Mocha Pleasures
Autorzy
Pamela Yaye
Lektury
17,2K
Rozdziały
19
Chapter 1
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.
