A Taste of Temptation. Cat Schield

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СКАЧАТЬ her mother’s low warning tone prodded Harper to her feet.

      “Mother, this is Chef Ashton Croft. He is the creative genius behind Batouri. Ashton, this is my mother, Penelope Fontaine.”

      She ignored the flash of humor in Ashton’s eyes as she introduced him as a creative genius. It was true. No matter how big a pain in the ass he’d been, there was no denying the man was brilliant in the kitchen.

      “Delighted to meet you,” Penelope murmured, extending her hand like a queen to her subject.

      Harper mentally rolled her eyes as Ashton clasped her mother’s hand and flashed his charismatic celebrity grin.

      “I’ve enjoyed working with your daughter.”

      Liar.

      He’d tolerated her at best.

      Seeing the effect his dazzling persona was having on her mother, Harper momentarily surrendered to amusement. Not normally one to be charmed by a handsome face or flirtation, Penelope appeared as if she’d forgotten all about the blackmail that had driven her more than two thousand miles to seek her daughter’s help.

      As much as she hated interrupting their mutual love fest, Harper wanted to return to her mother’s blackmail problem and get the issue solved. “Is there something you needed from me?” she asked Ashton.

      His attention swung to her. “Just my laptop. I have a video conference in ten minutes.”

      “It’s over there.” She gestured toward the black bag.

      He bent to a side pocket in the duffel and took out a thin silver computer. Harper followed the smooth bunch and flex of his muscles, and her breath hissed out in appreciation. Strong and athletic in his cargo pants, denim shirt and hiking boots, sun-streaked shaggy hair falling into his bright blue eyes, he represented everything that Harper was not. Physical, unpredictable, exciting. The yang to her yin, she realized, and felt heat rise in her cheeks.

      “Leave the bag,” she commanded, her voice a husky blur. “I’m not done with you yet.”

      The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Of course.”

      She caught his smug gaze and stared him down in silence, refusing to backpedal or stumble through an explanation of what she’d actually meant. And maybe just a little afraid to ask herself about the subtext he’d picked up on.

      “Check with Mary to see which conference room is available.”

      “I appreciate the accommodation.”

      “Come see me when you’re done. I’m interested to hear how your conversation with Chef Cole went.”

      “I look forward to telling you. Will you be here?”

      Harper glanced at her mother. “I’m not certain where I’ll be. Ask Mary. She has a knack for finding me.”

      He nodded and exited her office. With his departure, the energy level in the room plummeted. Harper’s heart pounded in her chest as if she’d done a two-minute sprint on her treadmill.

      “You’re letting that scruffy man open a restaurant in your hotel?”

      Penelope’s criticism would’ve stung if Harper hadn’t witnessed her mother batting her eyelash extensions at that scruffy man only moments before. “He only recently returned from four months in Indonesia.”

      “I thought you said he was a chef. What was he doing there?”

      “Filming his television series, The Culinary Wanderer.” Harper waited for her mother to recognize the name. “He travels all over the world, eating local cuisine and bringing attention to the history or current troubles of the places where he films.”

      “I don’t watch much television. It’s too depressing.”

      Harper didn’t bother arguing. Penelope lived in a snug bubble. She played golf in the morning and then lunched with friends. After a few hours spent shopping, the remainder of her day was taken up by something cultural or philanthropic. The only interruption to her schedule happened when she traveled to the Hamptons to visit her mother or decided a room of her condo needed updating.

      “His show is very popular.”

      “I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” Penelope replied, her tone indicating that she’d dismissed a subject that no longer interested her. “How soon can you get me the money I need?”

      “I’ll call the bank and have them wire the funds as soon as you tell me who is blackmailing you and why.”

      “I’m your mother,” Penelope huffed. “Don’t you dare barter with me.”

      Before Harper could argue, Mary appeared in the doorway. “Your grandfather is on line one and Carlo called to say Chef Cole wants to talk to you as soon as you’re available.” Mary placed a wealth of emphasis on that last part.

      She needed to do some damage control. “Tell him I’ll be down as soon as I’m done talking to Grandfather. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

      Penelope clutched her daughter’s arm as Harper began to rise. “You can’t say anything to Henry.”

      “Why don’t we sort this business out over dinner later,” she suggested, attempting to pacify her mother. “I need to know more details before we proceed.”

      “But you are going to help me,” Penelope stated, anxiety shadowing her determined tone.

      “Of course.” Harper’s gaze skittered away from the relief in her mother’s eyes and fell on her assistant.

      Mary had been waiting patiently through their exchange. Seeing she’d regained Harper’s attention, she switched on her headset and spoke to the caller. “She’s on her way to the phone now. Okay, I’ll let her know. Your grandfather has had to take another call. He’ll catch up with you at four our time.”

      “Thank you, Mary.” Harper turned to her mother. “I have some business to take care of. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.”

      Penelope glanced at her watch. “I have a manicure appointment in half an hour.”

      It made perfect sense to Harper that her mother would schedule a beauty treatment in the midst of a personal crisis. No matter how bad things got, she never neglected her appearance.

      “Mary will get you settled in a suite. I’ll order dinner to be served there at seven. We can talk then.”

      * * *

      Ashton lounged in the Fontaine Ciel’s executive conference room, tapping his fingers against the tabletop in a rhythm that called to him from the past. He had his back to the large monitor set on the wall opposite the door that led to the hall. The network suits in New York had not yet figured out the connection was live and he was gaining some useful insights into their thought processes.

      He’d been in negotiations for a brand-new television series for almost five months now. The Lifestyle Network wanted him to star in a culinary show that “showcased СКАЧАТЬ