The Sweetest Temptation Read online

  The cabbie, chewing on the stub of an unlit cigar, shook his head. “Keep your money, lady. Your boyfriend already paid me.”

  A frown furrowed her smooth forehead. “Boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, lady. The guy who put you in my taxi.” He shifted on his seat and glared at Faith. “Are you getting out, or do you want me to take you somewhere else?”

  “I’m getting out,” she said as she pushed open the door, got out and closed the door behind her.

  She walked to the entrance of a three-story walk-up, unlocked the front door and made her way up three flights to her studio apartment. Her cousin Simone complained about the high rent Faith paid to live in Manhattan, but she loved historic Greenwich Village with its bohemian lifestyle, quirky residents, charming row houses, hidden alleys and narrow streets. It was after dark that the Village truly came alive with late-night coffeehouses, jazz clubs and cafés. Her apartment took up less than a thousand square feet of living space, but she’d learned to maximize every foot, and the result was inviting as well as charming.

  She opened the door, and warmth curled around her like a rising mist. When she flipped a wall switch, two table lamps flooded the apartment with soft yellow light. She’d lived in the building for three years, and there was never a day when she didn’t have heat or hot water.

  Her home had become a retreat where she came to relax, eat and sleep. A compact utility kitchen ran the length of a brick wall, and a cushioned window seat with storage drawers spanned the width of three tall, narrow windows providing the perfect place for her to curl up to read or while away hours watching her favorite movie on the flat-screen television on its stand resting on a bleached pine drop-leaf table. The pale color was repeated in the other furnishings: a claw-foot pedestal table with four matching petit-point-cushioned pull-up chairs, an antique sleigh bed in an alcove that had been a walk-in closet, an antique-white armoire and a love seat covered with Haitian cotton.

  Former tenants hadn’t removed the shelves in the converted closet, so Faith stacked them with books, linens and a collection of priceless crystal vases. An antique clothespress doubled as a bureau and vanity for items that normally would’ve been stored in the minuscule bathroom that had been updated to include a basin, commode and shower stall.

  The telephone rang as she slipped out of her coat. Hanging it on a coat tree, Faith picked up the cordless receiver off the kitchen countertop. She smiled when she saw the name on the display. “Yes, Tessa. I’m hosting Monday’s get-together.”

  Her cousin’s sultry laugh came through the earpiece. “For you information, Miss Smarty Pants, I’m not calling about Monday night.”

  Cradling the receiver between her chin and shoulder, Faith leaned over and pulled off her boots. “What’s going on, Tessa?”

  “Are you free to go to Mount Vernon with me tomorrow?”

  “What’s happening in Mount Vernon?” she asked as she made her way into the bathroom to wash her hands.

  “I’m bringing Micah with me so he can meet the family.”

  She paused drying her hands. “What aren’t you telling me, cousin?”

  “I got engaged last night!”

  Faith hadn’t realized she was screaming until Tessa pleaded with her to calm down. “I don’t believe it, Tessa! Did he give you a ring? When am I going to meet your manly man?” Simone, who’d met Micah, described him as a manly man.

  “Yes, he gave me a ring. Come with me tomorrow and you’ll meet him.”

  Reaching for a towel, she dried her hands and walked out of the bathroom. “I can’t make it tomorrow. I’m having brunch with Peter Demetrious, and I can’t change the date or time because he’s only going to be in New York for the weekend.”

  Faith had thought herself blessed when Tessa convinced the celebrated photographer to take pictures of her cake designs.

  “What about tonight?”

  “Tonight I have Savanna Raymond’s engagement party. Why don’t you bring Micah with you when you come Monday?”

  “No, Faith. Mondays are for the girls, not girls and guys.”

  “Is it going to be that way after you’re married?”

  “My marrying Micah shouldn’t change our bimonthly get-togethers. Don’t forget our mothers still get together with their girlfriends once a month without their husbands.”

  “You’re right, Tessa. Nothing should change that drastically, just because you’re changing your name.”

  “I’m not changing my name to Sanborn.”

  “You plan to keep your maiden name?”

  “No, Faith. I’m going to hyphenate it like Micah’s sister did. She’s now Bridget Sanborn-Cohen, and when I marry Micah I’ll become Theresa Whitfield-Sanborn.”

  “How is baby girl doing?” Faith knew within minutes of meeting Bridget Sanborn for the first time that she’d been spoiled and indulged. And it was obvious that her new husband would continue to indulge her. When Bridget and Seth sampled fillings and conferred with each other about the overall design for their wedding cake, Seth had always deferred to Bridget.

  “Micah said Bridget and Seth are still honeymooning in Tahiti. After two weeks they’re going to Fiji for another week.”

  Faith smiled. “Nice.” Her smile faded. What she would give for a few days in a warm climate. It didn’t have to be the South Pacific. A weekend in the Caribbean, or even South Florida would do quite nicely.

  “Bridget gave me a gift to give to you. I’ll bring it when I come Monday.”

  “She didn’t have to give me anything. After all, I charged her top dollar for the cake and the individual cakes she gave as favors.”

  “She said it’s just a little token for making her day so special given such short notice.”

  Faith smiled again. Tessa had successfully coordinated a formal New Year’s Eve wedding in only ten weeks. “Isn’t that what Signature Bridals do? You’ve established a reputation of performing wedding miracles.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you and Simone. You know I want you to design my cake.”

  “Have you set a date?”

  “We’ve decided on the last Saturday in June. And of course it will be held at Whitfield Caterers.”

  Faith nodded even though her cousin couldn’t see her. Their fathers were closing their catering business at the end of August to open a bowling alley the following spring. “You know Daddy and Uncle Malcolm have been waiting a long time to host another Whitfield wedding.”

  “Well, they won’t have to wait too long because June is less than six months away. I’m going to let you go because you have a party tonight. I’ll see you Monday.”

  “Monday,” Faith repeated before ending the call. She turned off one of the table lamps.

  Walking over to the alcove, she set the alarm on the radio, undressed and got into bed. She couldn’t believe it. Her cousin was getting married. Tessa, who hadn’t dated in years, had fallen in love and planned to marry the brother of one of her clients. At least one of them had found her prince.

  A groan escaped Faith’s lips as she turned her face into the softness of the pillow. The instant Edith Whitfield found out that another one of her nieces was getting married, Faith was going to have to put up with her mother’s constant haranguing about why couldn’t she find “a nice boy to settle down with.”

  She’d lost count of the number of times she’d informed her mother that she didn’t want a boy but a man. And just because they were male and over eighteen, that didn’t necessarily make them men.

  At thirty, she’d had more than her share of dates and a couple of what she’d considered serious relationships. In fact, she’d kissed so many frogs trying to find her own prince that she was afraid she’d get warts.

  Her dating woes ended the year before when she made a resolution not to date again until she found Mr. Right. She’d tired of the Mr. Right Now or Mr. for the Moment. And if she never found her prince, then she was content to live out her life as an independent single woman.

 
; All thoughts of princes and marriage faded when she drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 2

  Faith walked out of her building and came to an abrupt stop when she recognized the man leaning against the bumper of a late-model Lincoln Town Car. Her eyes widened as he straightened and came over to meet her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked Ethan.

  He flashed his sensual, dimpled smile and reached out to take her arm. “I’ve come to drive you uptown.”

  “Did WJ tell you to pick me up?”

  Ethan steered her over to the car and opened the rear door. Waiting until Faith was seated comfortably on the leather seat, he closed the door and came around to sit behind the wheel. It wasn’t until he left the narrow street and pulled out into traffic that he spoke again.

  “Yes, he did.”

  She stared at the back of his head. “I could’ve just as easily taken a cab.” Faith wondered if Ethan had told WJ about his son’s attempt to kiss her.

  “What happened to ‘thank you’?”

  “Say what?”

  “Isn’t door-to-door car service in Manhattan better than trying to hail a cab at night in the middle of winter?”

  The heat from her blush intensified. Ethan McMillan had just verbally spanked her. “Thank you, Ethan.”

  Ethan schooled his features to stop the grin parting his lips. “You’re welcome, Faith.” He glanced up at the rearview mirror. “Your face looks very nice.”

  She couldn’t stop the blush heating her cheeks. “A little makeup can work miracles.”

  He shook his head. “A miracle cannot improve perfection. I’m sure men have told you that you’re very beautiful.”

  Faith stared out the side window. “Men have told me a lot of things.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you believe them?” Ethan asked, slowing down and stopping at a red light.

  “Because it’s easier for them to lie than admit the truth.”

  “So, you have trust issues with men?”

  If she’d taken a taxi uptown she wouldn’t be having this conversation with her driver. She didn’t know Ethan McMillan, and she had no intention of spilling her guts to a complete stranger.

  “I’d rather not answer that question.”

  “You don’t have to, Faith. The fact that you don’t want to answer it tells me that you do.” He drove several blocks in silence then asked, “Why did you decide to become a pastry chef?”

  Faith smiled. The conversation had segued to a topic less personal in nature. “After graduating culinary school I worked in a restaurant for two years.”

  “Did you like it?”

  She shook her head. “Even though I liked cooking what I hated was the frenetic pace of cooking for hundreds every night. There was always chaos when a dish didn’t turn out right or when the head chef got in our faces because we weren’t working fast enough. One night I decided I’d had enough. I handed in my resignation and went back to school to specialize in cake decorating. Now I work at my own pace and if I ruin something I can usually salvage it.”

  “If the icing doesn’t come out right, don’t you throw the cake away?”

  “No. I usually remove it and start over.”

  “How long does it take to decorate a wedding cake?”

  “It depends on the size of the cake, the decorations and accessories. However, making bows, flowers and ribbons are the most time-consuming.”

  Ethan concentrated on driving as he detected a thawing in Faith’s tone. It was no longer guarded, but soft and seductive as she talked about cakes with specific themes. The ride ended much too soon as he maneuvered into the building’s underground garage.

  Once inside the elevator, he inserted a key into the slot for the penthouse. Leaning against a wall, he stared openly at Faith’s enchanting profile, finding everything about her breathtakingly stunning. Her short curly black hair hugged her head like a soft cap, and the light dusting of makeup served to enhance the rich, dark hues of her satiny mahogany skin. Mascara, flatteringly applied eye shadow and a glossy wine-colored lipstick on her sexy, lush lips held him hypnotized.

  She’d replaced her jeans, boots and wrap coat with a bottle-green, three-quarter shearling coat, a navy-blue pencil skirt, ending at her knees, matching sheer hose and suede pumps that added another three inches to her dramatic height.

  The elevator stopped at the penthouse, and he moved forward as the door opened. Ethan looped an arm around her waist as if he’d performed the gesture countless times and led her past the small crowd waiting to get into the penthouse. The Raymonds had mailed out specialized invitations with bar codes that were scanned upon arrival.

  “This is why WJ wanted me to pick you up,” he whispered close to Faith’s ear.

  Smiling up at him over her shoulder, she mouthed a thank-you.

  He escorted her past the kitchen to the hallway where she could hang up her coat. The distinctive, soulful voice of a new artist who’d signed with WJ’s record company floated from speakers concealed throughout the penthouse. The Raymonds had planned for a sit-down dinner, followed by Savanna opening her gifts, then dancing under the stars in the enclosed solarium.

  “Will you save me a dance?”

  With wide eyes, Faith halted unbuttoning her coat. “No!”

  Ethan leaned closer, his warm breath sweeping over her ear. “Why not?”

  She shrugged out of her coat. “Have you forgotten that I’m not a guest but hired help?”

  “Then that makes two of us, Faith Whitfield. Hired help need fun, too.” He ignored her soft gasp. “All I want is one little itty-bitty dance.”

  “No. Not here, Ethan.”

  “Where, Faith?”

  Why, she thought, was Ethan pressuring her to dance with him? “I’ll let you know.” She saw a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes at the same time a smile softened his generous masculine mouth.

  He winked at her. “Okay.”

  Faith smiled up at him through her lashes. “Now, get out of here so I can get some work done.” William and Linda Raymond had paid her quite well to prepare the desserts for their daughter’s party.

  Ethan gave her a sharp salute, took a step backward and spun around on his heels like a soldier at a dress parade, leaving Faith smiling at his retreating ramrod-straight back.

  * * *

  Wearing a white tunic over her white silk blouse, Faith walked into the kitchen but quickly backpedaled to avoid being knocked over by a waiter hoisting a tray on his shoulder. Other waiters followed with trays of hot and cold hors d’oeuvres. Another carried a crate filled with bottles of wine and fruit juice.

  A young woman tapped her arm. “Are you Faith Whitfield?”

  “Yes, I am. Why?”

  “Mr. Payton asked that you see him as soon as you arrived.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  She entered the kitchen to find Kurt with a towel slung over one shoulder, peering at the meat thermometer inserted into a generous cut of prime rib. “You wanted to see me?”

  The chef let out an audible sigh. “Thank goodness you’re here. I need you to fill in as my sous chef tonight. Please, Faith,” he said quickly when he saw her stunned expression. “The person I’d hired to assist me called about half an hour ago to tell me he has the flu.” He grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it. “I wouldn’t ask you if I weren’t desperate. I’ll pay you—whatever you want, just please help me out here.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve—”

  “It’s like riding a bike or having sex,” he interrupted. He kissed her hand again. “You never forget.”

  Faith rolled her eyes at him. “Let go of my hand, Kurt. I need to cover my head.”

  “Bless you, my child.”

  “The hand, Kurt,” she warned softly.

  * * *

  Kurt was right. After removing her desserts from the refrigerator and placing them on a cart that would be rolled
into the dining room later that evening, Faith found herself at the industrial stove braising, sautéing and stirring as if it were something she did every day. She saw another side of Kurt’s easygoing personality. The chef ran his kitchen like a drill sergeant, barking orders to the waitstaff. However, his tone softened whenever he asked her to prepare something for him.

  She’d finished filling gravy boats when a waitress rushed in, wringing her hands. “We don’t have any fish plates.”

  Kurt mumbled a savage expletive under his breath. He’d been so busy serving meat and chicken that he’d totally forgotten about those who’d requested fish. “Faith, can you get the tray of fish from the refrigerator and prepare a sole meunière?”

  “Are they marinated?” she asked him.

  “Yes.”

  The fact that the fillets were seasoned would save time in preparing the fish dish served with a butter and lemon sauce. She took the tray from the refrigerator, heated a pan with unsalted butter, then placed them skin side up and fried each side until they were golden brown; she placed them on a heated plate. All of Faith’s culinary training returned when she drained off the butter for frying, wiped out the pan with a towel before returning it to the heat. Chilled cubed butter was cooked until golden and frothy. She removed the pan from the heat, adding the juice of fresh lemons. While the mixture still bubbled, she spooned it over the fish. A quick garnish with parsley and lemon wedges and the dish was ready to be served.

  “How many want fish entrées?” she asked the waitress who’d stood off to the side waiting for her to finish.

  “Six.”

  Reaching for six plates, she quickly spooned slices of fish onto them, adding lemon wedges and a garnish of parsley to each.

  Then she lost track of time as she assisted Kurt slicing prime rib, halving Cornish hens, adding a medley of steamed vegetables and seasoned roasted potatoes to plates as the waiters loaded their trays with the entrées. And it wasn’t until all the guests sitting in the formal dining room were served that she found a stool in a corner, sat down and dabbed her damp face with a cloth napkin. The smell of brewing coffee overpowered the scents left from the beef, fish and chicken.