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
[email protected]
.
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
C
arter 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.