Mocha Pleasures

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

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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