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?”

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

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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 been 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.

Carter nodded. “We’re providing four cakes in all. A Bengal tiger, a silverback gorilla, a giraffe and a Nicobar pigeon. One of my former classmates is loaning me a few of his students from the culinary school he just opened. We’re going to transport the tiger, gorilla and pigeon, but the giraffe will have to be constructed on-site.”

“Sounds as if you have everything under control.”

“I always have things under control,” Carter snapped, grimacing at the unwarranted bite in his tone. He blamed the earlier conversation with his dad for his irritability.

Shari eyed him curiously. “Maybe you should lay off the clubbing and get more sleep at night. You’d be in a better mood.”

Carter let her remark pass. It was no mystery to his cousins that he liked to have a good time, and he made no apologies. He was young, single and financially set for life thanks to his family’s business. And, according to popular opinion, he wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. Why the hell shouldn’t he get out there and enjoy himself?

He took a cursory tour around the kitchen, making sure everything was going according to schedule. They had several big orders to get out today, including a cake for an event being hosted by the mayor’s office. Lillian’s most important asset was its reputation, and Carter made it his business to make sure every dessert that left this kitchen lived up to his grandmother’s incredibly high standards.

Amber Mitchell, one of their assistant bakers who doubled as the receptionist, rounded the corner. “Carter, there’s a guy out front who needs to speak to someone about setting up an event tasting. Belinda and Drake are both busy with other customers. Can you talk to him?”

“Does this guy have a name?” he asked Amber, who’d turned her attention to a cake that was ready to be frosted.

She hunched her shoulders. “Probably. He’s in a three-piece suit and is wearing an awful toupee.”

“That helps,” he drawled.

Carter headed for the retail area. The hard work happened behind the scenes in the kitchen, but it was the storefront that truly awed the bakery’s customers. The opulent, yet tasteful, decor was just one of the things that made the name Lillian’s synonymous with class and sophistication.

Gilding burnished the rich mahogany woodwork, sparkling under the illumination of crystal chandeliers. The polished marble countertops that were inlaid with ribbons of copper and gold made a statement about Lillian’s long history of catering to Chicago’s elite.

Sunlight streamed in from the huge windows that faced North Michigan Avenue. Nestled inside the bay windows were displays of lavishly decorated cakes and delectable desserts. They had discovered over the years that showcasing the bakery’s products was, by far, the most effective way to entice patrons to step inside the store’s welcoming glass doors.

Carter spotted the gentleman in the three-piece suit. He was peering into the custom-made glass display case that ran the width of the store.

“Carter Drayson,” he greeted, holding out a hand. “How can I help you?”

The man returned the handshake. “Lowell Thompson. I’m a client of Bowen and Associates on the third floor. Howard Bowen recommended Lillian’s for an event my company is sponsoring next month.”

“Howard is a very good customer.”

“He tells me Lillian’s sells the best desserts around. I’m new to Chicago, so I’m still learning my way.”

“Well, let me give you the most delicious tour you’ll ever take in this city.”

Carter retrieved a small silver platter from behind the counter and picked out several sweets from the array of intricately decorated cupcakes, pies and Lillian’s famous petit fours.

As Lowell Thompson sampled a dark chocolate espresso cupcake, Carter explained that nearly every item could be made in miniature sizes, more suitable to cocktail parties and other catered events.

“You have an impressive operation going here,” the man commented.

“It’s been going for several decades, and it just keeps growing. These are our newest bestsellers.” Carter motioned to the shelves lined with Lillian’s latest hot item: ingredients for their most popular cookie and brownie flavors in prepackaged mixes that customers could bake at home. It had been his cousin Shari’s idea, and it was turning out to be a lucrative one. Even so, most of their customers claimed that no matter how hard they tried, the make-at-home desserts didn’t have that special Lillian’s touch.

“I’m running late for a meeting, but if you have some time later this afternoon, I’d like to return and discuss a few options.”

“Absolutely.” Carter retrieved a business card from his pocket. “Why don’t you log on to our website and look over our product offerings? If there’s something special you’re seeking, just let me know. We’ll work with you.”

Carter bade the man goodbye and turned back toward the kitchen, but he stopped short at the sight of a woman standing at the register talking to his cousin Drake. He’d never seen her in the bakery before. His gaze traveled over her soft yellow skirt and matching silk blouse, taking in every nuance. Even though the clothes were a bit stuffy for Carter’s taste, he had to admit that she wore them well. Damn well.

She was petite—couldn’t top more than five feet—with milky, caramel-colored skin and luxuriant light brown hair streaked with honey-colored highlights. She was what his grandmother would call a classic beauty.

And she came from money. No doubt about it.

Her clothes said it, but the bling in her ears and around her wrist practically screamed it.

After less than a minute of observing her, Carter had already sized her up. He could tell the kind of person she was simply by the way she held herself: regal, untouchable. Not his usual type of woman—the exact opposite, in fact. His usual type wore about eighty percent less clothing. But there was something about this one that made him want to ruffle her feathers.

Carter started for the counter, but halted as a mother who’d been picking out pastries with her young son cut him off. The little boy, who was holding a cupcake, walked smack into Ms. Prim and Proper, smearing icing all over the designer jacket she held draped over her arm.

Carter stood back and waited for the fireworks.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the mother exclaimed, grabbing the mushed cupcake from the boy’s hand.

Prim and Proper lifted the jacket to eye level, regarded the offending stain...and licked it.

Carter’s head jerked back.

“Mmm. That’s pretty good. I see why my jacket wanted a taste,” she said, smiling down at the little boy, who giggled in return. “But it looks as if you need a new cupcake.” She motioned for Drake to give the little boy another one.

Shock rooted Carter where he stood. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Neither had he expected a simple smile to transform her from reserved to...approachable. Very approachable.

Carter sidled up to the counter where she’d redirected her attention to Drake and a cake brochure she’d apparently brought in from one of their competitors.

“You made the right choice,” Carter said, motioning to the brochure.

She turned to him. “Excuse me?”

“The cakes here at Lillian’s are a thousand times better than what you’ll get over there.” He extended his hand. “Carter Drayson, one of the head pastry chefs. And you are?”

She hesitated for the merest moment before accepting his outstretched hand. Carter’s initial suspicion was confirmed: she definitely came from money. No way had this smooth palm ever engaged in a millisecond of physical labor.

“Lorraine,” she replied.

“It’s my deepest pleasure to meet you, Lorraine.” He executed a short bow. “Welcome to Lillian’s.”

“You mind, Carter?” This from Drake. “I’m trying to help Lorraine with her order.”

“What’s the occasion?” Carter asked. “Birthday?”

“Wedding shower,” Drake answered.

Disappointment shot through him. Well, that was fun while it lasted.

“My sister’s wedding shower,” Lorraine interjected.

Carter’s radar immediately went on high alert. She had been pretty quick to clarify that bit of information, and wasn’t that interesting as hell?

Deciding to temporarily dismiss the fact that Lorraine wasn’t his usual type, Carter retrieved the sample brochure from his cousin’s hand, earning an annoyed look from Drake.

“Nothing you’ll find at this place will be good enough,” he continued as he examined the brochure. He glanced at Drake, whose stare was downright murderous. As if Carter cared. His morning had suddenly taken an interesting twist. He needed to know whether there was something more lurking underneath Miss Prim and Proper’s stuffy outfit.

Although Carter still wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t his type. Was she? No, she definitely wasn’t his type.

Yet he felt the smile he normally invoked only when he was going in for the kill draw across his face.

“Your sister’s wedding shower deserves something more than a generic cake,” he continued. “Although even the generic cakes at Lillian’s are much better than anything else you’ll find in this city.”

“Carter, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Drake bit out.

“As a matter of fact, I do. In my office with Lorraine here. I think we need to put our heads together and come up with something extra special for your sister’s wedding shower.” He tossed the brochure in the trash behind the counter and motioned to Lorraine. “Follow me.”

She looked from him to Drake and then back at him.

“Come on.” Carter gestured. “It’ll be painless, I promise.”

Two well-arched eyebrows peaked over her expressive brown eyes. She directed her question to Drake. “Is it safe to follow him back there?”

“Depends on who you ask” was his cousin’s answer before turning his attention to another customer who had just walked through the door.

Carter led her down the hallway and into one of the two offices used for customer consultations. He offered her a seat before retrieving an order form from the cherry filing cabinet.

“So, what’s the theme of the shower?” he started.

“I’m not sure we’ve established a theme, per se. It will be your typical bridal shower.”

“What can you tell me about your sister? What are some of her hobbies?”

Lorraine’s shoulders stiffened defensively. “Why do you need to know about Trina’s hobbies?”

“So we’ll know what kind of cake would work best for her wedding shower.”

“I don’t understand. It is just a cake,” she said.

“Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorraine.” Carter shook his head. “There is no such thing as just a cake. Not here at Lillian’s.”

The smooth skin on her forehead creased in a dubious frown.

Damn, she was cute. Still not his type, but cute.

“Where is the shower being held?” he asked.

“The tearoom at the Drake Hotel.”

“Nice,” Carter said. “Sophisticated.”

She choked out a laugh; it transformed her entire expression.

“What, is your sister not nice?” he asked.

“My sister is one of the nicest people I know. But she is definitely not stuffy and sophisticated. If I were to ask Trina’s opinion, I suspect she would choose a nice Irish pub or even a sports bar to hold her bridal shower. However, stronger forces prevail.”

“So she’s into sports?”

Lorraine nodded. “Sports, and the outdoors. She has always been the athletic twin.”

“You’re twins?” Another tidbit revealed.

“I didn’t mention that? Yes, Trina is my twin sister. We are fraternal, but the fact that we are twins is unmistakable.”

“So she’s beautiful and she’s into outdoor activities,” Carter commented.

An instant blush blossomed on Lorraine’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she said. “That is very sweet of you.”

“I bake cakes for a living. I can’t help being sweet,” he said, adding a deliberate dose of flirtation to his grin.

Lorraine’s eyes lit with amusement. “Do you practice these lines, or do they come naturally?”

Carter’s grin widened. “It’s natural.” He was having way more fun than he usually did during a cake consultation.

“I can tell,” she said. “You are a natural-born flirt.” She crossed her ankles in that proper way his aunt Daisy sat, and folded her hands on her knee. “So, what do you need to know about Trina?”

Carter glanced down at the form on the desk. He was supposed to be working, wasn’t he? “You said she’s into outdoor activities. What’s her favorite?”

“Scuba diving. Much to my parents’ chagrin. They are both afraid she will eventually drown, or be bitten by a shark, or some other such nonsense.”

Carter snapped his fingers. “What about a deep-sea-themed bridal shower?”

Her frown returned, her expression becoming even more uncertain than before. “You don’t know my mother,” she said. “I doubt she would go for Little Mermaid party hats.”

“Think seashells sprinkled with diamond dust and live coral centerpieces.” Carter spun away from his desk and went over to one of the bookcases lining the wall. He pulled down a binder from two years ago, and flipped to June, finding pictures of a cake he’d made for a birthday party that had rivaled most wedding cakes. Ironically, the party did have Disney’s The Little Mermaid as the overriding theme, but the “Under the Sea” cake he’d made had been much more refined.

He took the chair opposite Lorraine’s and spread the binder out across his lap, turning it so it faced her.

“Goodness,” she breathed. “That is gorgeous.”

“It’s one of my favorite cakes,” Carter said, feeling the surge of pride that always surfaced when talking about his creations. This one had put him into another stratosphere in the cake-making world. It had taken a full twelve hours to decorate, and that was after he had spent several days crafting seashells, sea horses, starfish and other ocean creatures out of gum paste.

“I could make the colors softer, and add edible glitter to make it more elegant,” Carter continued.

She studied the pictures for several minutes, flipping through the pages to view the pictures he’d taken from every angle. “It is beautiful,” she mused. “But everyone will be expecting a traditional cake.”

“So, why not defy expectations? Pardon the pun, but can you imagine the splash something like this would make? In my opinion, this is much more worthy of the Drake than your run-of-the-mill tiered cake.”

Carter could see the indecision flickering across her features, and was afraid he’d gone too far with the hard sell. A smidgen of self-reproach attacked his conscience, because he suddenly realized that he wasn’t thinking as much about selling a cake as he was thinking about selling himself. To her. He wanted to wow her with his skills.

“You don’t have to make the decision right now,” Carter said, backing off a bit. “Why don’t you take a day to think it over? You can call tomorrow and let me know what you decide.”

Still studying the pictures, she shook her head and said, “I don’t need any more time. I’ve already made my decision.” She sat upright and gave him a firm nod. “I want this cake.”

“You sure?” Carter asked. “Really, you can take your time.”

“No. I want it just as you described it, with the softer colors and the shimmering glitter. I want it to look like an enchanted underwater fantasy.”

“Well, if you’re sure, we can put the order in now. You’ll just have to put twenty percent down.”

She opened the snap on the designer clutch she held in her lap and pulled out several hundred-dollar bills. “How much is the deposit?”

“That will depend on the size of the cake, and on the extent of the work that will need to be done. Let me get a bit more information from you, and then we’ll work up a price.”

Her eagerness was laced with something else, a certain resolve that shouldn’t come from simply ordering a cake. He worked up her order and gave her the invoice. Instead of putting down a deposit, she paid for the eighteen-hundred-dollar cake in full. In cash. That was something he didn’t see every day.

After they’d concluded their meeting, Carter walked her out of the office and back to the showroom.

Lorraine held out her hand to him. “Thank you so much for your help,” she said. “I cannot believe it took a stranger to help me come up with the perfect theme for my own twin’s wedding shower, but I am very grateful you did. Trina is going to love this.”

“Happy I could help,” Carter said, still holding on to her soft hand. He had no desire to let it go anytime soon. He slipped his hand into his left pocket and pulled out one of his business cards, handing it to her. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call me. Anytime.”

She smiled. Damn, her smile was nice.

“Thank you, Carter.”

And with that, she was gone.

For a few moments Carter contemplated following her, but after coming in over an hour late this morning, he knew better than to leave the bakery.

His thoughts stretched back to the conversation he’d had with his dad earlier, and Carter acknowledged what he had to do. His cousins already had an unfair advantage over him when it came to Lillian’s. It was time he proved to this family once and for all just what he was worth to them...even if he might not be working here for much longer.

Chapter 2

As she exited the bakery, Lorraine slipped on her Roberto Cavalli sunglasses and headed up Michigan Avenue. She couldn’t risk walking any faster than a casual stroll; her heart was already beating triple time.

She had not been prepared for the likes of Carter Drayson.

Her hand still tingled from their parting handshake. His fingers were long, the skin slightly rough, with a couple of darker spots, as if he’d been burned by a hot cake pan a time or two.

And he was gorgeous. Seriously, unquestionably gorgeous.

From the moment he’d stepped up to the counter and introduced himself, Lorraine had been aware of every breath that had left her lungs, because it had been just that hard to breathe around him. It wasn’t the first time she’d been immediately bowled over by a charming guy, but it had never been that intense. His silky voice, vibrant smile and overpowering charisma had hit her like a Midwestern tornado in the middle of the active season.

“He’s probably just as dangerous, too,” she said underneath her breath. Best to stay far, far away from Lillian’s. She didn’t need the extra calories from their sinfully tempting desserts, and she most certainly did not need the devastating Carter laying on the heavy charm.

Lorraine arrived at the garage where she’d parked her car and took the elevator to the fifth level. Even though she lived within walking distance, she’d driven to the bakery because Lillian’s was just the first stop on a slew of errands she had to run for the shower preparations.

It had practically taken an act of Congress to convince the family driver, Bradford, that she didn’t need to be chauffeured today. Driving her own car was one freedom that Lorraine refused to relinquish. It gave her the illusion that she had some control over her own life; it was hard to keep a low profile when you were driven around in a gleaming pearl-white Bentley. She had a hard enough time distancing herself from her famous last name; she didn’t need the “look at me” car attracting the curious gazes of onlookers.

Lorraine was convinced that her name had had nothing to do with the attention Carter had given her. Oh, he’d flirted—she had pegged him as a natural-born player from the minute he’d sidled up to the counter—but it wasn’t because he’d recognized her as a Hawthorne-Hayes.

It had been...nice. Refreshing.

She’d spent her entire twenty-five years bearing that name, and although being an heir to one of the wealthiest families in Chicago had its perks, it was definitely not all it was cracked up to be.

Lorraine slipped behind the wheel of her Jaguar. She loved this car. It was luxurious, but not overly so. It certainly didn’t raise as many eyebrows as the Bentley did.

She turned over the ignition, then immediately shut the car off.

“What were you thinking ordering an under-the-sea cake?” she asked herself. “Abigail will have a fit!”

She opened the door, preparing to return to Lillian’s and order a nice, normal cake with roses made out of icing and pearls looping along the edges.

“But Trina will love that under-the-sea cake,” she told herself in the rearview mirror.

Lorraine could just imagine the look on her sister’s face when she walked into the Drake and saw it.

She closed the door and started the car again.

Her eyes slid shut and she leaned forward, resting her head on the steering wheel as the idling engine purred. What mattered more? Making sure her mother didn’t have a stroke over a cake, or her sister’s happiness?

In any normal family it wouldn’t even be a question, but no one would dare call her family normal. The owners of Hawthorne-Hayes Jewelers? The very pillars of Chicago’s elite? Normal?

“Anything but,” Lorraine said with a tortured sigh.

Her mother had instilled in her children that to be a Hawthorne-Hayes was to be dignified, distinguished and, above all, the consummate model of decorum. An elegant, sensible cake with delicate, sugared flowers and icing made to look like lace was dignified. It was the kind of cake her mother would approve of. The kind Abigail Hawthorne-Hayes would demand.

For that reason alone, Lorraine put the car in Reverse and backed out of the parking space.

To hell with what Abigail wanted. This bridal shower wasn’t about her mother; she was doing this for her sister.

Lorraine exited the garage and turned right. As she approached the intersection at Michigan Avenue and East Delaware Place, a thought occurred to her. If she was going to incur her mother’s wrath, she might as well make it worth it. She flipped on her right blinker and drove down a block, turned left and then made another left, pulling her car up to the valet at the Drake.

Her mother had insisted on elegance and refinement when it came to the bridal shower, but she could save that for the wedding. As maid of honor, Lorraine was in charge of shower preparations, and she would give her sister something that fit her personality. That cake she’d ordered at Lillian’s was just the start.

Lorraine walked up the carpeted steps leading to the landmark hotel’s lobby. As she entered, her eyes were instantly drawn to the enormous flower arrangement in the center of the room, sitting just below the signature crystal chandelier. Opulence oozed from every square inch of the place.

Lorraine met with the hotel’s special events coordinator. As she described her new vision for Trina’s bridal shower, she had a hard time containing her amusement at the way the woman’s face transformed from gleeful to completely horrified. The coordinator’s penciled-in eyebrows formed perfect peaks as Lorraine explained that she wanted the calla lily centerpieces replaced with seashells and coral on a bed of soft white sand. She wanted the walls draped in flowing light blue silk, mimicking the waves of the ocean.

The woman cleared her throat. “This all sounds lovely, Ms. Hawthorne-Hayes. However, are you sure we shouldn’t discuss this with Mrs. Hawthorne-Hayes before making such drastic changes?”

“No,” Lorraine said. “I’m the one in charge of my sister’s wedding shower. I have the last word. I will browse the web for some ideas and email them to you. Feel free to do the same.”

Her mother would have a fit, but Lorraine would deal with it. For once, Abigail Hawthorne-Hayes was not getting her way.

* * *

Carter leaned back in the chair and crossed his feet on top of his desk. He used a stylus to make notations on the inventory list he kept stored in his electronic tablet. Ever since they were featured at a Chicago Bulls pregame event, Lillian’s red velvet cupcakes with dark chocolate and cream cheese frosting, designed in the team’s colors of black and red, were flying out the door. Carter needed to increase the order of cupcake holders to keep up with the significant spike in sales.

There was a knock on the door. He looked up to find his cousin Monica. “Carter, were you supposed to have a cake for Maria Salazar ready for today?”

He frowned. “No, that isn’t until Thursday.”

“Well, she’s in the showroom right now to pick up her cake.”

Rising from his chair, Carter switched to the app that he used to keep track of his cake orders. He had a cake for an Arabian Nights–themed quinceañera scheduled for pick up on Thursday by Maria Salazar.

He turned the screen so Monica could see for herself. “She’s not supposed to pick it up until Thursday.”

“Well, somebody got their dates crossed. You need to go out there and talk to her.”

“I didn’t take the order,” he said. “It was probably Drake. I think he was working the retail store that morning.”

“You’re the one listed as the baker. You were specifically requested,” she pointed out. Carter didn’t miss the smug undertone of his cousin’s voice.

The Drayson grandchildren got along well enough, but in jockeying for position in the bakery, Carter definitely had a target on his back. Both their grandparents and his aunt and uncle had taken notice when customers started requesting Carter by name, and so had his cousins.

That wasn’t his problem. If the rest of the Drayson clan wanted to stand out, they needed to step up their games.

What was his problem was this mix-up with Mrs. Salazar’s cake order. It didn’t matter who had caused it. As Monica had just pointed out, he was the head baker on the project, which meant he was ultimately responsible for the customer’s one hundred percent satisfaction.

Carter entered the showroom, his eyes roaming around for Drake. Of course, his cousin was nowhere to be found. He was probably in one of the back offices playing around on Facebook or Twitter. Somebody needed to remind him that the same social networking he used to tout Lillian’s qualities could be used by unhappy customers to eviscerate the company’s good name if there were too many mix-ups like the one that had apparently taken place with the Salazar cake.

Carter walked up to the woman who was standing in front of the counter. “Mrs. Salazar, how are you?” he greeted.

“Where is my cake?”

“I don’t have you scheduled until Thursday to pick up the cake.”

“No, the quinceañera is tonight. I was told the cake would be ready by noon.” Her elevated voice caused several shoppers to turn their heads.

“Why don’t we move over here?” Carter said, gesturing for her to follow him to the rear left side of the showroom, which had been converted into a coffee bar. “Can I offer you something to drink? A latte? Cappuccino?”

“I want my cake,” Mrs. Salazar said.

“I found the original order form.” Monica came up to them. “It has Thursday marked off, but today’s date is written on it.”

Great. Carter bit back a curse.

“So I will have no cake for my daughter’s quinceañera? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Not to worry,” Carter said. “Just tell me where it is being held and I’ll have your cake delivered by five o’clock.”

“Carter,” Monica warned in a low tone.

He held a hand up to his cousin, keeping his full attention on Mrs. Salazar. “You’ll have the cake you ordered. I will see to it personally,” Carter assured her.

The worry lines creasing the woman’s forehead lessened, and a cautious smile relaxed the corners of her mouth.

“Thank you,” she said. She held up her checkbook. “I still need to pay the balance on the cake.”

“No, you don’t. It’s on us.”

“Carter!” Monica sputtered.

“I’m very sorry for the mix-up,” Carter said, putting an arm around the woman’s shoulder and guiding her to the door. “And tell your daughter happy birthday.”

The woman thanked him profusely as she exited the bakery. After she left, he turned and stalked straight to the kitchen, with Monica hot on his heels.

“Do you want to explain to me what just happened there?” she asked him.

Ignoring her, Carter sought out one of the assistant bakers. “Jason, have you baked the cake for the Richardsons’ fiftieth wedding anniversary?”

“Yep, it’s in the cooler,” Jason Parker answered.

“Good. I’m going to have to use it. Can you set it up in my normal work area? And I’m going to need to make spun sugar for the decorations, so can you get me the light corn syrup, too?”

“Would you stop ignoring me?” Monica said. “Now, what happened with Mrs. Salazar’s order?”

Carter whirled around. “You know what happened,” he said, trying to keep his frustration in check. “Somebody dropped the ball, and now I’ve got to clean up the mess. Thankfully, the Richardson event isn’t until tomorrow night. Their cake is the same size and flavor as the Salazar cake.”

“And what about forgiving the balance on her order?”

Carter gritted his teeth. “It’s called keeping the customer happy, Monica. I don’t know who made the mistake here, but someone had to make it right. Now, can you please get out of my way? I’ve got a cake for three hundred that I need to construct and replacement cakes that I’ll have to stay here for hours baking tonight.”

“This should never have happened,” she said.

“Damn right, it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Now move out of my way so I can fix it.”

Carter tore past her and headed for the cooler, pissed that someone else’s incompetence was now on his head. And would he get any thanks for correcting the situation?

“Not in this lifetime,” Carter snorted.

He was so tired of dealing with this crap. He busted his ass in this kitchen, but did he get any thanks for the extra effort he put in?

It was time he faced facts. Nothing he did would ever measure up. He was fighting a losing battle. His cousins would always have a leg up on him.

Carter backed up against the wall of the walk-in cooler and closed his eyes tight.

“Why in the hell am I even doing this?”

Why did he keep coming back for more, like a boxer who kept getting up from the mat after every knockdown, too stupid to leave the ring? It was a question he’d asked himself more than once; he had yet to come up with an answer that made sense.

Chapter 3

“What are you doing? What are you doing?” Lorraine chanted quietly to herself as she walked along Michigan Avenue.

This was a bad idea. She should turn around and go right back to her car. Now. Before she did something she’d regret. Or, even worse, before she made a fool of herself.

She looked up and spotted the ornate gold-leaf lettering etched across one of the huge bay windows of Lillian’s. There was still time to turn back. In fact, she could just keep walking forward, round the block and return to the parking garage.

Before she succeeded in talking herself out of doing it, Lorraine wrapped her hand around the brass-plated door handle and pulled. She stepped into the bakery, taking a moment to breathe in the heavenly aromas of cakes, pies, cookies and coffee. She looked around the showroom, with its crystal chandeliers, marble floors and counters and richly decorated cakes, but she didn’t spot the one thing she was hoping to catch a glimpse of: Lillian’s charismatic cake maker. She wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

Relieved, she decided. Carter Drayson would have seen straight through her flimsy excuse for returning to the bakery so soon.

“Back again?” came a voice over her shoulder. “Can I help you with something else?”

Lorraine turned. It was the same guy who’d greeted her yesterday. Dre? Drake? She wasn’t sure of his name; she only knew he was a member of the Drayson family.

“Hello,” she said, slipping her hand into her purse to grab the picture she’d brought with her. Then she thought better of it. The picture was the pretense she had planned to use if she’d run into Carter.

“I...I wanted to try a petit four,” she said, stumbling over her hastily concocted excuse. “It wasn’t until I left the bakery yesterday that I remembered that Lillian’s is known for its petit fours.”

“They are the best in the city,” he said.

Lorraine followed him to the glass display case, with its ornate gold filigree and dozens of square petit fours, lady fingers, delicate French lace cookies, fruit tarts and other delicacies.

“Everything looks so delicious,” she said. “I will take two petit fours and one chocolate-dipped shortbread cookie.”

As he packaged her purchase in a brown-and-pink-striped bakery box, Lorraine almost asked if Carter was in the back. She stopped herself just in time.

It was pure insanity, her sudden obsession with this man. She was not some fifteen-year-old with a girlhood crush. She was a grown woman who knew all too well the havoc being a starry-eyed, love-struck fool could cause. As of this moment, her preoccupation with Carter Drayson was over and done. As soon as she got her sweets, she would leave this store and not return. She would simply email him the picture of Trina scuba diving on her trip to the Caymans.

Lorraine took the box from Dre or Drake—she no longer cared what his name was—and headed for the exit.

“Lorraine?”

A bolt of awareness coursed down her spine at the sound of Carter’s voice. He approached, smelling like sugar and chocolate. And wasn’t that the definition of irresistible?

“Carter! Hello!” Lorraine knew her overly bright smile must look as fake as the cubic zirconias people tried to pass off as diamonds when they came to her family’s jewelry stores.

“Were you leaving?” he asked.

She would have guessed it was pretty obvious. She had her purchases in one hand and the other was wrapped around the door handle.

“Yes, I was,” she said. “I came in to try Lillian’s petit fours. I realize that I ordered a cake but actually have no idea of the quality of the product.”

She grimaced as soon as the words left her mouth. Tell the man you want to make sure his cake won’t suck. Brilliant.

Lorraine would have given anything for someone to run out from the kitchen and yell “fire.” Then she immediately felt like a brat for wishing harm on the bakery simply to extricate herself from a horrifyingly embarrassing situation. This awkward “open mouth, insert foot” feeling was foreign to her.

“Not that I don’t think Lillian’s cakes are anything but exceptional,” she said, trying to atone for her previous gaffe. “The bakery has been touted as one of the best in Chicago for years.”

“My apologies for not insisting on a tasting when you came in yesterday. We usually do. It was a hectic morning and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Oh, no, please don’t apologize. A tasting isn’t necessary. The petit fours are enough.”

“If you’re sure,” Carter said. A subtle smile lifted the corner of his mouth. It was accompanied by a flash of awareness that sparkled in his eyes. “Is that the only reason you stopped in, or is there something else I can do for you? I meant what I said yesterday. You’re welcome to come by anytime. For anything.”

Lorraine just stood there for a moment, staring at the way his lips formed the words. She jerked to attention and shook her head. He had an amazing knack for annihilating her good sense.

“Actually, I also came to bring you this.” Balancing the box of pastries in one hand, she reached into her purse and retrieved the picture of Trina. “This is my sister and her fiancé on a scuba diving trip last summer. I thought it could serve as inspiration when you design the cake.”

As Carter took the picture from her, his fingers lightly grazed her palm. The simple touch set off a cataclysmic reaction within her, shooting electric sparks of heat from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and to all parts in between.

“They make a nice couple,” Carter remarked. He motioned for her to follow him to a corner of the bakery, stopping next to a table with brownies packaged in cellophane and tied with curly ribbons. He looked up from the photo and back to her. “I can tell that you two are twins, but you’re definitely different.”

“Trina’s the fun one,” Lorraine blurted. Embarrassment washed over her. Okay, just where in the hell was that fire!

“And you’re not fun?” Carter asked.

She could feel the blush creeping up her face. “Let’s just say I don’t scuba dive.”

“There are a lot of things besides scuba diving that I’d classify as fun. I’m sure you’ve got a dangerous side hidden somewhere in there.”

Her mother would have fainted at the unladylike snort that slipped out, but Lorraine couldn’t help it. “The most dangerous thing I’ve done in the past five years was ordering that under-the-sea-themed cake instead of something more refined.”

She was suddenly appalled at the truth behind her admission. How had she allowed herself to become this person, a caricature of the hollow socialite she’d vowed never to be?

Actually, she knew exactly how it had happened. She could recall with amazing alacrity the precise moment when she’d shed her rebellious streak and vowed to become the perfect daughter. She just tried not to dwell on that one stupid mistake that had changed the course of her life forever.

“If that’s the case, we’ve got some work to do with you,” Carter said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Lorraine found that gleam hard to resist. “Such as?” she asked.

“You need to explore your dangerous side. Maybe trade in that stuffy suit for a leather jacket?” He snapped his finger. “I’ve got it. You should run away with me to Antigua on a scuba diving expedition.”

She choked on a laugh.

“No?”

“I don’t think so,” Lorraine said. “If I were to accompany you to Antigua, who would bake my sister’s cake?”

“Hmm, you’ve got a point. I wouldn’t trust something that important to anyone else. I plan to give that cake my undivided attention. I want to make sure it’s perfect.”

“I appreciate that,” Lorraine said, her face warming as she realized that right now she had his undivided attention.

She was amazed at how comfortable she felt around him. Ever since “the incident” she had become so wary of men and their motives that she rarely opened herself up to more than a few moments of conversation. And with good reason. Most of the men she met had an agenda, especially after they discovered she was an heiress to the Hawthorne-Hayes jewelry empire.

Would Carter do the same?

Although, after what she’d learned about the Drayson family while searching the web last night, she knew that Carter also came from significant wealth himself. She’d discovered that the Draysons who owned and operated Lillian’s were the same Draysons who played a major role in Chicago real estate. In fact, they owned this entire building. Carter would have no reason to be intimidated by her wealth, as some men were. Or, even worse—and what she encountered more frequently—be on the lookout for ways to cash in.

Yet something still stopped her from revealing her full identity. Maybe it was because she didn’t know how he’d react, and she wanted to keep things the way they were for as long as possible. Just in case he turned out to be like all the others.

Please don’t be like all the others.

Carter took her hand in his. “If you won’t let me take you to Antigua, would you consider dinner?”

Her shoulders stiffened in surprise. Had he just asked her out on a date?

A customer walked up to the display table, giving her a chance to process Carter’s question.

“So?” he continued when they were alone again in their little corner of the bakery.

Lorraine’s first instinct was to decline. Years of being cautious made her want to take a step back. After the incident that had happened five years ago, she didn’t have much faith in her ability to judge people, especially men.

Yet something told her that things would be different with Carter. She was unsure whether it was her good sense talking or whether the feeling was based on her body’s overpowering reaction to him, but she wanted to say yes.

So she did.

“I’d love to,” Lorraine answered.

His eyes widened, as if he had thought she would be harder to convince. That smidgen of vulnerability exposed by his shocked expression went a long way in relieving her anxiety. Maybe he wasn’t the all-confident player he’d first appeared to be.

And maybe she was just a bit out of her mind. She’d met him less than twenty-four hours ago. What was she doing agreeing to dinner?

But she refused to take it back. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself the simple luxury of sharing a meal with a man she felt a connection to. She needed this. If accepting Carter’s dinner invitation turned out to be a mistake, she could always leave. She was older now, wiser. She wouldn’t allow what happened before to happen a second time.

“Great,” Carter said, that note of disbelief she’d seen in his eyes coming through in his voice. “How about tonight? Is eight okay? Where can I pick you up?”

“Eight o’clock is perfect,” Lorraine answered, even though her heart was pounding. “But why don’t I meet you at the restaurant?”

He was shaking his head, but Lorraine stood her ground. She wasn’t ready to step from behind the curtain of anonymity just yet.

“Fine,” he relented. “Meet me at Les Nomades at eight.”

“Les Nomades?”

“Yes, have you ever been? Their food is amazing.”

Yes, she’d been, and she loved it. But Les Nomades was one of Chicago’s most expensive restaurants.

“I have,” she said. “But it’s been years. I’ll meet you there tonight.”

The grin that spread across his face warranted a new word in the English language: naughty-sexy. Lorraine sensed that her first instinct had been spot-on. Carter Drayson was dangerous...in the absolute best way.

* * *

The sounds of glasses tinkling, silverware clanking and muted conversation faded into the background as Carter sat across the table from Lorraine. The understated elegance of his favorite restaurant set the perfect mood for tonight. It felt as if they were the only two people here.

“How is the duck confit?” Carter asked.

“As usual, it is delicious.”

“As usual?” His fork stopped in midair. “I thought you said you haven’t been here in years.”

She looked at him over the rim of her wineglass, a soft blush dusting her cheeks.

“Perhaps it hasn’t been quite as long as that,” she said, taking a sip of the ’03 Bordeaux.

She was an enigma. A beautiful one, but an enigma all the same. He was still trying to figure out his attraction to her. She was so different from the flashy women he usually dated, but he’d be damned if he hadn’t thought about her at least a thousand times today.

Maybe it was the mysterious air about her. So often, the women he dated left nothing to the imagination, both physically and personality-wise. Lorraine was like a puzzle, gradually revealing delicate pieces of herself.

Except for one obvious piece.

“So, now that I’ve convinced you to join me for dinner, what would it take to convince you to tell me your last name?”

Her alluring smile lit up her eyes. “My last name? I didn’t know it was such an interesting subject.”

“It wasn’t until it proved so hard to uncover. You only listed your first name on the cake order form. You paid for it in cash. Why the big mystery, Lorraine? Are you in the witness protection program or something?”

“Perhaps I go by a single name, as Madonna and Beyoncé do.”

“So you’re secretly a singer?”

She shook her head and, with a laugh, said, “I can’t sing a note.”

Maybe not, but her laughter was musical. It traveled along his nerve endings, its soothing, melodic effect causing his skin to pebble. Damn, the woman was giving him goose bumps. This kind of stuff did not happen to him.

“I do have a last name,” she finally said, setting her wineglass on the linen tablecloth. “But it comes with, shall we say, baggage?”

“I know how that is,” Carter said with a nod.

She tilted her head to the side, understanding dawning in those sympathetic brown eyes. “Yes, I can see that you do. Being a scion of one of Chicago’s most elite families comes with a lot of responsibility, doesn’t it? And scrutiny.”

“I get my fair share,” Carter said. “And anything I do reflects on the bakery. I won’t deny that there’s pressure there. I’ve got enough negativity that I have to fight in my family. I don’t want to be the one who does something that harms the reputation of Lillian’s.”

“My goodness.” She let out a deep breath. “We’re more alike than I first realized.”

“Does that mean you really do have a last name?” he asked. “Because I know I have one.”

“Would you please stop?” She laughed. “Just Lorraine shall do for now.”

“Fine, I’ll call you Just Lorraine,” he teased. “How did you end up with a name like Lorraine, anyway?” Carter grimaced at the callousness of his question. “I’m sorry. That didn’t sound as rude in my head.”

She laughed again, the sound still musical. “I’m not offended. I know it’s old-fashioned. It’s a family name,” she explained. “My grandmother’s.”

“I think that name may contribute to this illusion that you’re not fun. How about I call you Rainey?”

“My mother would fall away in a dead faint.”

“What? You’ve never had a nickname?”

She shook her head.

“You mean to tell me that when you were five years old and wrote on the walls with crayons, your mother actually called you Lorraine? Not Rainey, or Lainey, or Pumpkin?”

“Pumpkin?” She laughed even harder. “No, it has always been Lorraine. And if Mother was really upset, it was Lorraine Elise.”

“Uh-oh, the first and middle name treatment. I’ve been there. Nearly got myself kicked out of the house a few times.”

Her eyes widened. “Your parents threatened to kick you out of the house?”

“Two households,” Carter said. “Spent half the time with Dad and the other half with Mom, but I wreaked havoc equally on both.”

“I went through a rebellious phase,” Lorraine said, poking at the duck confit with her fork. “I discovered a taste for sneaking out. The coup de grâce occurred when I borrowed one of the cars and went joyriding. The police pulled me over in South Bend, Indiana.”

Carter let out an overly exaggerated, shocked gasp. “The non-fun twin? No way,” he said, grinning at her. “Did that warrant a Lorraine Elise from your mother?”

“Unfortunately not. Instead, Trina and I received one-way tickets to a boarding school in the hinterlands of upstate New York.” She pushed the garnish around her plate. “So much for my play for Mother and Father’s attention.”

The underlying note of sadness in her voice caused something in Carter’s chest to squeeze tight. The two of them really were more alike than either of them had first thought. How many boneheaded things had he done as a kid so he could stand out from the pack of Drayson grandchildren?

“So, have you officially buried that rebel who used to sneak out and steal cars?” he asked her.

“She’s still lurking, but she’s much tamer.”

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Sounds as if I could talk her into doing some pretty wild stuff.”

“I don’t think that would be very difficult. Look how quickly you convinced me to have dinner with you.” She glanced at him from across the table, that blush blossoming on her cheeks again. “I’m not usually this easy.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” he said, settling back in his chair and smiling over the rim of his wineglass as he took another sip.

Carter still wasn’t sure just what it was about her that had ensnared him, but he couldn’t deny that Lorraine had him in her clutches. Maybe it was that adorable shyness, or her prim and proper speech. More than likely it was that spark of rebelliousness peeking out from underneath the surface. No doubt that hint of naughtiness he’d observed in her eyes appealed to him. He was looking forward to peeling back the many layers of the woman sitting across from him.

The waiter arrived with the single dessert Carter had ordered for the two of them to share.

“Okay,” he said, holding out a spoonful of ginger crème brûlée. “I have a confession to make. Even though this really is one of my favorite restaurants in the city, I had an ulterior motive in bringing you here. The head pastry chef was my chief rival back in culinary school,” Carter explained. “You sampled my desserts earlier today. I want you to tell me which is better.”

Her eyes held a glimmer of mischievous humor. “Are you looking for an honest opinion or an ego stroking?”

“Honest opinion,” he said.

She leaned forward slightly and parted her lips. For several moments all Carter could do was stare at her delicate pink tongue and think about all the ways he could enjoy it. Shaking off the rush of instant lust, he pulled in a deep breath and slid the spoon inside her mouth.

Lorraine closed her eyes and let out a soft moan.

“It’s horrible. So bad that I won’t subject you to it,” she said, reaching for the shallow, oblong dish.

“Nice try.” Carter laughed as he scooped up a spoonful of the custard and ate it. “Dammit, it’s amazing.”

“I’m certain that if you made a crème brûlée it would be as good or better.”

He shook his head. “Mine is okay, but it can’t compare to this.”

“Forgive my table manners, but that looks too delicious.” Lorraine reached over and scooped up a helping of the Chantilly cream used to garnish the dessert, and sucked it from her finger. “Mmm...it’s glorious,” she said.

Carter’s chest constricted as every bit of blood in his body headed straight for his groin. He quickly scooped up some of the cream and held his finger out to her.

“Please do that again.” His voice held a miserable plea, but he didn’t care.

Lorraine hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flashing across her face, but then she obliged. Her eyes never leaving his, she parted her lips and closed them around his finger.

“Mmm,” she said. “I was right about you. You’re a dangerous man, Carter Drayson.”

“Is that good or bad?” he managed to ask, despite the tightness in his throat.

“Probably both.”

“How so?”

In a slightly lower, slightly awe-filled whisper, she said, “You make me want to do things I’d never before considered doing on a first date.”

There was no mistaking the look in her eyes. He’d seen it in the eyes of countless other women, but Lorraine looked even hungrier than most. Carter felt light-headed. “Are you ready for the check?”

“Yes,” Lorraine quickly answered.

The extremely attentive waitstaff at Les Nomades had their plates cleared in no time, and five minutes later, Carter had taken care of the check. He rounded the table and pulled out her seat, then settled his hand at the small of her back as he guided Lorraine out of the restaurant.

Les Nomades was within walking distance of the bakery, so he’d left his car parked in his usual spot. But Lorraine had driven here. As they waited underneath the awning for the valet to bring her car around, Carter told himself to slow down.

But he couldn’t. He had to taste her.

He leaned forward, his heart pounding in anticipation of the way Lorraine’s lips would feel against his.

Just then, a flash of lightning streaked across her face. Wait. That wasn’t lightning. It was a camera flash.

“Oh, goodness. No.” Lorraine held her purse in front of her face.

“Hey, what the hell?” Carter tried to stiff-arm the guy with the camera, but he got in one more shot before taking off.

Lorraine looked up at him with wild, frightened eyes.

“It’s okay,” Carter said, capturing her forearms and giving them a squeeze.

“No. No, it’s not.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

The valet picked that moment to pull up with her car. Before Carter could fully comprehend what was happening, she handed the valet a twenty-dollar bill, slipped behind the wheel and was gone.

Chapter 4

Lorraine pulled into her designated parking spot and grimaced when she spotted her brother’s car. She loved him, but she had no desire to listen to Stuart and her father lament over inventory or diamond cuts or any other business-speak tonight. She grabbed her clutch from the passenger seat before getting out of the car, then shut the door and leaned against it. Lorraine closed her eyes, sucking in a deep, cleansing breath.

What had she almost done?

She would have slept with Carter Drayson tonight. There was no doubt in her mind. If she’d allowed him to get in the car with her, she would have fallen into bed with a man she’d met a little over twenty-four hours ago. She wasn’t so sure they would even have made it to a bed. Lorraine feared she would have demanded he pull over into a dark alley so they could go at it right in the car.

“What’s gotten into you?” she said aloud as she pushed away from the car.

She was not this type of person anymore—some stupid, impulsive girl who disregarded all common sense because a good-looking man showed her a bit of attention.

She needed to take a step back, away from the spell Carter Drayson had woven around her. Even though everything inside her was telling her that Carter was being true, she just didn’t know enough about him to make a sound judgment call. Hadn’t she learned anything from her past mistakes?

Another man with a charming smile flashed in front of her eyes, and Lorraine’s stomach roiled. She’d tried to eradicate Broderick Collins from her psyche, but, apparently, five years was not long enough to purge such ugliness. She’d been down that road before; she wasn’t about to make a return trip.

She boarded the elevator that took her up to her family’s penthouse. Lorraine heard the muted, but distinctive voices of her father and her brother as soon as she entered the apartment. She attempted to be as quiet as possible as she slipped past the sitting room where the two of them were having a drink.

“Lorraine, I need to see you,” her father said.

Her chin dropped to her chest. She was not up for this tonight. Whatever this was.

She turned and walked into the sitting room that served more as an informal office for her father. He had a real office on his and her mother’s side of the penthouse, but he usually entertained business associates in this room.

Her father and her brother both sat in leather wingback chairs, holding highball glasses filled with amber-colored liquid. Her father held a sheaf of papers in one of his hands.

Arnold Hawthorne-Hayes was a huge man. Not fat. Never fat. But he had always been larger than life, with broad shoulders and an even broader countenance. Even though she’d lived with him for nearly all of her twenty-five years, Lorraine couldn’t say she knew the man all that well. He’d always been too busy building his empire; he didn’t have time to bother with something as trivial as being fatherly to his children.

“It’s just after ten o’clock,” Lorraine said. “I still have two more hours before my curfew.” She inwardly cringed. She would gain nothing by intentionally antagonizing her father.

“I don’t care what time you come home, Lorraine. What I care about is this.” Her father held up the papers. “Why are you trying to get a fellowship?”

She stared at the documents, her mouth falling open in disbelief. “How do you even know about that?”

“Because Warner Mitchell is one of the trustees responsible for making the decision,” Stuart piped in. “We were having lunch at the country club today and he wanted to know why my sister would need to apply for an artist fellowship, when the Hawthorne-Hayes Foundation already funds dozens of scholarships. I want to know the same thing.”

“It wasn’t about the money,” Lorraine said. She’d donated five times what the fellowship was worth to the school. This particular fellowship wasn’t just a need-based award. It was also talent-based.

“Do you know how embarrassing it was to have Warner ask me that question in front of everyone?” Stuart asked.

“Forgive me, Stuart—I didn’t know my art was such an embarrassment.”

“I’m tired of this, Lorraine,” her father stated. “I allowed you to pursue your art degree when you should have studied business as your brother and sister did, but I refuse to allow you to bring shame on this family’s name by soliciting fellowship money.”

He ripped the application in half.

Lorraine stared in disbelief at the tattered pages her father tossed onto the glass table between his and Stuart’s chair.

“This had nothing to do with the family name. I didn’t want the family’s name to have any influence over the selection committee.”

“You are a Hawthorne-Hayes,” her father said. “That name will always have influence.” He gave her a pointed look. “Forget the fellowship. This family gives to charity—it doesn’t take it.”

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