A Taste of Temptation (Las Vegas Nights 3)

The interlude with Ashton had increased her anxiety rather than calmed her. She caught herself scowling as she rode the elevator to the administrative floor. It was just a television show, she reminded herself, unsure if that was all there was to it. For a half an hour once a week she got to escape the constant pressure of the hotel and travel with Ashton as he learned about elephant conservation in Sri Lanka or braved the Fairy Meadow Road in Pakistan.

The vicarious thrill was a secret she preferred to keep hidden because it didn’t sync with the levelheaded, hardworking hotel executive she was 99 percent of the time. Her compulsive desire to protect the secret left her questioning many of the choices she’d made. And she knew nothing good would come of doubting herself.

* * *

Ashton crossed his arms over his chest, the white executive chef’s jacket pulling tight against his shoulders. He had outdone himself. After Harper had left him that afternoon, he’d benefited from a creative surge that resulted in eight brand new entrées. Each one was something he thought she’d enjoy based on what had caught her attention in his notebook of recipes.

He’d gladly let her preferences define his menu. Batouri wouldn’t exist without her. In the past twenty-four hours, as he’d immersed himself in planning, he’d discovered a sense of purpose he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t in his nature to stop and reflect. Like a shark, he needed to keep swimming in order to stay alive. Or was it to feel alive?

At precisely eight o’clock, Harper entered the kitchen. His pulse jabbed against his throat as he surveyed her. She’d changed into a sleeveless wrap dress made with layers of ethereal blue-gray material.

“What you’re wearing reminds me of a fog bank I saw on a motorcycle ride in the highlands of Vietnam last year.” He paused, unaccustomed to sharing his thoughts when he wasn’t in front of the camera.

She tilted her head, signaling interest. “Tell me about it.”

“We had a couple days off from filming so I rented a bike and headed up into the mountains. As you can imagine, the road was narrow and poorly maintained. I’d meet cars and trucks careening around hairpin turns with no guardrails between the road and the sheer cliffs.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“It should have been. I’d pass villages where kids ran out into the road. I was chased by dogs.” Amid all the craziness he’d felt both exhilarated and completely at peace. “At one point I glanced over my shoulder and down into the valley. A fog hung over the lush green far below.”

In those hours he’d not known where he was headed and hadn’t cared. The journey was everything. His time in Harper’s company was the same. He wanted to live in the present, but she was a woman who needed to know what lay ahead. How far could their relationship develop before she grew frustrated with his act-first, worry-later attitude?

“You got all that from my dress?” Her brow creased. “You should write those experiences down.”

“To what end?” It was one thing to put on a show for his television series; it was another to reflect on his personal experiences. “It was just a motorcycle trip.”

“One that few people will have the opportunity to experience. You have a knack for drawing in your audience. It will make your cookbook that much more appealing.”

“I’m not doing a cookbook.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

“Because it would require you to sit still too long. Why don’t you collaborate with someone?”

“How about I collaborate with you?”

“Me?”

“Why not? It was your idea.”

“I don’t know the first thing about creating a cookbook.”

“But you could figure out what needed to be done.”

“I’m too busy.” But after a pause, she added, “We can talk about this after the restaurant opens.”

He could see that she was on her way to becoming his partner. Why he’d proposed the idea to her was immediately obvious. She possessed the organization and dedication to detail he lacked. Plus, he trusted her opinion. He could count on one hand how many people fell into that category.

“Fair enough,” he said, snagging her fingers with his and drawing her deeper into the kitchen. “Let’s get down to why you’re here.”

“Your menu.”

“I thought we’d start with a sea bass.” He went on to explain the other seven dishes he planned to make for her.

“They all sound wonderful. Good thing I brought my appetite.”