When his hands slid over the silky curve of her back, she shivered.
But he didn’t try to do more. Closing his eyes, he simply basked in the rightness of holding her in his arms, where she belonged.
They danced under the stars, so absorbed in each other that time ceased to have meaning.
It was only when Reese whispered, “The music’s stopped,” that Michael remembered where they were, remembered that they weren’t alone.
With obvious reluctance he released her and stepped back.
Lifting his head, he met the knowing gazes of his father and Asha, Marcus and Samara, and Quentin and Lexi, who’d gathered at the edge of the dance floor to watch them. The quiet, intuitive smiles on their faces told Michael that they’d figured out his secret.
Now only one question remained: What was he going to do about it?
It was after 3:00 a.m. by the time the cleanup crew finished their work and departed.
After seeing them off, Michael returned to the backyard for a final inspection. Since his father had been generous enough to allow his home to be commandeered by Asha, Michael had given Sterling his word that everything would be restored to perfect order after the party.
After walking the landscaped grounds and satisfying himself that his father would find nothing to complain about, Michael started back toward the house. As he reached the veranda, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, his pulse thudding when he saw Reese’s shadowy silhouette in the gazebo.
He started down the flagstone path, strolling at a leisurely pace when all he really wanted to do was run to her like the lovesick fool he was. To distract himself, he admired the gazebo that was painted white with a redbrick roof to match the main house.
Surrounded by lush garden beds and draped with a twinkling canopy of fairy lights, it was the perfect spot for a romantic rendezvous.
When he reached it, he found Reese lounging on the wraparound bench, her head tucked into her hand and her legs curled under her. Her feet were bare; the ice-pick stilettos she’d worn earlier now lay on the floor. Michael was pleased to see that she hadn’t changed out of the siren’s dress, though something would have to be done about her pinned-up hair.
All in good time.
Leaning in the entrance to the gazebo, he dipped his hands into his pockets and gazed at her. “It’s late.”
“I know.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Haven’t tried.”
“Why not?”
Those sultry eyes held his. “I was waiting for you.”
His heart went into overdrive.
She sat up slowly, patting the bench beside her. “Come. Sit.”
He didn’t have to be told twice.
He’d barely sat down before she reached for his tuxedo jacket and began dragging it off his shoulders. He helped her, shrugging out of the jacket and tossing it to the floor.
“Take off your shirt.” Her voice was calm.
His was not when he asked, “Why?”
“I want to give you a massage.” She smiled. “I think you’ve earned one.”
Michael wasn’t about to argue. Hurriedly he unbuttoned his shirt, removed his cuff links and cast them aside with no regard to where they landed.
When Reese’s warm fingers settled over his bare skin, he groaned and closed his eyes.
“Look at all these knots you have,” she crooned, massaging the cramped muscles.
“You poor baby.”
“It’s been a long day,” he mumbled, his head falling limply forward.
“Of course. And you’ve been working so hard.” Her soft, firm hands moved over his shoulders and back, locating and kneading pressure points until he thought he’d melt into a puddle.
“You amaze me, Michael,” she murmured. “A man in your position can just sit back and let the people you’ve hired do all the work. I certainly can’t imagine any other celebrity chef helping with kitchen duty at his restaurant, especially after a long, grueling day.”
“How do you know…” Michael’s brain felt so sluggish he had to stop and try again.
“How do you know I didn’t do that because you were helping?”
She chuckled. “Because one of your waitresses told me you always pitch in. That’s one of the many things they admire and respect about you. You never hesitate to get in the trenches with your soldiers.”
And speaking of his “soldiers,” as the heat of her fingertips sent currents of electric sensation sizzling through his veins, need throbbed heavily in his groin. Before Michael knew it, he had a monster of an erection.
He let out another deep, satisfied groan as her skilled fingers worked at a stubborn knot in his back. “God, that feels good. Where’d you learn how to give such incredible massages?”
“My sister taught me. She owns a day spa.”
“Yeah?” Michael smiled hazily. “I have a friend whose wife runs a day spa. What’s your sister’s called?”
“Touch of Heaven.”
“Hmm.” Something clicked in his lethargic brain. His eyes flew open, and he swung his head around to stare at Reese. “Wait a minute. St. James… Is your sister married to Warrick Mayne?”
Reese smiled. “Yes, she is.”
“Get outta here! Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“What a small world,” Michael marveled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Warrick and I have known each other for years.”
“I know. I just found out the other day when I spoke to my sister.”
“Raina, right?”
“Right.” Reese shifted, her soft breasts grazing his shoulder as she resumed massaging him. “Apparently, Raina and Warrick were planning to surprise me when you showed up at their wedding. But you ruined everything by being a no-show,” she said, giving him a teasing poke in the back.
Michael grinned ruefully. “I was really bummed about that. But I’d already committed to judging a competition months before I received their wedding invitation.”
“Too bad.” She sighed. “We could have met sooner.”
He gazed at her. “Better late than never,” he said softly.
She met his eyes, her hands stilling on his shoulders. “Michael—”
He leaned close and kissed her. Hard. He didn’t know what she’d been about to say.
He wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted her, needed her more than his next breath, and he wasn’t about to give her a chance to tell him no.
She responded hungrily, her arms banding around his neck. Her warm, fruity taste filled his mouth as his tongue invaded hers.
He was desperate for her, but he held it in check, trying to express with his kiss everything that words couldn’t describe. He told her with his lips, with every stroke of his tongue, just how much she meant to him, how lost he’d be without her. And she kissed him back with enough fervor to scorch the breath in his lungs.
He worked her dress up her luscious thighs, then lifted her onto his lap. Her legs straddled him on the bench. As he seized her mouth again in a hot, demanding kiss, he reached up and tugged at the band securing her elaborate twist. When she shook her hair free he groaned in approval, sifting his fingers through the dark, silky tresses.
Her hands roamed eagerly over his bare chest, the teasing brush of her fingers making his nipples harden. When she leaned down and flicked her wet tongue over one, then the other, a hard shudder swept through him.
Greedily he cupped her breasts. She gasped and arched into his hands, her taut nipples poking into his palms. He caressed her as her soft, throaty cries ratcheted up his need. She looked like a goddess in her white dress, which glowed in the moonlight and gave her an ethereal sensuality. Last time he’d just wanted to rip off her clothes and feast on her glorious nudity—and later he would. But for now, he was enjoying the erotic vision she made with the tops of her breasts spilling out over the low neckline, her nipples jutting through the silk. It was a dress made for sex.
>
When she reached behind her to unfasten it, he stopped her. “Keep it on,” he whispered thickly. “I wanna make love to you wearing it.”
She moaned and undulated against him.
Sliding his hands under her dress, he groaned at the discovery that she wore a silk thong. He cupped her lush, curvy butt and let out another appreciative rumble. “I’ve been dying to get under here all night.”
“It took you long enough,” she murmured, making his erection throb.
His hands snaked between her trembling thighs. He pushed aside the damp strip of silk shielding her sex and slid one finger inside. She bucked, her muscles clamping around him. She mewled as he slid his finger in and out of her wetness, pressing and probing.
When he found the spongy little spot at the back of her vagina, he tweaked it, then curved his finger forward.
Bingo.
Her eyes flew wide, and he crushed his mouth to hers to muffle her loud cry.
She rode out the orgasm, her thighs shaking on his lap, her fingers digging so hard into his shoulders he knew she’d leave scratches.
Gradually her eyes opened and settled on his face. She stared at him, looking both stunned and fascinated. “No man has ever found my G-spot before,” she whispered.
His chest swelled. Even in the heat of passion, his male ego wasn’t immune to being stroked. “Maybe you’ve been with the wrong men,” he murmured, nibbling her plush lower lip.
She let out a slow, shaky breath. “Maybe.”
No maybe about it, Michael thought.
Closing her eyes, Reese kissed him softly while her hand reached between their bodies and cupped his erection. She stroked him, wringing a groan from deep in his throat.
She unzipped his fly, reached inside and grasped his engorged shaft. “Mmm,” she purred in throaty delight. His penis swelled even more, if that were possible.
“I want to taste you,” she murmured seductively.
Pulse hammering, Michael stared in heavy-lidded arousal as she slid off his lap with a soft swish of silk. Holding his gaze, she knelt between his legs, gripped his shaft and took him deep into her mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath. His head fell back and his eyes rolled closed.
“Watch me, Michael,” she commanded in that sexy, throaty voice. “I want to see your face while I pleasure you.”
He groaned, and nearly came right then and there.
His gaze returned to her luscious, suckling mouth, watching as she licked around and over the head of his penis, then up and down the whole length of him until he was slippery. His eyes slitted in ecstasy. He’d received many enjoyable blow jobs in his life, but he couldn’t remember any other woman giving him such excruciatingly intense pleasure.
He swore gutturally as Reese’s hot mouth clutched and pulled at him, her tongue swirling sensually before sucking him into another long, gliding caress.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
She lifted her head as he dug into his pocket and impatiently yanked out his wallet.
He retrieved a condom and fitted it over himself with unsteady hands, then tossed the wallet aside and reached for her.
She stood and straddled his legs, lowering herself onto his lap. At the first touch of his erection she gasped.
Michael’s whole body shook with the fierce, primal urge to drive himself deep inside her, to take her quickly and savagely. But he resisted, nudging the head of his shaft up and down her cleft in a slow, controlled caress that defied the lust rampaging through his body.
Her hips pulsed eagerly against him, but he gripped her and held her still. He suckled her lower lip as he circled his penis around her clit, making her squirm and whimper until they were both sure that she wanted this as much as he did. He wanted there to be absolutely no doubt, no room for denials later.
“Do you want me, sweetheart?” he whispered huskily.
“You know I do,” she panted, her eyes glazed with desire.
He slid his tongue into her mouth, imitating the shallow, teasing thrusts he was making with his hips. “Then say it, Reese. Say you want me.”
She choked out a frustrated sob. “Why are you—”
“Say it.”
“I want you, Michael. I want you. Want you.”
He smiled with dark triumph. “Good. Then you can have me.”
He thrust himself inside her with one deep, hard lunge and captured her mouth to swallow her scream.
She clutched his shoulders and rocked her hips against him as he began pumping into her. But they were both already so aroused that a few hard thrusts later, they exploded.
Reese flung back her head, her muscles contracting around him as he closed his eyes and groaned harshly.
They clung to each other for a long time, his hands stroking the silky warmth of her back as he murmured endearments to her.
At length she lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed into his eyes with searching tenderness. His heart constricted. He leaned close, kissing her deeply and possessively.
She belonged to him now.
And nothing or no one would stop him from claiming what was rightfully his.
Inside the cozy guesthouse located on the opposite end of the gazebo, Asha lay curled against Sterling’s side in the large bed where they’d just finished making love.
“Do you think anyone suspects anything?”
Sterling chuckled, a drowsy rumble. “About us? Or about Michael and Reese?”
“About us, of course.” Asha laughed softly. “Darling, everyone who was at the party tonight knows about Michael and Reese, not to mention the millions of viewers who tuned in to watch his show. My God, Sterling. Did you see the way he looked at her?”
“See it? Hell, I felt it.”
Sterling had never seen his son look at any woman the way he’d looked at Reese St.
James. And they must have stayed on that empty dance floor for over an hour. If the musicians hadn’t stopped for a break, there was no telling how much longer those two would have danced together, oblivious to everything else.
Sterling wanted Michael to be happy, and Reese, God bless her, seemed to be just what the doctor ordered—no pun intended.
Asha sighed blissfully. “Looks like we’ll be planning another wedding in the garden soon.”
“We?”
“Of course. We both know you can’t be trusted to help plan a wedding. For starters, we already know what you’d include on the reception menu.”
Sterling scowled without rancor. “Michael happens to love barbecue. He’s been grilling since he was ten years old.”
“He’s a world-renowned chef,” Asha said drily. “He can’t serve pork ribs and beans at his own wedding. And Reese is a doctor—”
“From Texas, another barbecue-loving state.”
“—who’d expect nothing less than a classy wedding.”
Sterling guffawed. “Classy, hell. Reese is one of the most down-to-earth girls Michael has ever brought home.”
“Are you saying she’s not classy?” Asha challenged.
“Of course not. She’s got more class in her pinky finger than most people I know.
But she’s not fussy or pretentious. She’s genuine. I think that’s one of the many qualities my son loves about her.”
“It doesn’t hurt that she’s exquisite. That body.” Asha sighed. “I’m already looking forward to designing her wedding gown.”
Sterling smiled softly. “Watching her and Michael on that dance floor—him in a tux and her dressed in white—it felt like we were already at their wedding.”
“I know.” Something in Asha’s quiet, triumphant voice made Sterling wonder if she’d orchestrated the whole thing. It wouldn’t surprise him. The woman was a damn control freak.
As if to prove his point, she said, “They can honeymoon at my chateau in France.”
Unnerved by the decisive finality in her tone, as if the matter were a foregone conclusion, Sterling muttered, “Michael has a cottage in Italy. I’m sure they’
d want to honeymoon there instead.”
“Of course. How romantic.”
Asha’s casual mention of her French chateau was just another reminder of the vastly different worlds she and Sterling inhabited, as illustrated by tonight’s glitzy bash. Gussied up in an Armani 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.
Recipe for Temptation Page 19
