A Taste of Temptation

“I’ve read everything ever written about you and I’m pretty sure that wasn’t part of your history.”

He knew better than to be flattered. “It’s a story for another day. We’re talking about you.”

Her gaze was steady on his for several seconds. “My mother moved to Florida when I was eleven, leaving me in New York with my father who was rarely home. At the time I hated her for not being around, but as I grew up, I realized that being away from her criticism gave me the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them without being afraid she’d make me feel worse.”

“I’m not sure many people would be as unaffected by their mother’s abandonment as you are.”

Harper gave him a wry smile. “Don’t for a second think I’m unaffected. I’m just realistic. My mother didn’t abandon me. She fled a situation she’d didn’t like. Penelope isn’t someone who stands and fights when she can run away and go shopping.” Harper shrugged, but she was far from sounding nonchalant. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little more bothered than I let on.”

“It’s nice to hear you admit that.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you and I haven’t been able to figure out why.”

“You like me?” Her breathless laugh wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

“Very much,” he admitted, more than a little disturbed by the way her delighted smile transformed her into a stunning, vivacious woman.

“After the way I’ve hounded you these past nine months?” She shook her head, and the career woman took over once more. “I think you’re just trying to charm me. If this is your way of changing my mind about Chef Cole, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“So suspicious,” he taunted. “That’s not it at all. I’m starting to come around to your opinion about Cole. As for the way you’ve acted these past few months, I get it. This hotel is important to you. Batouri will make a statement and depending on how it does, that statement will be good or bad. I’d be a hypocrite to criticize you for doing whatever it took to make sure Batouri is a complete success.”

“That’s awfully accommodating of you.”

Rub me the right way and I can be very accommodating.

But that’s the sort of comeback she’d expect. “Does your mother visit you in Las Vegas often?”

“Never. She hates it here.”

“Must be important for her to show up then.”

“She needs my help. Which is different. She usually takes her problems to my grandfather because he’s a man and taking care of women is what men do.”

“That sounds very traditional minded.”

“It goes against everything I believe in. I’m a modern career girl.” A trace of self-mockery put a lilt in her voice. “She disapproves of my choices. Thinks I should have married a tycoon like my grandfather and dazzled New York society on his arm.”

“That seems like a waste of your intelligence and drive.”

“It’s hard being a disappointment.”

“I agree.” This they shared. No matter how much either of them accomplished, they weren’t living up to their parents’ perception of success. “It spoils what you’ve achieved, doesn’t it.”

She looked surprised by his insight. Her gaze became keen as it rested on him. “It does.”

He lifted the bottle of Scotch. “Do you want another drink?” He was dying to watch her swallow another glass. And then lick her lips again. There’d been something so decadent, so wickedly un-Harper-like about the deed.

“I should get back to work.”

“See you tomorrow night.”

“Text me when Chef Cole agrees to come work for you.” She started to leave, but then paused. “Thanks for listening.”

He suspected voicing her gratitude hadn’t come easily. “Anytime. You know where to find me.”

Shaking her head in exasperation, Harper spun away and headed toward the exit, her stride purposeful. Whatever sharing she’d done, it was now over. Ashton was left with an increased appreciation for Harper Fontaine.

These past few months he’d assumed her arrogance was a natural byproduct of her family’s money and connections, that life was a breeze for her. He’d been as guilty of stereotyping as his critics often were. To be fair, her confidence had always been dent-free.

Now he realized there were a few pinholes in her armor.

And they had more in common than he’d have ever guessed.

* * *

Harper pushed lettuce around on her plate, her appetite deadened by the smell of cigarette smoke. The suite would have to be deep cleaned before any guests could be booked in here. Over dinner, her mother had refused to speak about the blackmail. Harper’s impatience was growing with each minute that ticked by. She set down her fork. It clattered on the china. The discordant sound startled her mother.

“We have to talk about why you’re here.”

“I don’t want to.”

“If you expect me to give you three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I’m going to need to know why you’re being blackmailed.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“That’s a relief,” Harper muttered. She left the table, needing activity to think. As she crossed the room, a dozen ideas sprang into her mind. She picked the most likely one and turned to confront her mother. “You stole something.”

“I’m not a thief.” Penelope stubbed out her cigarette and reached for another, but Harper beat her to the package.

“No more smoking.”

Her mother glared at her. “You are trying to provoke me into telling you something you’re not ready to hear.”

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