Delectable Desire

  Is he too sweet to be real?

  It’s not unusual for Carter Drayson to be swayed by a pretty face. The artisan baker is a connoisseur of feminine beauty, and when sweet, delicate Lorraine walks into Lillian’s bakery, he thinks only of how soon he can have her. Little does Carter know that she is Lorraine Hawthorne-Hayes, heiress to a jewelry dynasty. And he never expected her to make him feel this way….

  Lorraine is wary of Carter with good reason—too many men have fallen in love with her bank account and not her heart. But Carter has a fortune of his own, and in his arms Lorraine discovers a passion she’s never known. Is she just his treat of the week? Or will the perennial player actually become her lifetime love?

  Carter hooked his finger underneath her chin and lifted her head until his eyes met hers. “He must have the most impossible standards on the planet. I cannot imagine you being a disappointment to anyone, Rainey.”

  Her mouth tipped up in a grin. “He would not approve of that nickname.”

  Carter’s eyes sparkled with laughter. “Then I should probably use it more often.”

  Cradling her head, he leaned in and met her lips in a slow, gentle kiss that was nothing like Lorraine had expected. Given his personality, she had braced herself for a savage plundering, but Carter surprised her with his tenderness.

  She leaned into him, pressing her body flush against his. The heat radiating from every part of him scorched her being, lighting a fire that spread throughout her bloodstream. A soft mewl escaped her throat as Carter’s hand traveled down her spine, stopping at the small of her back. He cradled her waist and pulled her even tighter against him.

  His tongue traced along the seam of her lips, urging them to part, but when they did he didn’t plunge inside. Instead, his assault was just as devastatingly tender, which did more to melt her heart than any fiery kiss ever could. His tongue delved in and out of her mouth, gentle, yet insistent, eliciting a moan that tore from her chest.

  Carter emitted a groan of displeasure as he reluctantly ended the kiss, but he didn’t release her. He continued to cradle her in his arms, the streetlamp casting a soft glow across his face, illuminating the hunger in his eyes.

  Gazing up at him, Lorraine whispered, “What is it about you, Carter Drayson?”

  Books by Farrah Rochon

  Harlequin Kimani Romance

  Huddle with Me Tonight

  I’ll Catch You

  Field of Pleasure

  Pleasure Rush

  A Forever Kind of Love

  Always and Forever

  Delectable Desire

  FARRAH ROCHON

  had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code.

  When Farrah is not penning stories, the avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.

  DELECTABLE DESIRE

  Farrah Rochon

  Dear Reader,

  When Kimani invited me to participate in the The Draysons: Sprinkled with Love series, it felt as if I’d hit the lottery. I watched endless episodes of the Food Network’s Cupcake Wars and had several meetings with a celebrated pastry chef, and was able to call it research! Do you see why I love my job?

  All joking aside, researching the world of artisan baking was one of the most fascinating things I have ever done. The artistry, creativity and sheer amount of work that goes into making those elaborate cake creations left me in awe. As I brought my hero, Carter Drayson, to life, my goal was to show that compassion and dedication in everything he did, both in and out of the kitchen.

  It is my sincere hope that you enjoy reading Delectable Desire as much as I enjoyed writing it. Although, that may require you to eat a cupcake while you read. Ha! As always, I would love, love, love to hear from you. Look me up on Facebook and Twitter, or email me at farrah@farrahrochon.com.

  And remember to pick up Delicious Destiny by Yahrah St. John next month to see the bakers from Lillian’s duke it out in the “You Take the Cake” baking competition!

  Sweet reading,

  Farrah Rochon

  For Phyllis Bourne.

  No one brainstorms by text message better than you do.

  “Wise words bring many benefits, and hard work brings rewards.”

  —Proverbs 12:14

  All the thanks in the world to Melissa Samuels of Melissa’s Fine Pastries in New Orleans. Your insight into the world of artisan baking was invaluable. And your cakes and pastries are the best! Thank you so much for sharing your talent.

  And thanks to my fellow authors in The Draysons: Sprinkled with Love series, A.C. Arthur and Yahrah St. John. You both made this process even sweeter!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Carter Drayson rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he approached his workstation in the kitchen at Lillian’s, his family’s bakery. It was stocked with all of the necessary ingredients for his newest creation, a salted-caramel, dark chocolate cake. As he surveyed his supplies, Carter realized he was missing the most important ingredient: flour. He strode over to the pantry where the drums of high-quality cake flour were stored.

  He entered the pantry and stopped short.

  Instead of flour, Carter discovered a caramel-colored beauty who looked as edible as the cake he was about to make. She crooked her finger.

  “Come here, Carter,” she whispered in a silky voice.

  His mouth went dry as he took a step forward.

  “No, Carter, why don’t you come this way?”

  He whipped around, finding another incredibly hot woman perched on the counter, her dark, smooth thighs crossed. Her breasts were precariously close to spilling out of her low-cut top. She reached over and picked up a sliver of the Belgian chocolate he’d chopped for his cake. She parted her soft, full lips and placed the chocolate on her tongue.

  Carter groaned, taking a step toward her.

  “Don’t go there, Carter. Come here.”

  He turned to his right and found a third woman. This one was honey-colored and, as far as he could tell, completely naked. She had locks of silky, light brown hair flowing down her body, strategically covering all of her luscious girl parts.

  He tipped his head to the ceiling and laughed. “This must be heaven.”

  “Caaaarter,” the three women sang.

  Carter’s gaze shot back to the counter. Miraculously, all three were now perched there, sitting side by side.

  And now all three of them were naked.

  The dark chocolate beauty picked up a plump strawberry and bit into the tender fruit.

  “Do you want a piece of this, Carter?”

  “Oh, yeah, baby,” he groaned.

  His caramel goddess held out a bowl of fluffy whipped cream.

  “How about this?” she asked, scooping some up with her finger and sticking it between her lips. Her eyes closed as she ran her tongue up and down her finger, licking it clean.

  “You’re the cake artist, Carter,” Miss Honey said. “Why don’t you come over here and show us what you do best?”

  This was definitely heaven.

  Carter walked—no, more like glided—across the floor. Dark Chocolate held out
the half-eaten strawberry to him.

  As he leaned forward to bite it, the oven’s timer went off.

  Ding. Ding. Ding.

  Wait. That wasn’t the oven. It was his phone.

  “Nooooo,” Carter growled.

  His eyes popped open. Just as he’d feared, he was lying in his bed, twisted up in the sheets. He closed his eyes, but it was too late. The dream was gone.

  Ding. Ding. Ding.

  “Dammit.” He reached over and grabbed the phone. “Hello,” he bit out.

  “Carter, where are you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  It was his cousin Belinda. Great. If the incredible dream he’d been in the midst of hadn’t already rushed out of his head, it sure as hell would be gone now. Carter peered at the clock on his nightstand. He’d slept right through his alarm.

  “Carter, are you still there?”

  “I’m here,” he said, yawning and stretching.

  “Grandma Lillian wants to meet with us. You need to get over here now.”

  “I’m on my way.” He disconnected the call and closed his eyes again, hoping against hope that Dark Chocolate and her ripe, juicy strawberry would reappear, but she wasn’t there. Instead, he saw his grandmother frowning at him. That instantly iced his smoking-hot dream. And lit a fire under his ass.

  Carter hopped out of bed. He grabbed a quick shower, making sure he scrubbed away remnants of the previous night’s hard partying.

  Last night had been epic, especially for the middle of the week. He’d complained about having to fly solo now that his best friend and fellow baker at Lillian’s, Malik, had gone and gotten himself hooked up with a woman—his cousin Belinda of all people—but Carter was no longer complaining. Not having Malik around meant more women for him, and he’d had no problems collecting phone numbers last night. He had four new ones stored in his cell. Now he just needed to remember which number went with which girl. He knew he should have snapped their pictures last night.

  Clean and dressed in slacks and a pressed polo shirt, Carter snatched a banana from the bowl on his kitchen counter as he made his way out of his condo. He sank into the soft leather bucket seat of his Basalt Black Metallic Porsche Panamera—a little something he’d bought himself for his thirtieth birthday—and swiftly made his way through the tree-lined streets of Glenville Heights. He sailed past the Drayson family’s gated estate on his way to the Kennedy Expressway. A half hour later, Carter pulled into the garage just off North Michigan Avenue, steps away from the bakery.

  His grandparents had been lucky to snatch up this prime real estate on Chicago’s famed Magnificent Mile. In fact, they owned the entire building. Various businesses leased the offices on the floors above, but the bottom floor was reserved for Lillian’s. Named after his grandmother, Lillian Reynolds-Drayson, who’d first ensnared the taste buds of Chicagoans while working at a local cafeteria, the bakery had a loyal customer base that couldn’t get enough of Lillian’s sweet treats.

  Carter always felt a measure of pride when he thought about how his young, widowed grandmother had made a way for herself and her son, before his grandfather, Henry Drayson, had swept her off her feet. The story of the first time they’d met, and the early days of the bakery, was a staple around the holidays.

  Carter entered through the back door. On one side of the hallway was the massive kitchen, which took up a majority of the first floor. The other side housed several offices that were used to conduct bakery business and a storage room for the extra bakeware and packaging materials. The front area comprised the showroom, which faced Michigan Avenue.

  As he walked up the hallway, Carter strolled past framed photographs of Lillian’s throughout the years, starting with his grandmother holding Uncle Dwight in her arms in front of the modest first storefront on Chicago’s South Side, and ending with the family picture they took outside the Michigan Avenue store when Lillian’s was featured in a local magazine last year. The rich marble facade of this location was a far cry from the little nondescript building where Lillian’s had first gotten its start.

  “Carter.”

  Carter stopped and turned at the sound of his father’s voice.

  “What’s up?” Carter asked.

  Devon Drayson did not look as if he was in the mood for exchanging idle chitchat. “Why are you just getting here?” he asked.

  “Had a long night,” Carter answered with a grin. “Believe me, it was worth walking in an hour late.”

  “An hour and a half,” his father corrected him. “Carter, when are you going to start taking your work seriously?”

  His spine straightened in protest. “I do take my work seriously. Do you know how many people come to Lillian’s specifically requesting that I design their cakes? My work brings in more business than anyone else around here.”

  “I’m not discounting your talent, just your work ethic. You should have been here to open the bakery early this morning, not strolling in hours late as if you don’t have a care in the world.”

  This from the king of the carefree lifestyle. His father had perfected bachelorhood, never even coming close to marrying. Yet he had the nerve to talk about how Carter lived his life?

  “I know what it’s like to be young and single, but there comes a time when you have to think about the long-term, Carter.” His father took a step closer and lowered his voice. “You know that your grandparents will soon let go of the reins of this business. Now, do you want a piece of it?”

  Carter was tempted to say no, but that would only cause him more grief. The truth was, he’d been questioning a lot lately whether he still wanted to be a part of the family business.

  He had never felt as if he was as much a part of Lillian’s as his cousins were, and he placed much of the blame squarely on the shoulders of the man standing before him. After all, it was his father’s fault that Carter was the only illegitimate grandchild. As the only bastard of the bunch, Carter had always felt as if he had to work extra hard to prove that he belonged.

  His grandparents had never made him feel like an outsider, but Carter knew they didn’t approve of his father’s perpetual bachelorhood. The fact that his father had never married Carter’s mother had been the subject of many disagreements over the years.

  But that was his father’s issue. Carter had nothing to do with that. He was a part of the bakery’s legacy, too, dammit.

  “I have as much stake in Lillian’s as the others do,” Carter said.

  “Then start acting like it,” his father demanded. “You need to show everyone in this family that you are committed to this business.”

  “Maybe the family needs to show that they’re committed to me,” he countered, letting the frustration he normally hid behind a carefree smile rise to the surface. “I didn’t have the advantage of growing up on the great Drayson Estate the way Belinda and Drake did. I wasn’t there every Sunday afternoon like Monica and Shari. Yet I put just as much time into Lillian’s as they do. No, I put in more. I bust my ass for this business. So, tell me, Dad, does the family value my input? Does everyone here realize just what I bring to the table?”

  “Don’t get full of yourself, Carter. You may be a good baker, but there are others out there. Just because you have Drayson blood running through your veins doesn’t mean you get an automatic pass. You need to straighten up, or you’re going to find yourself cut out of this business.”

  With that his father turned and went back into the sales office.

  Carter stood in the hallway for several minutes, trying like hell to rein in his fury. He was damned tired of always having to defend himself. From his teenage days, when he’d worked as a delivery boy, to now, as one of the head bakers, he’d given Lillian’s one hundred percent of himself. But his best never seemed good enough for his family.

  Carter thought about the phone call he’d received last week from a representative of Robinson Restaurants, one of the hottest restaurant conglomerates on the East Coast. The man Carter had spoken to had be
en extremely interested in Lillian’s, and specifically in what Carter had accomplished as the bakery’s premier artisan cake designer. When he’d asked if Carter would be interested in becoming the executive pastry chef for the Robinson Restaurants Group’s flagship New York location, he had been floored.

  The offer had warranted some serious soul searching. He was torn between loyalty to his family’s business and the appeal of finally being somewhere where his work was appreciated. Discussions like the one he’d just had with his father did nothing but tip the scales in New York’s favor.

  Despite what Devon believed, Carter knew there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with his work ethic. He put his heart and soul into Lillian’s, pulling sixty-hour workweeks, spending his time off at home working on his decorating technique. He loved this business, but he wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual.

  Oh, he had no doubts his family loved him, but did they value him? Maybe it would take his leaving to show them just how much he was worth to Lillian’s.

  * * *

  The emergency meeting for which his grandmother had summoned the Drayson grandchildren turned out to be a slightly beefed-up version of their normal weekly status report, with the exception of a more in-depth discussion of Lillian’s involvement in You Take the Cake, a reality TV show their family had agreed to participate in. His aunt Daisy had flown to Los Angeles to meet with the show’s producers and sign the contract. Lillian’s was officially on board.

  Unfortunately, so was Brown Sugar Bakery, owned and operated by onetime Lillian’s employee and ultimate backstabber Dina English. Dina was a four-letter word in more ways than one around this kitchen. Carter was personally looking forward to annihilating Brown Sugar Bakery on national television. He could only hope there would be tears involved.

  After the meeting, his younger cousin Shari approached him. Like the rest of the Drayson clan, Shari had come up in the ranks at the bakery. She, too, specialized in cakes, along with Lillian’s ever-popular gourmet cupcakes.

  “Have you finalized the details for the event at Lincoln Park Zoo?” Shari asked.