Chapter 1
Chapter One
Two months later
Atlanta, Georgia
“ H ere we are, ma’am. The best damn restaurant in Hotlanta.”
Reese didn’t respond, staring dazedly out the window of the Uber she’d taken into Midtown Atlanta that evening. She couldn’t believe she’d already reached her destination. She’d meant to take in the sights and sounds of the bustling metropolis during the ride into town. Instead she’d zoned out, succumbing to painful memories of the day her patient died in childbirth.
Deidra Thomas’s untimely death had left her husband and family reeling with shock and grief. Although Reese had tried her damnedest to distance herself emotionally from the tragedy, every time she closed her eyes at night, she saw Ian Thomas’s ravaged face, heard his anguished wails of denial. Every time she delivered a new baby, she was gripped by a terrible fear that something would go wrong. She was losing sleep, becoming withdrawn and finding it difficult to concentrate at work, which was not only unfair to her patients, but dangerous as well .
And then one day out of the blue, she’d received a phone call from her longtime friend Layla Chase. An award-winning photojournalist for National Geographic , Layla had mentioned that she was looking for someone to housesit for her while she was on assignment in Somalia for two months. Almost immediately, Reese knew this was the lifeline she’d so desperately needed, an opportunity to take a sabbatical before she had a nervous breakdown. She’d made the arrangements with Layla, secured a leave of absence from the hospital, then packed her bags and headed to Atlanta.
She’d made a pact with herself not to discuss or even think about work for the next two months. Yet there she was, torturing herself with thoughts of Deidra Thomas and the motherless children she’d left behind.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?”
Reese glanced around, embarrassed to realize that the driver was staring at her, patiently waiting for her to get out so he could be on his way.
She mustered a smile. “Sorry. Got distracted by the scenery.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.” He flashed a congenial grin. “Enjoy your dinner. You can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.”
“So I’ve heard. Thanks for the ride.” Clutching her snakeskin handbag, Reese climbed out of the car.
As she joined the flow of patrons heading into the brick-front restaurant, she couldn’t help feeling an unfamiliar thrill of excitement.
For the past three years she’d dreamed of visiting Wolf’s Soul, a world-renowned restaurant made famous by owner and executive chef Michael Wolf. Reese, whose favorite hobby was cooking, had been a huge fan of the hunky celebrity chef ever since he burst onto the national scene with his cable television show Howlin’ Good . Reese owned all four of his bestselling cookbooks, religiously DVR’d his program and had prepared many of his award-winning recipes for her family and friends, who often teased her about having a crush on the popular chef. Not that anyone in their right mind could blame her. With his dark good looks and smoldering charisma, Michael Wolf had stolen the hearts of women everywhere, solidifying his status as a bona fide sex symbol.
Located just a few blocks from the Fox Theatre in Midtown Atlanta, Wolf’s Soul boasted a clientele that included famous celebrities, athletes and politicians whose images were captured in framed photographs that graced the mahogany-paneled walls. Over the years Michael Wolf had hosted everyone who was anyone—from movie mogul Tyler Perry to President Barack Obama, who’d made a stop at the restaurant during his historic election campaign.
As Reese waited in line to be seated, she wondered if she’d be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Michael Wolf tonight. Despite his busy schedule—which included the daily taping of his show, book signings and regular visits to his six other restaurants scattered around the country—he still managed to put in several hours a week at the Atlanta location whenever he was in town. As luck would have it, she’d heard on the radio that morning that he’d just returned from a national media tour to begin taping the new season of Howlin’ Good . After years of admiring him from afar, the possibility of seeing Michael Wolf in person filled Reese with giddy anticipation. She’d even brought a copy of his very first cookbook in the hopes of getting his autograph.
As the ma?tre d’ escorted Reese to her table, she eagerly took in her surroundings. With the restaurant’s high ceilings and recessed lights turned strategically low, she felt as if she were entering the heart of a plush cave. The tables were made of gleaming mahogany and accentuated with soft candlelight. Music floated from a baby grand piano tucked into a shadowy corner. The soft, bluesy notes enhanced the intimate ambience without drowning out the pleasant buzz of laughter and conversation.
Reese was led to a small table in a private corner that gave her an unobstructed view of the entire dining room, which was perfect. She could enjoy her meal and people-watch in peace.
After she was seated, the ma?tre d’ passed her a leather-bound menu and a thick wine list. Almost at once, a waiter appeared to fill her water glass and drape a linen napkin across her lap.
After placing her order, Reese glanced around the restaurant. Even on a Tuesday night the place was packed, every table and booth occupied. She made eye contact with an attractive stranger seated alone at a nearby table. When he smiled invitingly and raised his glass, she returned his smile before glancing away.
She hadn’t come to Atlanta looking for romance. In fact, romance was the last thing on her mind these days. For the past year she’d been dating one of her colleagues at the hospital, a cardiothoracic surgeon named Victor Carracci. Handsome, intelligent and gifted, Victor was everything Reese could ever want in a man. In the beginning he’d wined and dined her, bought her flowers and made her laugh. They’d enjoyed each other’s company and seemed compatible…at first.
Over the past several months she’d sensed a growing distance between them. Once a good listener, Victor now seemed distracted when she talked, often interrupting or abruptly changing the subject. Dates were canceled and never rescheduled. Romantic gestures had become few and far between, and she honestly couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love.
She told herself their busy careers were putting a strain on their relationship, but deep down inside she knew their problems were more complicated than conflicting schedules. Somewhere along the way they’d lost their connection, and she didn’t know how to get it back—or if she even wanted to. After losing Deidra Thomas, she didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with a relationship on the rocks.
Victor hadn’t approved of her taking a sabbatical. As a workaholic, he couldn’t fathomwhy any respectable physician would forego her duties for two whole months. He worried that her absence would jeopardize her career, and he took every opportunity to tell her she couldn’t solve her problems by running away.
His lack of empathy was hurtful and disappointing, widening the chasm between them. The night before she left town, they’d gotten into a big argument. Nerves frayed from his constant poking and prodding, Reese had finally had enough.
“Whether you like it or not, Victor, I’m leaving tomorrow,” she told him in a steely tone. “I suggest we use the time apart to figure out what we both want.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s pretty obvious we’re not clicking anymore.” His eyes flickered, but he didn’t deny her assertion. He couldn’t, and they both knew it.
“I think it’d be best if we took a break.”
“What’re you saying?” His frown deepened. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Reese exhaled a breath. “I’m tired, Victor. Tired of bickering with you. Tired of pretending we’re okay. We’re not okay. Not even close.”
“Reese—”
“I need space, Victor. I need peace of mind, and we need time apart to do some soul searching and decide where we go from here. ”
He pressed his lips together. “You’ve been emotionally fragile since your patient died. You’re not thinking clearly. Don’t make a rash decision you’ll later regret.”
“The only thing I regret right now is not speaking up sooner.”
He shook his head at her. “What you’re suggesting is highly risky. What if we grow apart during this so-called break? What if we meet other people?”
She frowned. “I’m not looking for a new boyfriend ? —”
“But it could happen. You could get to Atlanta and meet some sweet-talking asshole who charms his way into your pants. And I don’t need to remind you that I’ve got plenty of options. Don’t blame me for availing myself of those options if you insist on taking a break.”
Reese gave him a level look before responding. “If we’re meant to be together, Victor, we’ll find our way back to each other.” She paused. “But if you happen to meet someone you’re more compatible with, someone who makes you happy . . . I can only wish you well.”
Resentment hardened his jaw. “How magnanimous of you.”
She sighed. “Vic ? —”
“Running away to Atlanta is a big damn mistake. But you’ve made your decision and I obviously can’t change your mind. I just hope you come to your senses soon, because there’s no guarantee I’ll be available when you get back.”
The waiter returned at that moment, interrupting Reese’s grim musings. She took a grateful sip of wine and then dug into the steaming lobster bisque. It was delicious. She ate slowly, savoring each spoonful as she pushed all other thoughts to the back of her mind.
Halfway through dinner, her phone rang. She reached inside her handbag and pulled it out, her heart sinking when she saw Victor’s name. She’d barely been gone two days. He hadn’t even given her a chance to settle in.
Frowning, she turned off the phone, tucked it away and resumed eating. She wasn’t ready to talk to Victor, and she definitely wasn’t up for another argument.
“I hope that frown has nothing to do with what’s on your plate,” said a deep, masculine voice laced with Southern heat.
Reese’s head snapped up.
Her breath stalled in her lungs.
Staring down at her was a pair of dark, mesmerizing eyes set in an arrestingly handsome face. A face she recognized immediately .
“Michael Wolf.” His name escaped in a throaty whisper of awe.
A hint of a smile curved full, sensual lips that promised untold delights. “At your service,” he drawled.
Reese gulped, heart hammering against her ribs. She couldn’t believe it. Michael Wolf was actually standing at her table and speaking to her!
She’d always imagined that when—and if —this moment ever came, she wouldn’t be reduced to a fawning idiot. She’d be the epitome of calm, cool and collected. She’d be charming and witty, impressing Michael with clever little anecdotes that demonstrated her own culinary prowess.
But when she opened her mouth to speak, what came out was a breathy, “I’m one of your biggest fans.”
Those dark, penetrating eyes glittered with amusement. “Is that right?”
Reese instantly wanted to duck under the table. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d graduated at the top of her class from a prestigious medical school. She was a respected obstetrician who’d given lectures to some of the best minds in medicine. She was a smart, confident, articulate woman. Yet all she could come up with was a lame I’m one of your biggest fans ?
So much for not being reduced to a fawning idiot.
Michael gave her a slow, lazy smile that tripled her heart rate. “I just stopped by to see if you were enjoying your meal.”
“Oh, yes. Absolutely. Everything is delicious.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
After following his career and fantasizing about him for so long, Reese couldn’t believe she was finally face to face with Michael freaking Wolf. She’d always thought he was exceptionally good-looking on television, but nothing compared to seeing him up close and personal.
Her hungry gaze swiftly catalogued velvety dark skin, low-cut black hair, heavy eyebrows and razor-sharp cheekbones. His nose was strong and masculine. A tightly manicured goatee framed perfect, sculpted lips that were impossible not to fixate on.
He was tall, with shoulders as wide as a mountain range and a ruggedly powerful build to match. He wore an expensively tailored black tux and white shirt with French cuffs. His silk tie hung loose around his neck, as if he’d yanked it free the first chance he got.
No television camera could begin to capture his overwhelming virility, a raw animal magnetism he exuded like a potent drug. He had big dick energy and was the most gorgeous man Reese had ever seen.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. And it wasn’t lost on her that Michael seemed in no particular hurry to move on to the next table. His dark eyes traced her features in a slow, deliberate perusal that elevated her blood pressure. When his gaze drifted to her cleavage, her breasts swelled. She was afraid to look down and see her nipples saluting him through her lightweight sarong dress.
Returning his attention to her face, Michael asked, “Is this your first time here?”
“Yes.” But it definitely won’t be my last!
“How long have you been in town?”
“Two days.” Reese gave him a saucy smile. “How did you know I was from out of town?”
Michael chuckled softly. “We’ve been open for seven years. If you were really one of my biggest fans and you lived in Atlanta, it wouldn’t have taken you this long to visit the restaurant.”
Her smile widened. “Good point.”
They stared at each other. The voltage between them scorched her nerve endings and left her feeling hot and tingly all over.
“Well,” Michael murmured, “I’ll let you get back to your dinner.”
Reese felt a sharp pang of disappointment. She didn’t want him to leave. There was no guarantee she’d ever see him in person again.
Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Why don’t you join me?”
He looked at her, a smile lurking in one corner of his mouth. If he was surprised by her invitation, he didn’t show it. No doubt he was used to strange women throwing themselves at him.
“I already had dinner,” he told her, lips quirking.
Reese boldly held his gaze. “Then keep me company until I finish mine.”
Something hot and wicked flared in his eyes. “With pleasure.”
As he lowered his long, powerful body into a chair, she caught the subtle, masculine spice of an expensive cologne. She couldn’t help noticing that every eye in the restaurant was trained on them, as if a spotlight were beaming down on their table. Several women were glaring enviously at Reese, making her glad that looks couldn’t kill .
“What’s your poison?” Michael asked, nodding toward her half-empty glass.
“Riesling,” she answered.
With the barest hint of a nod, he signaled to her waiter, who must have been standing at the ready. A bottle of Riesling was produced within moments.
“Wow,” Reese said after the young waiter had topped off her glass and glided away. “You didn’t even have to crook a finger. I’m impressed.”
Michael chuckled softly. “I take good care of my employees. They like to return the favor. Finish your food before it gets cold.”
“Yes, sir.” Smiling, Reese picked up her fork and continued eating. “This stuffed salmon is to die for.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Michael said, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “It’s one of my favorite dishes on the menu.”
Reese gave him a teasing, hopeful grin. “Any chance you could share the recipe?”
“That depends.” There was a wolfish gleam in his eyes. “What would I get in return?”
Heat rushed into Reese’s belly. She stared at him, the air between them vibrating with sexual awareness. For several moments she forgot how to breathe, let alone speak.
“Well?” Michael prompted at length. “What would I get in return for giving you the recipe to one of my prized signature dishes?”
Reese smiled slowly. “My undying gratitude?”
Michael laughed, a low, husky rumble that made her nipples tighten. God, he was sexy. Sexier than any mortal man had a right to be. “And here I thought you’d promise to write a glowing review of the restaurant or something,” he teased.
Reese guffawed. “You already have a ton of those. What difference would mine make?”
Before he could respond, they were interrupted by two attractive black women clutching copies of Michael’s latest bestselling cookbook.
“Excuse us, Mr. Wolf,” gushed the taller of the pair. “We couldn’t wait for you to make your way over to our table. Could we have your autograph?”
“Of course,” Michael said smoothly, rising to greet the women like the Southern gentleman he was .
As he signed each of their books, they raved about his show and told him how much they’d always enjoyed eating at his restaurant, which they declared to be the best in all of Georgia. He took their compliments in stride, smiling and conversing with them with a lazy charm that Reese found utterly disarming.
At one point, the taller woman whipped out her phone and turned to Reese with a giddy smile. “Would you mind taking a picture of us with Michael?”
“Not at all,” Reese said.
She snapped a group photo, then two more as each woman insisted on posing alone with Michael.
After they left—with obvious reluctance—Reese said to Michael, “I’ve kept you from the rest of your customers. I’m sorry.”
His eyes glinted. “Are you?”
She paused. “Not really.”
They smiled at each other. The moment stretched into two.
Dragging her gaze away, Reese returned her attention to her plate. “So,” she began idly, “do you always come to the restaurant dressed in a tux?”
Michael glanced down at himself, as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “I was at a fundraiser dinner. I decided to stop by the restaurant on my way home.” His voice deepened as he stared at her. “I’m glad I did.”
Reese felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl. “So am I.”
His mouth curved with a slow, sexy smile. “What brings you to Atlanta, Miss?—?”
“St. James.” Reese took a long sip of wine. No way was she telling him about the devastating tragedy that’d sent her fleeing from home. He didn’t need to hear about her personal problems.
Smiling demurely, she said, “What if I told you that I came to Atlanta just to eat at your fine establishment?”
Michael chuckled softly. “I suppose I’d be flattered. If I actually believed you.”
“You should. I’m one of your biggest fans, remember?”
“Of course. How could I forget?”
They exchanged playful grins.
Finished with her meal, Reese sat back in her chair with a deep, satisfied sigh. “That was heavenly.”
“Ready for dessert?” Michael asked.
Only if you’re on the menu!
Aloud she said laughingly, “I don’t know if I have any room left. I’m stuffed.”
“Come on. You can’t leave my restaurant without trying one of our amazing desserts.”
Of course, Reese needed little convincing.
On cue, the waiter materialized with the dessert menu.
“What do you recommend?” Reese asked Michael.
He smiled. “I think everything’s good, but of course I’m biased. Why don’t you try the sweet potato pecan pie?”
Reese smiled. “Sounds good.”
As the waiter bustled away, Michael shook his head slowly at Reese. “Dangerous,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Your smile. It’s a heartbreaker.”
Reese laughed, even as her stomach fluttered. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“No,” he said softly. “Just you.”
They gazed at each other.
If someone had told Reese that on her second night in Atlanta she’d find herself seated at a cozy dinner table with America’s sexiest chef—as Michael had recently been dubbed by People magazine—she wouldn’t have believed it. Not in a million years. She wanted to pinch herself just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
But, no, this moment had to be real. Michael Wolf sat close enough for her to see the thick, spiky lashes rimming his dark eyes. Close enough for her to reach out and touch him—if she dared.
Before she could even think about working up the nerve, her dessert arrived. She let out an involuntary gasp when she saw the enormous slice of pie on her plate. “Oh my God.”
“Something wrong?” Michael sounded amused.
“There’s no way I can eat all this by myself.” She gave him a beseeching look. “You have to help me.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think?—”
“No, really, I insist. Can you bring another fork for your boss?” she asked the waiter .
After another set of silverware had been supplied, Reese pushed the pie plate to the center of the table, and she and Michael dug in.
“Mmmm,” she said appreciatively after her first bite. “Delicious.”
“You like?”
“Um-hmm. You are looking at one very satisfied customer.”
“That’s good,” Michael drawled, gazing at her. “Your satisfaction is our number-one priority.”
Reese’s pulse thudded. The dark, intoxicating timbre of his voice had her imagining a number of other ways he could satisfy her. Ways that had nothing whatsoever to do with food.
As if Michael had read her mind, a shadow of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He ate another forkful of pie and chewed slowly, watching her. Transfixed, she stared at his full lips, wondering if they were as soft as they looked, wondering how exquisite they’d feel pressed against her mouth, wrapped around a tight nipple, sliding up her inner thigh toward her?—
“I know we just met,” Michael said quietly, interrupting her lascivious thoughts, “but I was wondering if I could call you sometime?”
“I’d like that,” Reese said, surprising herself. “In fact, if you’re free tonight, I could use a ride home.”