A Taste of Temptation. Cat Schield

in tasting the dishes I’m considering for the restaurant.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “And that’s all there is to it?”

      “Of course.”

      She regarded him in silence for several heartbeats before replying. “Hire Cole. You need someone accomplished to run your kitchen while you’re off playing celebrity.” With that, she pivoted on her conservative black pumps and strode across to his bag. Snagging the handle, she pulled it after her. “I’m taking this as collateral,” she called over her shoulder.

      It was a silly gesture—taking his clothes hostage wouldn’t prevent him from getting on a plane—and so unlike Harper, the consummate professional. Ashton’s gaze followed her, appreciating the pronounced sway of her hips. Thinking she’d put one over on him had injected a trace of strut into her stride.

      “I will hire him,” Ashton promised her. “And you will spend the evening with me.”

      “Sampling your menu.” Her words floated back to him.

      He’d been right about the hellcat lurking beneath her skin. It had been asleep far too long and he was the perfect guy to rouse it.

      His final shot chased her out of the restaurant. “I’m going to make it a night you’ll never forget.”

      Two

      Smugness from her encounter with Ashton lasted about a second as she strode out of the restaurant and headed toward her office. What had she been thinking to walk off with his luggage? He must think she’d gone mad.

      Well, hadn’t she?

      She’d agreed to an evening with him. Harper had no doubt she’d signed on for more than a private tasting of his menu. Which meant she was in big trouble. Already her mouth watered at the prospect of being the beneficiary of his culinary prowess. As long as that was the only prowess he plied her with, she might survive the evening without making a fool of herself. If he decided to test her level of resistance to his manly charms she wasn’t going to maintain her professionalism very long.

      Her skin burned as she thought of how he’d called her on her assumption that he wanted sex in exchange for hiring the chef she preferred. Not once had she suspected Ashton was the sort of man to make such a sordid offer. So why had she jumped to that conclusion? Even worse, why had she lobbed the accusation at him? Naturally, he’d presumed her misunderstanding represented her deepest desires.

      And he was probably right. For the past nine months she’d been complaining that the real Ashton Croft wasn’t as wonderful as the one on television. But that wasn’t exactly true. His persona on TV was charismatic and amusing. He was the cool guy everyone wanted to hang out with. The flesh and blood Ashton Croft was no less appealing. It was just that the travel series didn’t fully convey the masculine energy of the man. The rawness of his sex appeal.

      Most of the time she focused on how frustrating he was. She was terrified of being bamboozled by his dimples and rakish grin. If he had any idea how easily he could knock her socks off, he’d probably go after a few other items of clothing, as well.

      Harper shook her head at the thought. She was not going to sleep with Ashton Croft. It would be different if they’d met in some exotic locale; she could see herself being one of his random hook ups. The next morning, she would chalk up the evening as an adventure worth having. Hadn’t she spent tedious hours on the treadmill imagining all sorts of spicy scenarios where she bumped into Ashton at a vineyard in Tuscany or on a walk around Dubrovnik’s ancient city walls? There they would share a sunset and he’d persuade her to join him for dinner. On a private terrace overlooking the Adriatic Sea and surrounded by candles, he’d take her into his arms and...

      The faint smell of cigarette smoke ripped Harper from her daydream.

      Parking Ashton’s go bag just inside the door of her office, Harper surveyed her formerly pristine sanctuary. Her mother’s ostrich leather Burberry holdall sat on the sky-blue sofa, half the contents scattered around it. An empty pack of cigarettes lay crushed on the coffee table beside a crystal tumbler with a pale pink lipstick stain. The elegant lines of a cream trench coat were draped over Harper’s executive chair. Her mother had definitely moved in.

      Penelope Fontaine stood by the window overlooking the Las Vegas strip, her right hand resting at her throat, as if protecting the string of large black pearls she wore. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the cigarette pinched between the fingers of her other hand. In a black-and-white Chanel dress, with her long blond hair pulled away from her face in a classic chignon, she looked elegant and untouchable.

      The sight stirred up memories of the day her parents had sat her down and explained that they were splitting up. Her mother needed to move to Florida for her health. Harper would remain in New York City with her father. Which basically meant she’d be alone with the staff because Ross Fontaine had spent most of his time avoiding the company’s New York headquarters and his father’s expectations. With Fontaine Hotels and Resorts’ extensive holdings in the U.S. and abroad, Harper’s father could be as irresponsible as he wanted without Henry Fontaine being the wiser.

      “Mother, I would appreciate it if you didn’t smoke in my office.” Harper advanced toward Penelope, ready to pluck the cigarette from her mother if she didn’t comply.

      “I’m sorry, Harper.” Crossing to the coffee table, she dropped the cigarette into the empty glass. “You know how I revert when I’m upset.”

      The lingering smell of smoke made Harper’s nose tingle unpleasantly. “What’s bothering you?” She fetched a can of air freshener from one of the cabinets that lined the east wall and sprayed the room with ocean breezes.

      “I need your help.” Penelope’s voice warbled as she spoke the last word.

      Unsure whether her mother was being theatrical or if she was truly in trouble, Harper took a quick inventory. Penelope’s eyes looked like a forest after a downpour, the green enhanced by the redness that rimmed them.

      “You’ve been crying.” This was no bid for her daughter’s attention. “What’s wrong?”

      “Something terrible has happened.” Harper heard the weight of the world in Penelope’s voice. “Why else do you think I came to this godforsaken city? It’s not as if you’d come visit me in Florida.”

      “The hotel is taking all my energy right now.” Harper knew better than to book passage on her mother’s guilt trip, but her encounter with Ashton had stirred up her emotions. “Why didn’t you go to Grandfather?”

      Penelope fiddled with the ten-carat diamond she wore on her left hand despite her husband’s death five years earlier. Why would she take if off now when she’d worn the ring through eighteen years of being separated from Ross Fontaine?

      “Henry can’t help me with this.”

      “But I can?” Harper struggled to get her head around this shift in her world’s axis.

      Never once had her mother reached out like this. Penelope was of the mindset that only men could solve the world’s problems. Women were supposed to adorn their husbands’ arms, looking beautiful and displaying graceful manners. They weren’t supposed to run billion-dollar corporations at the expense of attracting lovers, much less suitable husbands.

      “You’re the only one who can.”

      All her life Harper had been waiting for her mother to acknowledge her as powerful and capable. That Penelope had turned to her daughter for help was as thrilling a victory as Harper had ever known. “What do you need?”

      “Money.”

      Her mother received a sizeable allowance each month from the Fontaine family trust. What could she possibly need to buy that she couldn’t turn to Harper’s grandfather? “Why?”

      “I’m being blackmailed.”

      Blackmailed? This was the last thing Harper expected