Recipe for Temptation by Maureen Smith

faceless female.
    “You’re right. It’s none of your business.” He shuffled past her, sipping his coffee.
    “But since you obviously want to know—”
    “I don’t—”
    “—I was at the restaurant until six in the morning finalizing preparations for an event I’m catering next week. I was hoping to sleep in late,” he added with a sardonic glance over his shoulder.
    “Oh.” Reese bit her bottom lip, feeling guilty. “Sorry.”
    After less than three hours of sleep, Michael should have looked like death warmed over. Instead his bed-rumpled appearance only added to his virile sexiness. And was there anything the man didn’t look good wearing? As if his powerful biceps weren’t mouthwatering enough in that sleeveless T-shirt, now she couldn’t take her eyes off the way his pajama bottoms clung to his round, well-toned butt. She imagined digging her nails into those clenching and unclenching muscles, urging him deeper as he thrust into her. The image was so vivid, so explicitly carnal, that her loins throbbed in wanton response.
    Mesmerized, she followed him into the enormous living room, more than a little disappointed when he sank down heavily on the sofa, cutting off her view of that amazing ass. Leaning his head back against the sofa, he regarded her tiredly for a moment, his lids at half mast. Like he was fighting to keep his eyes open.
    Reese felt another pang of guilt. She, who’d never known the meaning of the word impulsive until she met this man, had chosen the worst possible day to act on a spontaneous urge.
    “You never did answer my question,” Michael murmured.
    “Which one?” Reese asked, sitting on a chair upholstered in sumptuous brown leather.
    “What, exactly, are you doing here?”
    “I told you. I wanted to bring you coffee.” She smiled whimsically. “I’m trying to get into my new role as your apprentice.”
    “Yeah?” He sounded amused. “You gonna pick up my dry-cleaning, too?”
    “I wouldn’t go that far.”
    His answering smile, the first real one he’d allowed since her arrival, made her heart lurch crazily. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he teased.
    Her smile widened. “No, I guess not.”
    As he raised the cup to his mouth and drank more coffee, her gaze was drawn to his right forearm, which bore a distinct tattoo that identified him as an Omega Psi Phi fraternity member.
    “How’d you find my address and get inside the building?”
    Reese’s eyes snapped back to his face, and she grinned. “Your address was on the contract I had to sign for the show. As for getting into the building, I flirted shamelessly with the doorman, made him think I was one of your newest playthings.” She paused, arching a brow. “He must get that a lot. It was almost too easy.”
    Michael shook his head, mouth twitching. “I plead the Fifth.”
    Reese laughed. “I bet you do, Que-Dog.”
    He glanced down at his tattooed arm, then laughed.
    Moments later, when they were still smiling companionably at each other, she murmured, “See, it’s working already.”
    “What is?”
    “My plan.” At his wary look, she elaborated, “I came over here this morning hoping we could reach a truce.”
    “A truce,” Michael repeated slowly.
    She nodded. “I thought it might be good for us to spend some time getting to know each other better, so we won’t be at each other’s throats when taping begins next week. I know how important it is for us to have chemistry.”
    He looked amused. “I think we’ve already established that we have chemistry. If we had any more, we’d both have to be hosed down.”
    Reese blushed, her belly quivering at his words. “I’m not talking about that kind of chemistry.”
    “Why not? It’s the only kind of chemistry worth talking about. If you don’t believe me, I’d be more than happy to remind you.” He wiggled his brows suggestively.
    Reese laughed, even as she felt a responsive twitch between her thighs. “That won’t be necessary.