Mocha Pleasures

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?”