasperated by his stubborn persistence, she’d thanked the florist and called Victor, intending to give him another earful about not respecting her boundaries. But he’d masterfully deflected her ire, and by the time the doorbell rang, he’d had Reese laughing and reminiscing about the first time they’d ever met. Before the conversation ended he’d told her that he loved her and missed her, but he was willing to give her the space she’d asked for.
And then Michael had arrived—and all hell broke loose.
If Reese were being honest with herself, she would admit that Michael wasn’t entirely in the wrong. The truth was that she’d been giving him mixed signals ever since they’d met. First she’d asked him to drive her home with the intent of seducing him, then she’d spent an entire day with him, laughing and bonding with him. From Michael’s perspective, she was acting like a tease, saying one thing and doing another. It wasn’t fair to him, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to Victor.
So it had to stop, Reese vowed.
No matter how powerful the attraction between her and Michael, she had to resist temptation and keep their relationship strictly platonic. It was the only way she’d get through the next two months with her integrity—and sanity—intact.
But when she glanced up and caught Michael’s dark gaze in the rearview mirror, instant heat swamped her body.
Swallowing hard, she jerked her eyes away and smiled brightly at his mother.
No one ever said resisting temptation was easy.
Thirty minutes later, Reese found herself leaning toward the window as the car glided down a winding country road flanked by huge magnolia trees. She stared, riveted by the sight of a sprawling redbrick house that boasted tall windows overlooking riotously blooming flowers.
Michael turned into the driveway, passing an expanse of manicured lawn and a small lake in the center of the property before he came to a stop behind a silver Buick.
“Wow.” The single word escaped Reese in a hushed whisper.
Beside her, Celeste Rutherford smiled. “Amazing, isn’t it? Michael and his brother bought this house for their father several years ago. The first time I came here, I was simply blown away. Wait until you see the backyard. The garden will leave you breathless.”
They climbed out of the car, and while Michael and Grant retrieved the luggage from the trunk, the two women started toward the house. They were met at the front door by a middle-aged woman who introduced herself to Reese as Frizell Randolph, Sterling’s personal chef.
“Where’s Sterling?” Celeste asked the woman as they entered the house.
“He’s in the backyard with Ms. Dubois. Last I checked, they were discussing seating arrangements for the reception dinner. Samara just left to pick up the twins from day care. She promised to hurry back as soon as she can, along with Marcus.”
Reese glanced around the house, taking in the double-height foyer, butterfly staircases and chandelier lifts. Thick Aubusson rugs were spread across glossy hardwood floors, and fresh-cut flowers were arranged in crystal vases on gleaming mahogany tables.
“Let me show you the backyard while Michael and Grant carry the bags upstairs,”
Celeste said, draping an arm companionably around Reese’s shoulders.
As they started from the foyer, Grant could be overheard grumbling to Michael, “I don’t know why your mother insisted on packing so much clothes. We’re only staying for two weeks.”
Michael chuckled. “Or so you think.”
Celeste ushered Reese through the house to a pair of double French doors that opened onto an enormous veranda. As they stepped outside and crossed to the railing, Reese saw that Celeste had not exaggerated about the backyard, which was huge and nothing short of breathtaking.
But before she could take it all in, her attention was diverted by a burst of loud, angry voices. Celeste muttered under her breath as a man and a woman suddenly emerged from a dense thicket of trees and began marching toward the house.
Reese stared in incredulous disbelief. What shocked her wasn’t the sight of two grown adults squabbling like children on a playground. Rather, it was the sight of the tall, dark-skinned man who bore such a striking resemblance to Michael that Reese wondered whether she’d unwittingly stumbled into a time warp projected twenty years into the future.
Her gaze moved to the woman next. She was tall, voluptuous and stunningly beautiful. Dressed in a stylish white pantsuit and stiletto heels, she strode down the flagstone walkway with the icy hauteur of a seasoned runway model.
As Reese stared at the woman, recognition dawned. Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. Is that—”
“Asha Dubois,” Celeste finished sourly. “Yes, it is.”
Judging by her tone and the grim set of her mouth, it was obvious that Celeste was no fan of Asha Dubois, a world-renowned fashion designer who was in town to celebrate the grand opening of her Lenox Square boutique—an event that was garnering as much buzz on local radio stations as Michael’s return home the week before. In her youth, Asha had been a supermodel whose exotic beauty had graced countless magazine covers. After retiring from the runway, she’d gone on to successfully launch her own clothing empire, becoming one of the first African-American designers to conquer the cutthroat world of haute couture.
Reese, whose own closet was filled with House of Dubois fashions, couldn’t help feeling a little starstruck at the prospect of meeting Asha Dubois. Though barely fifty, the woman was already a living legend.
“My son Marcus is married to her daughter,” Celeste volunteered.
“Really?” Reese silently marveled at the odds of her mee
ting a celebrity chef, a prominent neurosurgeon and a famous fashion designer in less than a week. And—
astonishingly—they were all in the same extended family.
As Sterling Wolf and Asha Dubois drew nearer to the house, Reese couldn’t help noticing what a striking pair they made. But based on the way they were quarreling with each other, it was abundantly clear there was no love lost between them.
“…I don’t even know why I bothered to consult with you,” Asha was venting. Even in her anger, her voice was cool and cultured. “You don’t know the first thing about hosting a classy affair. My God, if it were up to you, we would have served pork ribs and beans at our children’s wedding reception!”
“And what the hell’s wrong with that?” Sterling fired back. “In case you haven’t noticed, woman, we’re in the South. And we Southerners happen to enjoy our barbecue!”
Asha shuddered. “Not at a wedding.”
“Even at a wedding!” He snorted derisively. “Hell, if you weren’t such a stuck up witch—”
Asha glared at him. “Who’re you calling a witch, you old—”
Celeste cleared her throat loudly, and the two combatants looked around in surprise.
When they saw Celeste and Reese watching them from the railing, their expressions turned sheepish.
“We have company,” Celeste announced sweetly.
“So I see.” Sterling Wolf stepped onto the veranda, his dark eyes homing in on Reese. “Well, hello there. And who might you be?”
Reese smiled, suddenly nervous about coming face-to-face with Michael’s father.
He cut an imposing figure with his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, keenly intelligent gaze and tall, robust build.
Seeing that Reese was momentarily tongue-tied, Celeste came to her rescue.
“Sterling, this is Reese St. James, Michael’s new apprentice.”
Sterling’s heavy brows shot up, and a wide grin swept across his ruggedly handsome face. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss St. James,” he said, his large, callused hand enveloping hers in a firm handshake. “Welcome to Atlanta.”
Reese smiled shyly. “Thank you, Mr. Wolf. You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you kindly. I’ve learned to appreciate it.” His eyes twinkled, giving her a glimpse of the devilish charm that obviously flowed in the Wolf gene pool.
“Reese is a doctor,” Celeste told him proudly.
“So I’ve heard.” Sterling smiled, leaving Reese to wonder what else he knew about her. “Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?”
Before Reese could respond, an amused voice drawled, “Doesn’t waste any time, does he?”
Both Celeste and Sterling turned to glare at Asha, who sat at a white wrought-iron table idly sipping from a glass of wine that had materialized out of nowhere. Her long, shapely legs were crossed, and her black hair was slicked back into an elegant chignon that accentuated her high cheekbones, sultry dark eyes and lush, sensual mouth.
“Asha,” Celeste murmured, forcing a smile that looked as if she had a lip full of Novocain. “You’re looking well.”
Asha inclined her head. “Merci.” She didn’t return the compliment—deliberately, Reese suspected.
Before Celeste could even register the slight, Asha’s eyes traveled to Reese’s face, giving her a swift, evaluative once-over. “You have excellent bone structure. Please tell me you’ve done some modeling before.”
“No, ma’am. I haven’t.” Reese smiled, not immune to receiving such a compliment from the legendary fashion designer.
Asha shook her head. “What a shame.”
“Maybe.” Reese shrugged. “But even if I wanted to model, I’m too old to do anything about it now.”
Asha gave a low, indulgent laugh. “A word of advice, darling. Never admit to being too old for anything. Isn’t that right, Celeste?”
Celeste bristled, her face reddening at the veiled insult.
Sterling leveled a narrow glance at Asha. “Woman, don’t you have places to go?
People to see?”
“Not at the moment,” she said blandly. “Besides, after running around with Samara all morning, I need a break from this suffocating heat. I don’t know how you people can stand it.”
“No one told you to schedule your grand opening at the height of summer,” Celeste snidely pointed out.
“True enough.” Asha took a languid sip of wine. “And no one told you to move to the frozen tundra of Minnesota. But I suppose your personality is better suited to frigid weather.”
Celeste sputtered with indignation. “How dare—”
Sterling laid a gentle, restraining hand upon her arm. “We have company, remember?”
She darted a glance at Reese then clamped her jaw shut, seething with suppressed fury as she glared at Asha.
Sterling gave Reese a conciliatory smile. “You have to excuse us old folks. We get cranky when we haven’t had our nap.”
“Speak for yourself.” Asha sipped more wine, her gaze returning to Reese. “Have you been invited to my reception on Monday?”
“Um, no, I—”
“Then consider this your invitation.” Asha looked at Sterling. “You don’t mind, do you? When Michael told me you’d agreed to let me use your home to host the event, he gave me free rein to invite as many people as I wanted.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Sterling smiled tightly at Reese. “I would have invited you myself if she hadn’t beat me to it.”
“Who beat you to what?”
Four pairs of eyes swung around to find Michael standing at the entrance to the veranda. He took one look at his parents’ strained faces, then Asha’s smug expression, and slowly shook his head.
“Never mind,” he muttered. “I don’t want to know.”
Reese couldn’t help noticing the way he’d deliberately avoided looking at her. Fine, she thought crossly. If he wants to pretend I’m invisible, two can play that game!
“Hello, Michael,” Asha murmured. “I was just beginning to wonder if you’d ever show up.”
“Asha.” Michael bent to kiss her upturned cheek. “It’s good to see you again. Ready for next Monday?”
“I’m always ready.” She smiled. “Darling, I hope you’ll forgive me for scheduling my grand opening on the same day as your show’s season premiere. I didn’t realize the dates coincided until it was too late. You know the last thing I want to do is steal your spotlight.”
“Like hell,” Celeste muttered under her breath.
Ignoring his mother, Michael said smoothly, “Don’t worry about it, Asha. We always tape the show in the morning, so there won’t be a conflict with your reception that evening. And the studio usually throws a small party to celebrate the season premiere, so either way, I’m gonna have a good time that night.”
“Wonderful.” Asha beamed with pleasure. “If you have some time, Michael, I thought we could go over the reception menu and seating arrangements, maybe take another tour of the garden to finalize the layout.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “We can meet now, if you’d like.”
“Absolutely.” Asha uncrossed her legs and glided to her feet with a sensual, feline grace that would make any man drool.
“I’m dying to see how your staff will decorate the garden,” Asha told Michael.
“They did such a fabulous job for Marcus and Samara’s wedding. It’s hard to imagine them topping themselves.”
Michael flashed a grin. “Then you’re in for a real treat. I met with them on Saturday, and I think you’ll be very pleased with what they have in mind.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Asha said with a lazy smile.
Reese silently berated herself for feeling a sharp stab of jealousy when Asha linked her arm through Michael’s.
“Michael,” Celeste said tightly, “where’s Grant?”
“He had to make a few phone calls. Sorry—I meant to tell you when I first came out.”
“That’s okay.
You were obviously distracted.” Shooting one last withering look at Asha, Celeste muttered an excuse about having a headache and stalked back into the house.
Michael cocked a brow at his father. “Did I miss something?”
Chuckling drily, Sterling waved him off. “Go on with Asha. Reese and I are gonna sit out here, sip lemonade and get better acquainted. I hope that’s okay with you, Reese?”
She gave him her sunniest smile. “I’d like that very much.”
Recipe for Temptation Page 11
