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Mocha Pleasures
Pamela Yaye
Trusting in the sweetness of loveJackson Drayson has never been one to stick to the rules—or resist a dare. So when he’s challenged to jumpstart a patisserie that rivals his cousins’ Lillian’s of Chicago, he’s all in. Between his good looks, captivating manner, and newly discovered gift for innovative cake designs, Jackson’s soon winning over legions of customers, including Grace Nicholas. The willowy, reserved master baker is also Jack’s chief competition—and the one woman who seems immune to his legendary charms.The delectable desserts she creates at her family’s leading Seattle bakery are all the temptation Grace needs in her life. A lover’s betrayal has made her wary of trusting another man. But Jackson can be so passionately persuasive . . . until Grace is accused of stealing his shop’s top-secret recipe. Torn between loyalty and love, will Grace make the decision that can assure her a lifetime of sinfully sweet pleasure?


Trusting in the sweetness of love
Jackson Drayson has never been one to stick to the rules—or resist a dare. So when he’s challenged to jump-start a patisserie that rivals his cousins’ shop, Lillian’s of Chicago, he’s all in. Between his good looks, captivating manner and newly discovered gift for innovative cake designs, Jackson is soon winning over legions of customers, including Grace Nicholas. The willowy, reserved master baker is also Jack’s chief competition—and the one woman who seems immune to his legendary charms.
The delectable desserts she creates at her family’s leading Seattle bakery are all the temptation Grace needs in her life. A lover’s betrayal has made her wary of trusting another man. But Jackson can be so passionately persuasive...until Grace is accused of stealing his shop’s top secret recipe. Torn between loyalty and love, will Grace make the decision that can assure her a lifetime of sinfully sweet pleasure?
“Did you have another date lined up tonight?”
“This isn’t a date. It’s a business meeting.”
“Do you kiss all of your business associates, or just me?”
Stumped, unable to think of a fitting response, Grace slanted her head to the left and hitched a hand to her hips. The next time Jackson said something smart to her, or flashed that stupid “I’m the man” grin, it was on. She’d had enough of his fresh mouth for one night.
“It’s your fault we’re even in this stupid mess,” she grumbled.
“How was I supposed to know the door was locked? It’s never locked.”
“This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t showing off.”
Jackson pointed a finger at his chest. “You’re blaming me for trying to impress you?” he asked, shock evident in his voice. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
Grace pretended his words didn’t faze her, but inwardly her heart was dancing.
“You’re stunning, and captivating in every sense of the word, and I’ll do anything to make you smile, including showing off my one-of-a-kind specialty cakes.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_af200414-cab6-5b18-965a-6170af9666cc),
Have you ever felt an immediate connection to someone? Mind-blowing chemistry you couldn’t deny or control? That’s what happens to Jackson Drayson when he meets Grace Nicholas. His plan? To win her heart. But things go awry during their first date. He burns dinner, then accidentally locks them in the bakery freezer. Though all isn’t lost. Jackson has seduction on his mind, and will stop at nothing to prove he’s the only man she needs.
Grace is torn. Should she remain loyal to her family or follow her heart? It’s an impossible decision to make, and secretly dating Jackson—her father’s sworn enemy—only complicates matters. The dreamy baker is sweet and romantic, charming, too, and his kisses are as scrumptious as his pastries. Grace and Jackson are a perfect match, and I think you’ll agree.
I enjoyed writing this series with my Kimani sisters, Yahrah St. John (Cappuccino Kisses), and Jamie Pope (Love and a Latte), and I’m eagerly looking forward to our next one! :-)
All the best in life and love,
Pamela Yaye

Mocha Pleasures
Pamela Yaye


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
PAMELA YAYE has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education. Her love for African-American fiction prompted her to pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not working on her latest novel, this busy wife, mother and teacher is watching basketball, cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Alberta, Canada, with her gorgeous husband and adorable, but mischievous, son and daughter.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_ecdce048-383e-5c61-88bb-cffaad2fd15a)
I want to thank my husband, Jean-Claude, for his love, support and guidance. I couldn’t have written twenty-three Harlequin Kimani Romance novels without you, Papito, and I appreciate everything you do for me and the kids. You mean the world to me, and I’m grateful to have you in my life. Thank you for allowing me to live my dream.
Contents
Cover (#u6d1d79e9-ff04-5d15-955e-39c0fc9a0c88)
Back Cover Text (#u91a67b7a-7262-55c6-9ab7-a8ceee47977f)
Introduction (#u52ea3734-dca9-5210-ab19-661f17ceb4ac)
Dear Reader (#u0f611ce2-0922-5037-8cf1-89a66c1ec0f6)
Title Page (#u51a777bc-0f9d-5310-84c5-63912538dae2)
About the Author (#u57263a02-49b7-55fa-a4ba-2bf77bf5ccd7)
Acknowledgments (#u1b9b832b-a5f9-58fa-9cda-4fd4ee3a17c3)
Chapter 1 (#uddf36b56-8a73-5c1e-acb9-88119a09789a)
Chapter 2 (#ue71491a8-93ac-5fc3-a79f-88e42d225f5e)
Chapter 3 (#uc6c48c93-f07a-5173-8971-a592c94ce80e)
Chapter 4 (#u82aee000-7e51-57db-a7d4-f57d0d721fc5)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_33042d4f-946b-55dd-97bc-8db4a4f39888)
Jackson “Jack” Drayson stood behind the counter of his family’s bakery, Lillian’s of Seattle, spotted the mother of two struggling to get her deluxe stroller inside the crowded, bustling shop and felt a rush of compassion. Reaching the family in three strides, he pulled open the front door and stepped aside to let them enter. “Welcome to Lillian’s of Seattle.”
“Thank you so much,” the mother said, her tone filled with gratitude.
“It’s my pleasure.” Jackson wore a boyish smile. “I’ve always had a thing for redheads with freckles.”
Her eyes brightened, and she giggled like a kid at the circus. “You do?”
“Yes, so if you need anything just ask. I love helping beautiful women.”
Another high-pitched laugh. “You just made my day!”
Jackson knew the compliment had guaranteed the bakery a sale. It always did. At twenty-eight, he’d perfected the art of flirting, and knew Chase would be proud of him for charming another customer. A savvy accountant with a thirst for success, his thirty-one-year-old brother was the perfect person to oversee the financial operations at the bakery. To ensure the bakery’s success, Chase had taken a leave of absence from his high-powered corporate job, and when he wasn’t wooing his fiancée—talented jewelry designer Amber Bernard—he was working hard to boost sales. Chase and Amber were on a pre-honeymoon trip at a luxury hotel overlooking Snoqualmie Falls. Jackson hadn’t heard from his brother since he’d left town yesterday and didn’t expect to. Chase was with Amber, and when his lady love was around, nothing else mattered to his big brother.
Glancing around the bakery, Jackson remembered the first time Chase approached him about an exciting new business venture.
They were at Samson’s Gym, talking smack, lifting weights and eyeing the ladies. Chase suggested going to work for the Draysons, and Jackson had laughed out loud. Hell, no. He’d always resented the Chicago branch of the family. Why were they so high and mighty? Why had they shut out their Seattle relatives for so long? More persuasive than a politician, Chase had convinced him that a bakery would be an excellent business opportunity, and posed it as a challenge. What if they could make Lillian’s of Seattle more profitable than the Chicago store? What if they became the number-one bakery in town? Jack had never been able to walk away from a challenge or a dare, and when Chase suggested he was afraid they weren’t good enough to “keep up with the Draysons,” Jack was in. Though, initially, he didn’t think he could work with his perfectionist brother. Where Chase had always been a methodical rule-follower, Jackson’s favorite motto was By Any Means Necessary. He often wondered if he could have been adopted, because he was so different from his siblings. He’d attended three different colleges, and had quickly gotten bored by the classes, the course work and the dreary study groups. His faculty mentor told him he was smart, with a great mind for business, but his dislike of convention had often gotten in his way. He’d finally graduated from Seattle University with a business degree but he could have just as easily obtained a degree in science, math or history.
“Wow, I heard this place was nice, but that’s an understatement.” Wearing an awestruck expression on her chubby face, the mother of two slowly took in her surroundings. “It looks more like a high-end boutique than a bakery.”
Her words filled Jackson with pride. Everything about the shop reeked of class and sophistication—the large gold script bearing Lillian’s name on the front door, the gold chandeliers, the glass cases holding bite-sized pastries, and the attractive tables and chairs inside the adjoining café, Myers Coffee Roasters. Located in Denny Triangle, a residential and professional community teeming with restaurants, bars, specialty shops and parks, the bakery had opened to rave reviews two months earlier and was now a Seattle favorite.
“I don’t know what to order. Everything looks amazing.”
“That’s because it is,” Jackson said confidently. “At Lillian’s of Seattle, we believe in using only natural ingredients, so whether you choose a double-fudge brownie or a slice of pecan pie, you can be sure that it’s one hundred percent fresh and one hundred percent delicious. Our mission is to make Seattle happier and tastier, and we will. One decadent dessert at a time.”
Thanking him again, the mother wandered off in search of a sweet treat.
Customers streamed through the open door and Jackson greeted everyone with a nod and a smile. The aromas of baked apples, cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee wafted out of the kitchen, reminding Jackson of all the summers he’d visited his great-aunt Lillian in Chicago and worked at her bakery. There he’d gained a love of cooking and developed a keen interest in the family business. His parents, Graham and Nadia, thought he was wasting his time at Lillian’s. A savvy real estate agent and self-made man, his father had built a successful life for himself in Seattle and wanted the same for his children. Last week at Sunday dinner his mother had admonished him to quit baking and find a “real” job. A man’s job. Jackson didn’t let her comments get to him. Instead he let them roll off his back. He wasn’t going to bail on Chase and Mariah—or disappoint his great-aunt—and he wanted to make Lillian’s a success.
The mood inside the bakery was festive and Jackson noted customers were talking, laughing and stuffing their faces with pastries. Thanks to his twenty-six-year-old sister, Mariah, the bakery had quickly become a popular hangout spot for stay-at-home moms, chic twentysomethings and college students. A former advertising assistant at a billion-dollar food company, she put her knowledge and training to good use. She ensured everything ran smoothly at Lillian’s and had proved to be a skilled baker, as well. Everyone had an important role at the bakery. Chase was the brains, Mariah was the talent and Jackson not only made specialty cakes, but he was also the face of the company, the unofficial spokesperson. He loved people—especially women—and since most of their customers were females, he manned the register, chatted them up and encouraged them to return. They always did. Chase believed Jackson was Lillian’s secret weapon and Jackson appreciated his brother’s faith in him.
Jackson checked the time on his platinum wristwatch. Where was Mariah? She used to be the first one at the bakery, but these days she spent more time with her millionaire boyfriend, Everett Myers, than she did at the shop. Jackson teased her for falling head-over-heels for the widowed coffee importer and his eight-year-old son, EJ, but he was secretly thrilled for her. Chase, too. His siblings had found love, and even though Jackson had zero desire to settle down or have a family of his own, he was happy for them. Love would never be in the cards for him. He easily got bored, craved spontaneity and excitement, and couldn’t imagine wanting to be with the same person for the rest of his life.
“Good morning,” a blonde cooed, sailing through the open door.
“Welcome to Lillian’s,” he greeted. “If you need anything just let me know.”
“I will.” Winking lasciviously, she licked her lips. “You can bet on it.”
Glancing outside, Jackson was surprised to see the weather had changed from a warm and sunny June morning to windy and overcast. He’d been too busy baking to notice. He had to make a baseball-themed cake for a fiftieth birthday party, and since he didn’t want to disappoint the owner of the Seattle Mariners, he’d started working on it bright and early that morning.
A wistful smile found his lips. Two months at Lillian’s and it still blew Jackson’s mind that he was a baker. After watching seven seasons of Cake Boss, and several online tutorials, he’d tried his hand at making a three-tier fondant cake for Chase and Amber’s engagement party. Not only did Mariah love the elaborate design, she’d also said it tasted delicious and commissioned him to make samples for the bakery. Within a week, he had so many orders to fill he’d had to hire another baker to keep up with the demand. His specialty cakes were a hit, and Jackson was confident his one-of-a-kind chocolate creation would wow guests at the party on Friday night.
“Good morning. Welcome to...”
His eyes fell across the tall, willowy woman standing outside at the crosswalk at Denny Way, and Jackson lost his train of thought. Couldn’t speak. Feeling his knees buckle, he leaned against the door to support his weight. Everything screeched to a halt as he gazed at the attractive female in the sleeveless blue dress. Her pixie cut drew attention to her big doe eyes, her lush pink lips and blinding white teeth. There was something sad and pensive about her, a vulnerability he found oddly appealing. She wore a don’t-mess-with-me expression on her face and her arms were crossed, but there was no disputing her beauty.
Jackson openly admired her, told himself to quit staring but he couldn’t look away. She was a stunner. Beautiful cleavage, slim hips, curves that made his mouth water. He was a leg man, had been since the first time he’d seen Tyra Banks on the cover of Black Men magazine back in the day, and the woman had a long, sleek pair. The model doesn’t have a damn thing on her, he thought, his gaze gliding down her thighs, his hands itching to follow suit.
Intrigued, he continued watching her. The older gentleman standing to her left in the charcoal-grey suit tapped her on the shoulder, but Luscious Lips was having none of it. Giving him her back, she stared intently at the traffic light and the moment it changed she left the stranger in her dust. She moved with poise, carried herself with inherent grace, and Jackson knew she came from money. His gaze zeroed in on her left hand. No ring. That meant she was fair game. Women who looked like her—young, supple and hot—always had several boyfriends, and if by some stroke of good luck she was single, it was by choice.
Jackson was so busy staring at her, admiring her sexy, mesmerizing strut and every swish of her hips, he didn’t realize she’d breezed into the bakery until the scent of her perfume tickled his nostrils.
Snapping to attention, he straightened to his full height and checked his black T-shirt and khaki pants for any traces of flour. Like everyone in the room, he immediately took notice of her. Drawn to her, he trailed her around the store at a distance as she moved from one display to the next, carefully perusing the baked goods inside. Her big brown eyes missed nothing, read the handwritten note cards above each case as if she was about to be quizzed on the content. Minutes passed, but Luscious Lips still didn’t place an order.
Catching himself gawking at her, Jackson warned himself to get a grip. Luscious Lips marched toward the register and he slid behind the counter, curious about the woman with the model good-looks. She smelled of peaches and jasmine, an intoxicating scent that wreaked havoc on his body. He couldn’t get his thoughts in order, couldn’t get his mouth to work, and felt an erection stab the zipper of his jeans. Heat singed his cheeks, drenching his skin with perspiration. Jackson couldn’t think of anything but kissing her, ravishing her with his mouth. He was dying to touch her, wanted to caress her from her shoulders to her hips, and between her thighs.
“Are you going to help me, or stand there staring off into space?”
Her tone was clipped, full of annoyance, but she had a lovely voice. The gap between her two front teeth enhanced her one-of-a-kind look. The more Jackson stared at her the more he wanted her, desired her, imagined himself stealing a kiss from her plump, moist lips. “I’m Jackson Drayson, one of the owners of this fine establishment.”
Her eyebrows drew together in a questioning slant, but she didn’t speak.
“Lillian’s is Seattle’s favorite bakery, and I’m confident you’ll love our pastries, especially our baguettes and croissants. They’re better than the ones they make in France!”
“You’re not the only bakery in town.”
“That’s true,” he conceded, “but I’ve tried the others and they’re not even in our league. Our baked goods are the best in town, and we’ll prove it next month at Bite of Seattle.”
A scowl bruised her delicate features. “For a newcomer, you’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“Draysons always are, and for good reason. Our sister company, Lillian’s of Chicago, has been in business for over forty years, but its humble beginnings won’t stop us from expanding our beloved pastry empire and winning the hearts of Americans.”
“Thanks for the history lesson.”
To let her know he was interested, he wore a broad grin and leaned over the counter. “What’s your name, beautiful, and when can I take you out? Is tomorrow soon enough?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I came here to eat, not to make a love connection.”
An awkward silence fell between them, but Jackson wanted to make her smile. Down but not out, he spoke in a casual, relaxed tone, refusing to show that her words had rattled his confidence. “You must be a foodie,” he joked, determined to brighten her mood, “because I’ve never seen anyone take twenty minutes to decide what to order.”
“Is that a crime?” she quipped. “I didn’t realize I was being timed.”
His gaze strayed from her eyes to her lips. He liked watching them move, imagined how they’d feel around his— Jackson slammed the brakes on the explicit thought. Luscious Lips was stunning, no doubt, one of the sexiest women he’d ever seen in the flesh, but he could do without her brusque tone and frosty attitude.
“I’ll have a pistachio cupcake.”
Jackson punched in her order, and took the ten-dollar bill from her outstretched hand. Their fingers touched, brushed against each other, causing an electric current to shoot through his body. He stood, frozen in place, his leather Kenneth Cole shoes rooted to the floor, unable to move. Their attraction, the chemistry crackling between them, was so potent it consumed the air, made it impossible for Jackson to do anything but stare at her. Embarrassed by his physical response to her touch, he broke the spell by giving his head a shake and expelling a deep breath. He had to get ahold of himself, or he’d be the laughingstock of the bakery. His employees were watching him, all wearing the same puzzled expressions on their faces, and Jackson wanted to kick himself for acting like a horny teen.
Man, snap out of it! yelled his inner voice. You’re a player, not a scrub, so get your head in the game, or she’ll never, ever give you the time of day.
“Can I get my change? I’m pressed for time, and I don’t want to be late for work.”
Snapping out of his thoughts, he nodded, and gave Luscious Lips her money. Seconds later, he handed over her purchase. He expected her to turn and march off—giving him another view of her perfectly round backside—but she opened the dainty white take-out box, immediately took out the cupcake and tasted it. Surprise flashed in her eyes, and Jackson didn’t know if that was good or bad. Once again, he was captivated, unable to look away.
She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, and then said to herself, “The vanilla extract is excessive. Half a teaspoon would have been more than enough.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow. What? Where does she get off criticizing my baking? He’d followed the recipe to a T and customers had been raving about his cupcakes all morning. Oddly enough, he was insulted by her critique and turned on. Luscious Lips obviously knew something about baking, and how to leave a man breathless. As she marched out the door, swishing her shapely hips, Jackson felt his pulse throb in his ears.
Curious, he opened the case, grabbed a pistachio cupcake from the top shelf and took a bite. The cupcake was moist and flavorful, but the vanilla extract was excessive. Dang it if she wasn’t right! His desire for Luscious Lips cooled, evaporating like smoke. Jackson loved women, and in all his twenty-eight years he’d never met a female he didn’t like—until now. Why did she have to be so cold? Why did she have to dog his baking? Didn’t she know how hard it was to wake up at 5:00 a.m. and bake hundreds of pastries after a night of clubbing?
Hearing his cell phone buzz, he took it out of his back pocket and punched in his password. He had two new text messages. As usual, Diego was checking up on him. He’d call his buddy during his lunch break to touch base with him. Jackson considered Diego Maldonado—his friend since the fifth grade—and his large, loving, Portuguese brood to be his second family. Reading the second text, he couldn’t believe his good luck. His ex-girlfriend wanted to know if he was free tomorrow night. She had two front-row tickets for the T.I. concert, and VIP passes for the after party at Trinity Nightclub. Did he want to go?
Hell, yeah, Jackson thought, immediately responding to her message. He’d dated the paralegal for three months, but called it quits when she started dropping not-so-subtle hints about moving into his Beacon Hill bachelor pad. They weren’t soul mates, but they’d always be great friends. Jackson hung out with all of his exes—except Mimi. They hadn’t spoken since he’d called off their engagement last year, and he had no intention of ever speaking to Mimi Tanaka again. As far as Jackson was concerned, she was dead to him.
Remembering the night they broke up, he realized he’d dodged a bullet by ending their relationship. Marriage wasn’t for everyone, and Jackson was smart enough to realize it wasn’t for him. He had decades of bachelorhood ahead of him, years of skirt chasing to enjoy, and he wasn’t going to screw that up by getting hitched. His brother and sister were over-the-moon in love, walking around the bakery all day long with permanent smiles on their faces, but Jackson had zero desire to find love. That didn’t mean he didn’t value and respect women. He did. Thought they were exciting, fascinating creatures, and for that reason just one would never do.
“We’re running low on éclairs and we’re out of lemon scones, as well...”
Jackson blinked, returning to the present. Kelsey Andrews, an intern from the Seattle Culinary Academy, sidled up beside him, eyes bright, smile in place, curls tumbling around her face. Yesterday after work she’d invited him to Zani Bar for drinks, but he’d turned her down, lied and said he had plans with his dad. Kelsey was ten years his junior, and he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea or encourage her advances. Workplace romances never worked, and if he hooked up with the fresh-faced barista, Mariah would kick his ass.
“If you don’t mind manning the till, I’ll head to the kitchen and make another batch.”
“No problem,” she purred, her gaze full of longing. “Anything for you, Jackson.”
Put off by her seductive tone, Jackson stalked out of the bakery and into the bright, spacious kitchen. He grabbed an oversized mixing bowl and the ingredients he needed from the cupboard. Getting down to work, he put all thoughts of Luscious Lips out of his mind. She wasn’t the only beautiful woman in town, and if she didn’t want to go out with him it was her loss, not his. He had things to do, had to finish the pastries before the insane lunch rush, but this time when he made pistachio cupcakes he’d go easy on the vanilla extract.
Despite himself, he wore a rueful smile. What a morning. What a woman, he thought, remembering their terse exchange. Jackson was mad at himself for not getting her name. He wished he knew more about her besides her penchant for pistachio cupcakes. He had a feeling Luscious Lips would return to Lillian’s one day soon, felt it in his gut, and when she did he was going to get her name and her phone number—even if it meant using every trick in his arsenal.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_86da298f-f922-5f4e-9b70-e4d8197c8e1e)
“You did what?” Doug Nicholas roared.
He cursed, yelling so loud it caused the window inside his elegantly decorated office at Sweetness Bakery to shake. The room was filled with vibrant area rugs, cozy chairs and potted plants, but Grace would rather be at the dentist than stuck in her father’s office, listening to him rant and rave about how irresponsible she was. She was a twenty-six-year-old woman with a strong head on her shoulders, but he made her feel like a screwup.
“What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind?”
Of average height, with thinning grey hair and eyeglasses perched on his nose, he had a grumpy disposition and spoke in a low, clipped tone. He was rough around the edges, gruff at times, but Grace loved him with all her heart. “Dad, calm down—”
“What possessed you to go to Lillian’s?” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. “What if a reporter was on hand and snapped a picture of you stuffing your face at our competitor’s shop? Do you know how embarrassing that would be?”
Grace bit her tongue, didn’t dare answer because it wasn’t a rhetorical question, and she didn’t want to make the situation worse. Swallowing a yawn, she snuck a glance at her wristwatch. It was eight o’clock and the bakery was closed for the day, but her father was making such a fuss she feared the cleaning crew would come running. Grace managed Sweetness, had since her mother’s untimely death, but her father was always on hand to help. It had been a banner year for the bakery, but Doug wasn’t satisfied, never was. They had an exceptional team that loved Sweetness Bakery, just as Rosemary had, and she knew her mother was smiling down on them. Thinking about her mom made her heart ache. Grace would do anything to see her again, to hug her, to hear her voice just one more time. “Dad, relax, it wasn’t that serious.”
“Don’t tell me to relax,” he snapped. “You could have humiliated the shop, and caused irreversible damage! Your behavior was dumb and reckless.”
His words stung, bruised her feelings, but Grace straightened in her chair and projected confidence, not fear. She’d made the right decision. She’d had no choice but to march into the splashy new bakery after reading the food blogs during her commute to work. According to bloggers, Lillian’s was the best thing to ever happen to Seattle. Their cupcakes were divine, the ambiance darling, the staff personable and attentive, the location a winner. Unfortunately, Grace had to agree. She couldn’t deny the truth. Her visit had been memorable—and not just because she’d met the hunky owner, Jackson Drayson—and she was curious if all of their pastries were to-die-for, or just the pistachio cupcakes. “Dad, I was merely checking out the competition and I’m glad I did. Now that we know what we’re up against we can formulate a plan.”
A pensive expression on his face, he stroked his pointy jaw. “What did you find out?”
That the picture in the Seattle Times of Jackson Drayson at Lillian’s grand opening in April didn’t do the baker justice! Grace felt a nervous flutter inside her belly. He’s even sexier in person, and his voice is so seductive I shivered when he spoke to me. Add to that, his cologne, like his smile, was intoxicating.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Doug admonished. “Spill it.”
Grace chose her words carefully, didn’t reveal everything at once. She told her dad about her visit that morning, but didn’t mention her run-in with Jackson. It wasn’t important. He wasn’t important, and she didn’t want to waste time talking about him. She’d sized him up in five seconds flat. He was a lady-killer, a man who took great pleasure in seducing women—not her type in the least. Jackson Drayson was the personification of the term deadly sexy, and when she’d entered the bakery she noticed every female in the room was staring at the dreamy baker with lust in her eyes. The man was an attention seeker who wasn’t happy unless women were fawning all over him, and Grace planned to stay far away from Mr. Smug.
“Tell me more.” Doug leaned forward in his leather chair. “Was the bakery packed? What is the mood and feel of the shop? Did you enjoy the cupcake?”
Grace answered her dad’s questions the best she could. The more she spoke the more stress lines wrinkled her father’s forehead. She’d never seen him like this—fidgeting with his hands, shifting around on his chair, grumbling under his breath—and feared he was having a nervous breakdown.
“I owe you an apology. You were right. Checking out Lillian’s was a smart move.”
“Thanks, Dad, and now I think it’s the perfect time to implement some of the changes we spoke about last month,” she said, feeling a rush of excitement. “Seattle has the best indie artists in the country, and I think we should showcase their talents at Sweetness. We can extend our weekend hours and offer two-for-one specials, as well. Poetry Fridays and Talent Night Saturdays will definitely attract new customers.”
“This is a bakery, Grace. Not America’s Got Talent.”
“Dad, at least consider it—”
“There’s nothing to consider. It’s a stupid idea and we’re not doing it. Case closed.”
Flinching, as if slapped across the face, she dropped her gaze to her lap and blinked back the tears in her eyes. It was moments like this Grace wished she had siblings. Someone else she could vent to about the bakery, her promotional ideas, her dreams of moving to New York. After graduating from the Seattle Culinary Academy, she’d planned to relocate to the Big Apple to take the culinary world by storm. But it wasn’t to be. Her mother’s death had changed everything. She’d put her plans on ice and devoted her time and energy to growing the family business. To better aid her dad, she’d enrolled in graduate school and acquired a master’s degree in accounting and financial management. It was tough, working at the bakery during the day and attending school at night, but she’d pulled through and graduated at the top of her class.
Her gaze fell across the framed photographs hanging on the ivory walls. Images of her mother—cutting the ribbon at the bakery’s opening in the early eighties, rolling cookie dough, laughing with customers, manning the till—brought a sad smile to her lips. Her dad could be stubborn and narrow-minded at times, but he was the only family she had left. Since she’d never do anything to disrespect him, she held her tongue.
“Now is not the time to shake things up. We could alienate customers.” Grunting, he scooped up the papers on his desk and shook his hands in the air. “Lillian’s of Seattle opened a couple months ago, but they’re already cutting into our profits. Sales are down nine percent since April, and those jerks are the reason why. We have to stop them before it’s too late.”
“Dad, what are you saying?”
A devilish gleam darkened his face. Her father had a reputation for playing dirty, for outwitting his business rivals with skillful maneuvers, but Grace wanted no part of his schemes. It wasn’t her. Wasn’t in her DNA to be sneaky and underhanded, and she didn’t want to do anything she’d live to regret. Her mother’s words came back to her, playing in her ears loud and clear. Be a woman of integrity, she’d admonished one afternoon while they were baking pastries for a two-hundred-guest baby shower. And don’t let anyone change who you are.
“Your mother built Sweetness through blood, sweat and tears, and it’s more than just a bakery. It’s her legacy, and I’d never forgive myself if I lost this place.”
“Dad, you won’t. Sweetness has been the leading bakery in Seattle for decades and that will never change. Our customers are loyal and they won’t desert us.”
“I won’t lose to a bunch of rich kids who’ve had everything in life handed to them, who’ve never had to work for anything. It’s not going to happen because I won’t let it.”
Grace wanted to correct him, to tell her dad that based on what she’d read and seen about Jackson Drayson his assumption couldn’t be further from the truth. But she knew it was a bad idea to defend the enemy. Her mind returned to their conversation that morning. She vividly remembered his scent, the sound of his voice, how his eyes twinkled with mischief when he’d asked her out. Reflecting on their exchange, Grace wished she hadn’t been so mean to him. She heard the talk around the bakery, and in her upscale Bellevue neighborhood. She knew what men said about her. They called her the Ice Queen, a man hater, and complained she was more difficult than a pop star.
Painful memories flooded her heart, piercing her soul like a dagger. Before Phillip Davies, she’d always thought the best of people, but after their bitter breakup she’d lost faith in not only men, but also her ability to choose the right one. Love was overrated. For women who believed in fairy tales. A waste of time, and she’d vowed never to put herself out there again. Why bother? Love didn’t last, didn’t work, and Grace wanted no part of it.
Seeing Jackson’s image in her mind’s eye, despite her futile attempts to block it out, Grace wondered if he had a girlfriend. She snorted, snickering inwardly. Of course he had a girlfriend. Probably several. One for every day of the week, and in every state, no doubt. Not that she cared. Everything about the overconfident baker screamed player—his swagger, his bad-boy grin, the tattoo on his left bicep that said “Live each day as if it’s your last.” And since he wasn’t her type, Grace shook off her thoughts and stood. It had been another ten-hour day and she was beat. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and fall asleep. “Dad, I’m tired. If it’s okay with you, I’ll prepare the profit-and-loss statements in the morning.”
“On your way in tomorrow, stop in at Lillian’s and sample something else.” Doug snapped his fingers. “I know. Buy one of those dragnet things they’re advertising all over the place. I want to see what all the fuss is about. The food critic for the Seattle Times said ‘It’s heaven in your mouth’ but I think she’s exaggerating. You know how women are.”
“Dad, I don’t think returning to Lillian’s is a good idea.”
His eyes dimmed, and a frown pinched his thin lips. “Why not?”
Because I’m attracted to Jackson Drayson’s light brown eyes, full lips shaped by a trimmed goatee and muscled biceps. I’m liable to trip and fall flat on my face the next time he smiles at me!
Knowing she couldn’t tell the truth, she said the first thing that came to mind. “If I go back it might raise suspicions.”
“Nonsense. They have no idea who you are.” Doug waved off her concerns with a flick of his hands. “It’s crucial you find out more about Lillian’s. If we’re going to crush them—and we will—we need to gather more intel, so return to the bakery and uncover their secrets.”
Her shoulders sagged and panic ballooned inside her chest. It was official. Her dad had lost it. Gone off the deep end. And now, more than ever, she missed her mom. Rosemary had died fourteen months ago and not a day went by that Grace didn’t think about her. Losing her mom had been a devastating blow, and if not for her father she never would have survived Rosemary’s death. He’d been her anchor, her rock, and although she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was making a mistake, she asked, “Dad, what do you want me to do?”
For the first time since she’d entered his office an hour earlier, her dad’s face brightened and he grinned like a five-year-old who’d been given a new bike. “Maybe you can fake food poisoning or a nasty spill as you leave the shop. Bad publicity will drive customers away from Lillian’s and straight through our doors.”
Too shocked to speak, Grace dropped back down in her chair, her mind reeling. Her dad mistook her silence as acquiescence and offered one nefarious idea after another. Grace struggled to make sense of what he was saying and couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d raised her to be an honest, trustworthy person. He loved money, would do anything to make more, and hated that Lillian’s was cutting into his profits. For that reason he was willing to break the rules. Speaking in an animated voice, he encouraged her to return to the bakery, admonished her to befriend the baristas, and even the owners.
“Grace, are you in?”
Feeling trapped, her lips too numb to move, she slowly nodded.
“That’s my girl!”
Chuckling, he rose from his chair and came around the desk.
Standing on wobbly legs, Grace dug her sandals into the carpet to steady herself.
“We got so caught up talking about Lillian’s, I forgot why I asked you to come to my office in the first place,” he said, shaking his head as if annoyed with himself. “I’m having Mr. and Mrs. Ventura over for brunch next Sunday, and I want you there.”
Grace thought hard, but couldn’t recall ever meeting the couple. “Who?”
“Mr. Ventura is an anesthesiologist, his wife is a pharmacist, and they own a slew of pharmacies on the west coast. They’re a wealthy, well-connected couple with friends in high places, and I’m dying to join their social circle. Hence, the dinner party.”
“Dad, I can’t. I have roller derby practice at noon. ”
He snorted. “I wish you’d quit that stupid team.”
“And I wish you wouldn’t work 24/7.”
“If I host a dinner party on the twentieth, will you come?”
Grace had a game that afternoon, but she didn’t tell her dad. Didn’t want to upset him. “Sure, Dad,” she said with a forced smile. “I’ll bring the wine.”
“Wear something nice,” he advised. “They’re bringing their son and he’s single.”
“That’s nice, but I’m not interested.”
“You should be. Ainsworth Ventura owns a profitable management company and was recently named entrepreneur of the year. Do you know what dating him could do for us?”
Grace didn’t know, didn’t care and had zero desire to meet the Seattle businessman.
“Like you, he’s ready to settle down and start a family.”
“Settling down is the furthest thing from my mind—”
“You’ll change your mind once you meet Ainsworth. He’s a ridiculously wealthy young man with everything going for him. Google him. You’ll see that I’m right.”
Yawning, she reached into her pocket for her cell phone, curious if her girlfriend Bronwyn Johansson had answered the text she’d sent that morning. They hadn’t seen each other in a week, and Grace was looking forward to catching up with her bestie.
“Think you can make some of your apple beignets and toffee cookie bars for dessert?”
Grace shifted her weight from one foot to the next, fidgeting with her fingers. She hadn’t set foot in the kitchen since her mother’s death and didn’t plan to. She used to love baking, would spend hours experimenting in the kitchen, but without Rosemary at her side, cooking held no appeal. These days she worked in the back office, managing the bakery the best she could. “No. I can’t,” she said, unable to shake her melancholy feelings.
“The regulars keep asking when you’ll be back in the kitchen and I want to know, too.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t feel up to it right now.”
“Grace, it’s been fourteen months. You have to move on.”
Her stomach churned and pain stabbed her heart. Was there a time limit on grief? A predetermined mourning period her therapist had failed to mention to her? Grace wanted to turn the tables on her dad, wanted to ask him when he was going to quit hiding out in his office and start living again, but knew better than to question him. “Dad, I’m beat. I’m going home.”
“All right. Good night, pumpkin. Text me when you get home.”
Living at home wasn’t ideal, especially when Grace wanted to entertain, but whenever she broached the subject of finding her own place, her dad got upset, said he couldn’t stand to live in the house alone, and she’d bury the idea. He still missed her mom, continued to grieve her death over a year later, and balked whenever Grace encouraged him to join a social club, or try online dating. “Don’t worry, Dad. I will. I always do.”
“I know. You’re such a good girl. The best daughter a father could ever ask for.”
He wasn’t one to show affection; Grace was shocked when her dad hugged her and kissed her cheek. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d held her, and she was comforted by his touch. Hearing her cell phone, she took it out of the pocket of her blazer and glanced discreetly at the screen. Grace groaned inwardly. What did Phillip want now? He was as annoying as a pesky mosquito, buzzing around in the dead of night, and she was sick of him blowing up her phone. Why was he calling her? Couldn’t he take a hint? It was the third time he’d phoned her that afternoon, but since Grace had nothing to say to him she let the call go to voice mail.
“We need to work together to save your mother’s shop,” her father said quietly, sorrow flickering across his strong facial features. “I’m counting on you to come through for me.”
“Dad, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Sweetness on top. I promise.” But as the impassioned declaration left her mouth, Grace knew it was a lie.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_85e2e4f1-73ed-517c-babb-ec2395f4b2d7)
This is so wrong. I shouldn’t be here, Grace thought, her conscience plagued with guilt. I should be at Sweetness getting caught up on paperwork, not sitting here like a groupie hoping to catch a glimpse of Jackson “player extraordinaire” Drayson.
Seated at a corner table inside Myers Coffee Roasters café, sipping an espresso topped with oodles of whipped cream, Grace watched the comings and goings inside Lillian’s with keen interest, wondering where the man of the hour was.
For the second time in minutes Grace glanced at her watch, then around the room. She didn’t see Jackson anywhere and she’d been looking out for him since arriving at the bakery an hour earlier. Grace was filled with mixed emotions. Relief, because she turned into a jittery fool whenever Jackson was around, and disappointment, because she enjoyed their playful banter. On Monday he’d teased her for ignoring him, on Wednesday he’d complimented her BCBG keyhole dress—claimed he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her—then suggested she take him out for a romantic dinner. He’d slipped a handwritten note into her purse when she wasn’t looking, and finding it hours later made her heart smile. It was a cute gesture, one that made her crack up every time she reread his message, but Grace couldn’t call him, not without looking desperate, so she hid the note in her top drawer and deleted all thoughts of Jackson from her mind.
Ha! barked her inner voice. If you were trying to forget him you wouldn’t be in his bakery.
Grace lowered her coffee mug from her lips and cranked her head to the right. Every time the door chimed her heart raced. Where is he? Did Jackson have the day off? Was he out with one of his girlfriends? Wining, dining and seducing his flavor of the week? Of course he was, Grace decided. The baker was an affable, laid-back guy who obviously loved women, and it would be wise to keep her distance.
Reflecting on their heated exchange the day they’d met, Grace wished she hadn’t let Jackson get under her skin. It was clear from then on that she was going to have her hands full with the hottie baker, and yesterday he’d been in fine form. Every time she entered Lillian’s he was charming his female customers, and when Grace pointed it out to him, he’d teased her for being jealous and insisted she wanted him all to herself.
Snorting in disgust, she shook her head at the memory. Grace couldn’t believe his nerve, how smug he was. To keep her anger in check she’d had to bite her tongue. Despite her misgivings about her “assignment” she’d stopped in at Lillian’s every day to sample something new. Peanut-butter-sandwich cookies on Monday, orange-marmalade coffee cake two days later, a walnut muffin on Thursday and today a Draynut. The pastry was a combination of croissant and donut, and customers were lined up around the block to get their hands on the pricey dessert that her father had mistakenly referred to as a “dragnet.”
Grace stared at her gold-rimmed plate, wondering if the pastry was as delicious as the food bloggers said it was. So far, she’d been impressed by the quality of the baked goods at Lillian’s. She’d assumed the bakery wouldn’t live up to the hype or her implausibly high standards. Trends came and went, and a little bit of buzz could go a long way when a business first opened. Grace was pleasantly—or rather unpleasantly—surprised to learn that yes, Lillian’s was that good. She’d made the mistake of mentioning that to her father last night at dinner, and once again he’d urged her to return to the bakery to sample the rest of the items on the menu. Her father wanted to know exactly what the Draysons were producing, and expected her to report back about the inner workings of the family-operated bakery.
Reflecting on her mission, Grace considered what her dad wanted her to do. One week of spying and she was still uncomfortable about it. Sure, she wasn’t doing anything illegal, but she felt like a snake for spying on the competition and wanted to stop. The biggest problem? Each day she returned to Lillian’s brought her into close contact with Jackson—a man with soulful eyes, juicy lips she wanted to kiss and muscles she was dying to stroke. He was intelligent and perceptive, and Grace feared he’d catch on to what she was doing and expose her. Deep down, she was afraid of how attracted she was to Jackson and decided in her mind to ignore him—if he ever showed up at the bakery.
Grace glanced at her wristwatch again. She knew she should get going, but she didn’t want to leave. Looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of everyone’s favorite baker, Grace couldn’t believe how dark and gloomy it was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the sun, and hoped the thick storm clouds held back the rain until she reached work.
* * *
“Rodolfo and I are abstaining from sex until our wedding night. Isn’t that romantic?”
Grace swallowed the quip on the tip of her tongue. She’d asked her bestie, Bronwyn, to meet her at Lillian’s for breakfast, but regretted it the moment their orders had arrived. When the speech pathologist wasn’t cooing about her nectarine honey tart, she was gushing about her decades-older fiancé and their fall wedding. Slim, with hazel eyes and blond curls, Bronwyn exuded such warmth and confidence she made friends everywhere she went. “Yes,” she drawled sarcastically. “It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re just jealous. You wish you had a man as sweet and as loving as Rodolfo.”
No, I wish my vibrator wasn’t on the blink, because it didn’t get the job done this morning and I need an orgasm in the worst way! Grace finished her coffee and set aside her mug. Anxious to sink her teeth into her dessert, she picked up her fork and cut into the Draynut. “Doesn’t it bother you that Rodolfo isn’t working?”
“No. I make enough money for the both of us and I love taking care of my Pooh Bear.”
The fork slipped from Grace’s hand and fell on the plate. Speechless, she stared at her friend in shock. Bronwyn liked to boast about all the nice things her fiancé did for her, but he was buying her expensive gifts with her charge card. Who did that? A real man would never take money from his woman, let alone demand a weekly allowance, and Grace didn’t understand why her bestie was cool with supporting a grown-ass man.
“The economy’s in the tank. People aren’t buying luxury cars like they used to—”
“Then he should get a job at another dealership instead of mooching off you.”
“No one’s mooching off anybody. Rodolfo’s a great catch, and I don’t mind helping him out financially from time to time. We’ve had our ups and downs and even split up for a while, but I’d rather be with Rodolfo than anyone else. He’s the only one for me...”
Listening to Bronwyn wax poetic about her fiancé, Grace realized she’d never loved anyone with unwavering devotion. Truth be told, she didn’t understand men, couldn’t figure them out, and doubted she ever would.
“Relationships are hard,” she quipped, with a knowing look, a smirk sitting pretty on her lips. “You of all people should know that.”
Grace ignored the dig, refusing to think about the night she’d dumped Phillip. To this day, Grace didn’t know what had possessed her to date the loudmouth physical trainer. Her father had always warned her that men would be after her for her money, but she didn’t believe him. Unfortunately, her dad was right. At the memory of the slap heard around the world—or rather inside Bronwyn’s elegant Capitol Hill home—Grace groaned as if she was being physically tortured. “I don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t my finest moment, and every time I think about it I want to hide. It’s so embarrassing.”
Bronwyn pushed a hand through her long, curly locks and Grace peered at her engagement ring. The diamond was so small she’d need a magnifying glass to see it, and the thick band looked cheap and old-fashioned. Grace was convinced Rodolfo had bought it at a pawn shop, or stole it from his great-great-grandmother, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
“Don’t sweat it, slugger. Philip’s face healed just fine.”
Grace stuck out her tongue, then laughed when Bronwyn did the same.
“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m not the one with the mean right hook.”
“You’re the worst, you know that?”
Bronwyn sobered. “If Philip apologized would you give him another chance?”
“No. Never. We have nothing in common, and we had no business dating.”
“Rodolfo and I ran into him yesterday while shopping at Bellevue Square, and he said you’re just taking a break, and you’ll be an item again in no time.”
“Ha!” Grace barked a laugh. “Girl, please, I’d rather join a convent!”
Bronwyn’s shrill, high-pitched giggles drew the attention of the patrons seated nearby.
Hungry, Grace picked up her fork and put it in her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she savored the rich, sweet pastry. Tasting cinnamon and hints of nutmeg on her tongue, she moaned in appreciation. The dessert did not disappoint. Grace sampled another bite of the Draynut and decided she didn’t like the dessert; she loved it.
“Tell me again why you wanted to meet here, and not at the bakery?”
“My dad asked me to check out the competition so here I am—”
“Sweet mother of God! Who is that and where has he been all my life?”
Grace didn’t have to turn around to know who Bronwyn was referring to, knew there was only one man inside Lillian’s of Seattle who could elicit such an emphatic response, but she did turn. Casting a glance over her right shoulder, she caught sight of Jackson stalking through the door, looking all kinds of sexy in a black sports jacket, crisp slacks and leather shoes.
Grace couldn’t take her eyes off of him. The man was a force of nature, so freakin’ hot her body tingled in places that made her blush. He must have sensed her watching him, felt the heat of her stare, because he met her gaze. She wore an aloof expression on her face and didn’t react when he winked at her, but her heart was doing backflips inside her chest. His grin revealed a set of matching dimples, straight white teeth and a twinkle in his eyes. Jackson moved with confidence, as if he could have anything in the world—including her—and that drew Grace to him.
“Do you know him?” Bronwyn asked. “Have you seen him here before?”
“That’s Jackson Drayson. He’s one of the three owners.”
“No,” she quipped, her gaze dark with lust. “That’s my second husband!”
Grace cupped a hand over her mouth to smother her girlish laughter.
“You tricked me.” Wearing an amused expression on her face, Bronwyn leaned across the table and leveled a finger at Grace. “You didn’t ask me to meet you here so we could catch up. You came down here to drool over that tall, beautiful specimen of a man.”
“As if. He’s not my type—”
“Says the girl who’s drooling all over her expensive designer dress!”
Grace noticed she wasn’t the only person in Lillian’s eyeing the dreamy baker. He’d captured the attention of everyone in the room and connected with patrons in meaningful ways. He shook hands, kissed babies, chatted with the group of senior citizens drinking coffee and saluted a female soldier waiting in line for her order. Jackson was a man’s man, a woman’s man, too, and it was obvious his customers loved him.
Watching Jackson charm everyone in the bakery made Grace realize her own inadequacies as an employee at Sweetness. She spent most of her days in her office, chained to her desk, and on the rare occasion she treated herself to lunch she sat outside in the park, not in the kitchen. Too many memories of her mother in there. Too many unfulfilled hopes and dreams, so she avoided the room at all costs. Customers, too. Everyone had a story to share about Rosemary, and hearing them broke her heart, overwhelmed her with pain and grief. For that reason, she kept her distance from the regulars.
“What’s his story?”
Grace told Bronwyn what she knew about Jackson, which wasn’t much, and noticed the expression on her friend’s face morph from excited to skeptical.
“Single, fine and successful?” she drawled. “There must be something wrong with him.”
“You mean besides that fact that he has a monster-sized ego?”
Bronwyn’s giggles skidded to a stop and her eyes widened with interest as Jackson stopped at their table. “Well, hello.”
“Good morning, ladies. Care to sample one of my Peppermint cheesecake bites?”
“Absolutely,” Bronwyn cooed, helping herself to one of the round minicakes.
Stuffed, so full she couldn’t move, Grace shook her head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
Bronwyn popped the dessert into her mouth, declared it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted and stuck out her right hand. “I’m Bronwyn Johansson, and you’re Jackson Drayson. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Everything Grace told you is true.”
Laughing together, Bronwyn and Jackson shook hands.
“It’s true what they say. Beautiful women do travel in packs.”
Bronwyn smiled so brightly she lit up the entire bakery. Grace tried not to gag. Surely, her friend wasn’t impressed with his pickup lines. But, sadly, she was. Silent and wide-eyed, she couldn’t believe her friend was flirting shamelessly with the bad-boy baker. Amused, Grace sank back in her chair and enjoyed the “Bronwyn and Jackson” show.
“You’re a great baker,” Bronwyn announced, her tone full of awe., “Your wife is one very lucky woman.”
“I’m not married.” His gaze slid across the table and landed on Grace. “But that could change any day now.”
Heat singed the tips of her ears and flowed through her body. Jackson made her hyperventilate, caused her thoughts to scatter in a million directions, and there was nothing Grace could do to stop it.
“I haven’t found Mrs. Right yet, but things are definitely starting to look up.”
“Describe your ideal woman.”
Grace kicked Bronwyn under the table, but her friend continued chatting a mile a minute.
“Don’t be shy,” she said, reaching out and patting his forearm good-naturedly, as if they were lifelong friends. “I love playing matchmaker, so let me help you find your soul mate.”
Jackson rested the wooden tray on the table. “That’s easy. I know exactly what I want.”
“Do tell. Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Bronwyn, don’t encourage him,” Grace implored, speaking through dry, pursed lips.
“I want to hear this. Go ahead, Jackson. I’m listening.”
His stare was bold and raked over her body with deliberate intent. “She’s five-ten, give or take a few inches, with mocha-brown skin, hourglass curves and legs like a Vegas showgirl.”
Oh, my goodness, he’s talking about me! Grace resisted the urge to cheer. Pride surged through her veins as she sat up taller in her chair. Fire and desire gleamed in his eyes, radiating from his chiseled six-foot body. Grace didn’t speak, kept the leave-me-the-hell-alone expression on her face, but when Jackson flashed his trademark grin her heart smiled. It must have appeared on her face because he looked pleased with himself, as if he’d developed an antidote for an incurable disease. He sat down in the empty chair beside her, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to kiss him.
“I know just the girl,” Bronwyn said, vigorously nodding her head. “Want her number? It’s 206-621—” Pop music played from inside her gold Michael Kors purse and she broke off speaking. Singing along with Taylor Swift, she retrieved her BlackBerry and checked the screen. “It’s my Pooh Bear! Jackson, keep Grace company until I get back. I won’t be long.”
“My pleasure,” he said, pouring on the charm. “Take your time.”
Her breakfast forgotten, Bronwyn surged to her feet and strode off.
“You look amazing. Do you model for Gucci, or are you just a huge fan of their clothes?”
“Surely, there’s someone else in here you can hit on,” she said with a nod toward the cash register. “How about that cute young barista with the curly hair? She’s always staring at you, and I’m sure she’d be flattered by your pickup lines.”
“I don’t spit lines. Just the truth.”
Seeing her cell phone light up, she glanced down at the screen and read her latest text message. Of course. It was from her dad. He wanted to know how things were going, but Grace decided not to respond. Not with the enemy sitting so close.
“When are you going to let me take you out? You know you want to.”
“I grew up here,” she said, “so there’s nowhere you can take me that I haven’t been to a million times before.”
“Try me. When we go out on Saturday night, I’ll knock you off your feet. Literally.”
“Are you always this cocky?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I have reason to be. I’m a pretty cool dude!”
His facial expression tickled her funny bone. Grace didn’t want to laugh, tried to swallow it, but it burst out of her mouth. Damn him! Why did he have to be funny and ridiculously hot?
“I love your laugh. It’s as captivating as your smile.”
“You wouldn’t be flirting with me if you knew who I was.”
“Ya think?” he said, leaning forward in his chair, his gaze full of interest. “Try me.”
“I’m your worst enemy.”
“Is that so, Ms. Nicholas? I prefer to think of us as colleagues, not rivals.”
* * *
Grace choked on her tongue. Oh, hell no!
The fact that Jackson already knew who she was and had been flirting with her anyway made her mad, but more than anything she was disappointed. All this time, she’d thought she was pulling one over on him, but he’d been pulling one over on her! Swallowing hard, Grace reclaimed her voice and asked the question racing through her mind. “You know who I am? But I never told you my last name. How did you figure it out?”
“Google. Twitter. Facebook. There are no secrets in this day and age. A few clicks of my mouse and I knew everything I wanted to know about you...”
Jackson spoke in a tone so seductive her nipples hardened under her fitted teal dress, and her thighs quivered. It took everything in her not to crush her lips to his mouth and steal a kiss. The man was long, lean and ripped, and Grace imagined all of the delicious things they could do together. Dirty dancing. Skinny-dipping. Tantric sex. Stunned by her lascivious thoughts, she tore her gaze away from his face and took a moment to gather herself.
“I like the quote you posted on your Facebook page this morning and couldn’t help wondering if it was about me. ‘Don’t be afraid of change. You may lose something good, but you may gain something infinitely better.’”
Everything in the bakery ceased to exist, faded to the background. Mesmerized, Grace listened to Jackson with growing interest, realized she’d been too quick to judge him. He was wise and insightful, and to her surprise she agreed with everything he said.
“There is no reason for us to be enemies. In fact, we could probably help each other. There is plenty of room for more than one bakery in town, and to prove it I’d be more than happy to give you a behind-the-scenes look at how things work at Lillian’s.”
His friendliness confused her. Why was he so willing to reveal company secrets?
“Come back after closing and I’ll give you a tour of our state-of-the art kitchen.”
Grace considered his offer. She suspected his invitation was the modern-day equivalent of inviting her upstairs to see his etchings, and wondered what else the hunky baker wanted to show her. The thought aroused her body, infected it with lust. What’s the matter with me? Why am I undressing him with my eyes? Why am I fantasizing about a man who has the power to break my heart and ruin my mother’s business?
“I better get back to the kitchen, or my sister will skin my hide.” Standing, tray in hand and grin on display, he winked good-naturedly. “See you at seven o’clock, beautiful. Stay sweet.”
Then, without waiting for her answer, he turned and strode off, as if the matter was decided. And that was when Grace knew she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_a7c0c140-2bae-5105-96da-57130c344fd4)
Jackson kept one eye on the clock hanging above the kitchen door and the other on Mariah. His sister was flittering around the room, wiping counters, cleaning cupboards, rearranging spices and supplies—all in all ruining his plans. He couldn’t cook a romantic dinner with Mariah lurking around, not without her asking a million questions, and if he didn’t get rid of her ASAP the appetizers wouldn’t be ready when his date arrived.
Jackson caught himself, striking the word from his mind. It wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting, an opportunity to learn more about the enemy and her shop, Sweetness Bakery. It was Lillian’s biggest competitor, the only thing standing in the way of greater profits and success. Jackson knew what he had to do. He had to get rid of the city’s oldest bakery—and its titillating master baker with the gap-toothed smile and decadent, Lord-have-mercy curves.
Past conversations with his dad while golfing at Rainier Country Club played in Jackson’s mind as he scrubbed the metal muffin tins soaking in the sink. Graham had always admonished him to keep his friends close, and his enemies closer—within striking distance—and he intended to take his dad’s advice. There was no way in hell he was going to let Grace and her father outshine Lillian’s of Seattle. He thought of telling Mariah about his numerous conversations with the master baker, but sensed it was a bad idea. He’d tell her tomorrow, after he’d successfully seduced Grace, and would call Chase to bring him up to speed, as well.
“Things were so busy this afternoon I didn’t get a chance to tell you the good news,” Mariah said, her tone infused with excitement. “Belinda called at lunch to tell me the Chicago clan is coming down for Bite of Seattle.”
Jackson twirled a finger in the air. “Lucky us.”
“Jack, give them a break. They’re trying to make amends for the past and build relationships with us. What more do you want them to do?”
“They think they’re better than us because Lillian’s of Chicago blew up but we’re every bit as good as they are, if not better.”
“I agree with you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be one big happy family.”
Jackson was confused. He couldn’t figure out why his siblings, namely Mariah, wanted to be besties with their snobby Chicago relatives. Over the years he’d reached out to them numerous times—invited them to his parents’ anniversary bash, to come celebrate the Christmas holidays and even offered to fly them to Seattle for a weekend—and even though they attended family events Jackson still didn’t feel close to them. And after the success of their “Brothers Who Bake” blog and bestselling cookbook, Carter, Belinda and Shari were busier—and snobbier—than ever. “What are you doing with yourself tonight?” he asked, wisely changing the subject. He didn’t want to argue with Mariah, and talking about their relatives always put him in a bad mood. “Where is Prince Charming taking you?”
A girlish smile covered Mariah’s face. “I don’t know. Everett said it’s a surprise, but I think he’s treating me to a home-cooked meal, and I can’t wait. He’s an incredible cook.”
“I’ll finish up here. Go ahead and get your grub on,” Jackson joked.
Instead of leaving, Mariah opened the closet and grabbed the wooden broom. “You’ve been here early every day this week, so if anyone should leave it’s you, so go ahead.”
“But it’s almost six thirty. Aren’t you going to go home and freshen up for your date?”
“There’s no time. I’ll just go straight to Everett’s place from here.”
“Dressed like that?” he asked, knowing full well his comment would get a rise out of her. “Okay, suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Now he had Mariah’s attention. She stopped sweeping, hitched a hand to her hip and fixed him with a dark, steady gaze. “Warn me about what?”
To buy himself some time, he turned the water on full blast and rinsed the dishes. Jackson didn’t know what Everett had planned for his sister, but faked like he did. Mariah had to leave before Grace arrived, and if he had to fib to make it happen then so be it. “Maybe Everett’s taking you out.” Jackson shut off the tap and dried his hands on his green apron. “Maybe he’s taking you to Le Gourmand for a romantic dinner, then to the Usher concert.”
Her eyes brightened, lit up like fireworks.
“Everett loves seeing you all dolled up, so go home, change out of those dirty clothes and put on your fanciest designer dress,” he instructed. “Trust me. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
Mariah squealed and Jackson chuckled. He’d never seen his sister so excited. Glad the pain of his sister’s divorce was finally behind her, buried in the past where it belonged, Jackson made a mental note to thank Everett for taking good care of his sister when they played basketball on Wednesday.
“Does Everett have something big planned?”
“I don’t know,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “But what if he does? You don’t want to be covered in flour when your man romances you, do you?”
Mariah untied her apron and tossed it down on the counter. “Good point.”
“Have fun, sis, and tell Everett and EJ I said ‘What’s up.’”
The moment Mariah left the kitchen Jackson sprung into action. He had thirty minutes to cook and no time to waste. He was going to seduce Grace Nicholas, then persuade her to spill bakery secrets. The thought heartened him and a grin claimed his mouth. When he was through with the gorgeous master baker, she wouldn’t know what hit her. Whistling along with the hip-hop song playing on the satellite radio, Jackson grabbed the bottle of bourbon he’d hidden under the sink and got down to work.
* * *
Grace sat inside her silver Jaguar XF, berating herself for driving to Lillian’s after work instead of going home. Eight hours after leaving the bakery, with Bronwyn in tow, Grace was back, and for the life of her she didn’t know why. Common sense told her to drive off, implored her to stay far away from Jackson Drayson, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight could be a game changer. Maybe Jackson was right. Maybe they could be friends...allies.
Raindrops beat against the windshield and a cold chill flooded the car. The forecast called for heavy rain, which should have been reason enough for Grace to leave, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. Wanted to see what Jackson had up his sleeve. Why he’d invited her back to the bakery after closing. And if he was serious about them working together, or just playing mind games, like her ex. It was probably the latter, but Grace wanted to know for sure.
He invited you back here to put the moves on you. Isn’t it obvious?
The thought should have scared her, should have sent Grace running for the hills, but it didn’t. Deep down, she was attracted to him and flattered by his attention. Who wouldn’t be? Jackson knew what to say to make her smile, plied her with compliments, and Grace looked forward to seeing the sexy baker every morning. Truth be told, their flirtatious banter was the highlight of her day, a welcome reprieve from her troubled thoughts.
Go home before it’s too late, warned her inner voice.
Grace couldn’t leave even if she wanted to. She’d made the mistake of telling her dad about Jackson’s offer and he’d practically shoved her out Sweetness’s doors at six thirty. He’d insisted she return to Lillian’s, and although he was having dinner with friends tonight, he expected a full report tomorrow morning. Hell, he’d probably be sitting in her bedroom when she got home, champing at the bit for salacious gossip about their biggest competitor.
Thunder boomed and the wind howled, whipping leaves and tree branches around. The street was so dark Grace couldn’t see where the bakery was. Was Jackson even inside? Had he changed his mind about meeting her, and left at closing? There was only one way to find out.
Twisting around, she searched the backseat for her belted trench jacket, but didn’t find it among her things. If I’d gone inside ten minutes ago instead of hiding out in my car, I wouldn’t be stuck in the rainstorm now, she thought, annoyed with herself for acting like a scaredy-cat.
Grace dug around in her Fendi purse for something to shield her from the rain. Picking up her cell phone, she noticed she had two messages from Phillip and snorted in disgust. She wasn’t returning his call. What for? They were over and she had nothing to say to him.
Hearing a knock on the driver’s side window, Grace glanced to her right. Standing in the street, holding an oversized umbrella, Jackson looked more like a knight in shining armor than her business rival. Drawn to him, Grace feared she’d be putty in his hands when they were alone, but willed herself to resist his seductive charms. She saw his lips move, heard his voice, but the rain was so loud she couldn’t understand what he was saying.
“Let’s go inside. Everything’s ready...”
He gestured for her to come out of the car and stepped back to make room for her to exit the vehicle. Throwing open the door, Grace hopped out of her seat and took the hand Jackson offered. It was firm, felt nice around hers, and her heart smiled when he pulled her close to his side. Cold water covered her ankle-tie sandals and rain beat against her lace dress. The fabric stuck to her body like paint as they sprinted down the sidewalk and into the bakery.
Her eyes wide in surprise, a gasp fell from her lips. Grace was struck by how intimate the space looked, how sensual and romantic it was. The air held a savory aroma, potted candles filled the space with light and Bruno Mars was playing, singing earnestly about the woman he treasured. The table at the rear of the shop—the one they’d sat at that morning—was dressed in fine linen. Roses sat in a glass vase and a wine bottle was chilling in a bucket of ice.

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