Resist temptation…

It seems as though Belinda Drayson-Jones has it all together. Smart and attractive, she is one of the most talented bakers at Lillian’s, her family’s famed Chicago patisserie. Belinda is one of those women who never shows up late, never makes a faux pas, never does anything that would raise someone’s eyebrows. Yet perfection has its price, and the beautiful Ms. Drayson-Jones feels that something is missing from her life. And no one would ever guess the secret she’s keeping.

…or give in to love?

Malik Anthony knows plenty about keeping secrets. He has worked with Belinda for years and has been fighting his feelings just as long. Malik always considered her to be unattainable, until one night when their simmering desire suddenly reaches the boiling point. And if he isn’t mistaken, Belinda is now coming on to him.

What could be more irresistible than being seduced by the boss’s granddaughter? What could be more perfect than giving in?

In the middle of her thoughts, his lips touched hers. She hadn’t seen it coming, because she’d been too deep in her own misery.

But the splash of heat that hit her instantly as his lips brushed lightly over hers a second time was unmistakable.

“Relax,” he whispered, his hand cupping her cheek, tilting her head upward to meet his next assault.

And it was exactly that, a slow brutal assault of each of her senses. His touch was soft, as if she was fragile and he didn’t want to break her. When she inhaled—because otherwise she was sure to faint from the breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding—the scent of his cologne wafted through her like the fresh scent of a summer’s rainfall. His voice had been a rough whisper that made her nipples go hard. Then his tongue stroked her bottom lip. She hurriedly traced her tongue along that same spot, loving the taste that slightly resembled the pizza they’d just eaten and the beer he’d consumed. That shouldn’t have been sexy in the least bit, but it was. Oh damn, damn, damn, it was.

A.C. ARTHUR

was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, where she currently resides with her husband and three children. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school and she hasn’t stopped since.

Working in the legal field for almost thirteen years, she’s seen lots of horrific things and longs for the safe haven reading a romance novel brings. Her debut novel, Object of His Desire, was written when a picture of an Italian villa sparked the idea of an African-American/Italian hero. Determined to bring a new edge to romance, she continues to develop intriguing plots, sensual love scenes, racy characters and fresh dialogue—thus keeping the readers on their toes!

For all the latest news on A.C. Arthur books, giveaways, appearances and discussions join A.C.’s Book Lounge on Facebook at www.facebook.com/pages/AC-Arthurs-Book-Lounge/140199625996114.

Decadent Dreams

A.C. Arthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To the members of A.C. Arthur’s Book Lounge.

Thanks for all your encouragement and support.

Dear Reader,

Sex and chocolate, two all-time favorites! That’s the first thought that entered my mind when I heard the title Decadent Dreams. The joining of a profitable bakery and a hot and steamy romance was such a great idea I couldn’t wait to begin writing!

The elder Draysons have certainly been sprinkled with love. Now, it’s time for the grandchildren to find their place within the family bakery business and within a loving and stable relationship. Belinda Drayson-Jones is the epitome of an independent woman, she’s gorgeous and wicked-smart and ready to take whatever is thrown her way. Until the man that’s been working right beside her turns her whole world upside down. Malik has his work cut out for him in pursuing Belinda, but he’s never been known as a quitter.

I hope you enjoy Decadent Dreams as much as I enjoyed writing about the delicious products served at Lillian’s Bakery and the delicious nights shared by Malik and Belinda.

Happy reading,

AC

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Prologue

Five hundred cupcakes in fifty minutes.

“No problem,” had been Belinda Drayson-Jones’s immediate response. What else was she going to say? This was her job and she was expected to be perfect at her job as well as everywhere else.

And just to make it interesting, the request was for five different flavors: chocolate-vanilla, classic vanilla, red velvet, triple chocolate and her absolute favorite, dark chocolate vanilla. One hundred of each. Again, no problem.

She’d premixed all her batter so that now it was just a matter of the baking and icing and finishing with crystalized sugar that sparkled with cheerfulness and always went on each cupcake she prepared. It was her signature, one she was more than proud of.

Her kitchen was meticulous, she thought, looking around at the work space on the twelve-foot stainless steel counter. There were three counters lining the baking room of the renowned Lillian’s Bakery. Twelve-foot-long shelves—fully stocked with every ingredient they needed for all the recipes prepared at Lillian’s—obediently against one wall. Professional ovens on another.

The aroma sifted through the room and her stomach growled but there was no time for food. She only had time to work. “Twenty more minutes,” she whispered to herself. The cupcakes were ready to come out. Ten minutes to cool and another ten minutes for icing—and that all boiled down to five hundred cupcakes in fifty minutes.

“No problem,” she repeated, slipping on her oven mitts and heading to the ovens.

She took out the first tray so fast she didn’t even look at the cupcakes. It was when she pulled out the second tray and turned to place it on the table that she saw the jiggle. One triple chocolate wasn’t completely done. Not a problem, she could put back in this tray. She still had time. Except when she reached for the next tray, the vanilla batter wasn’t all the way cooked either, because there were big bubbles erupting from each cupcake.

A frown, then a silent curse, and Belinda pulled out another tray to have a closer look. The oven was blazing hot so she knew that wasn’t the problem. And before she could give the problem closer scrutiny, there was a popping sound like an explosion, and red velvet batter splattered all over Belinda’s face, running down her cheeks and dripping on the black-and-white Betty Boop apron.

A scream bubbled in her throat and died there because Belinda would not succumb to useless reaction. It wasn’t her style.

There was a sound behind her and for a quick second Belinda was afraid to turn around. When she did, disregarding that particular emotion she despised almost as much as creamed spinach, it was to see cake batter dripping from every surface in the kitchen. The once pristine countertop she’d been working at was now full of gushing vanilla cake batter. From the supply shelves dark chocolate batter dripped slowly, hitting the floor with a sickening splat.

On instinct Belinda looked at her watch to see the time. Four minutes left.

No prob— She paused before finishing that statement because now the dripping batter was like a hailstorm, the sound loud and resounding, matching the quick pitter-patter of her heart. Her fingers shook; sweat beaded her brow. And then it began, the panic attack that had her bending over quickly trying to catch her breath.

“No. No. No,” she repeated over and over, while the scent of cake batter permeated her nose and the sound of loud ticking echoed in her ears. It was a clock and it was ticking down the time. Time, Belinda thought dismally. She was running out of time.

Chapter 1

“Pretty,” Belinda said quietly to herself as she stood in front of the flawlessly shined window of Lillian’s Bakery.

The legendary upscale bakery occupied half the lower level of a building on Chicago’s famed Magnificent Mile, likewise owned by Lillian and Henry Drayson, Belinda’s grandparents and two of the most inspiring people in her life. Lillian Reynolds-Drayson had begun testing her baking recipes on the customers of Woolworth’s cafeteria in the 1950s back when she was still Lillian Reynolds. Demand quickly grew for her delicious cakes and pies, which was a godsend, as she’d recently become widowed and had a son to take care of on her own. Through her unwavering faith and plenty of elbow grease (as Lillian would advise seriously), she was able to save up enough to rent space and open her own bakery. Eventually Lillian’s sweets lured in more than just customers, as she met her second husband, Henry Drayson, in 1960 and went on to have two more children. It was the beginning of a legacy, one Lillian had no idea would be born but now cherished with every breath she took.

And that was the number-one reason that Belinda Drayson-Jones worked as hard as she did. If her grandmother, a woman of small stature but big personality, could build this empire from nothing, then Belinda could certainly do her part to make sure the name and the quality it was known for carried on. Even if it meant losing sleep thanks to that awful five-hundred-cupcakes-in-fifty-minutes nightmare she kept having.

Pretty in Pink was the theme of the front window and it was deliciously gorgeous. White netting lined the bottom of the window while pink confetti sparkled among its sheerness. On white pedestals stood three perfectly decorated wedding cakes, each six tiers. One was pink, the other two white. The pink one had been lavishly decorated with cherry blossoms while one of the white ones displayed perfect blush roses in between each tier. The final white cake was one of her cousin Carter’s masterpieces with pink satin ribbons and an intricate lace design that covered the entire cake. It was gorgeous and, since the unveiling of the new window design two weeks ago, they’d already received seven orders for that exact cake, to be made by the fabulous Carter Drayson, of course.

With a satisfied smile Belinda made her way into the bakery, letting the stately and elegant decor—complete with its fresh-cut-flower arrangements that were a must as far as Lillian was concerned—welcome her like a second home. Yes, she could come through the back with the rest of the staff, considering they all parked in the same garage just off North Michigan Avenue, but admiring the window and witnessing passersby as they did the same boosted Belinda’s pride and gave her that extra push she needed too much recently.

Amber Mitchell, one of the baker’s assistants—who also did double duty as the receptionist when Nichelle, the part-time college student, wasn’t in—was standing behind the counter flipping through papers in a loose-leaf binder.

“Twelve deliveries and six pickups today,” Belinda told her. “The last delivery is the baby-carriage cake going to Congressman Delaney at his condo, and make sure it stays completely covered. He doesn’t want his wife to see it,” she said, removing the black tailored jacket she wore with black straight-legged pants and a lavender top.

“You memorize every day’s orders, don’t you?” Amber asked, her doelike eyes intense with curiosity.

“I like to know what’s on the agenda. Keeps us ahead of the game,” Belinda told her and received a look she knew well.

It was the look her cousins and most of their staff gave her on a daily basis. The one that said she was taking this business entirely too seriously. It was nothing new and didn’t really faze Belinda all that much. Her cousins had always thought she was too serious, too intent on being Miss Perfect. That’s what Monica would say. Monica was the younger daughter of Lisa and Dwight—Lillian’s eldest son. She had a sister named Shari who was actually the only cousin Belinda could confide in—to the extent that Belinda confided in anybody. As for Carter, he was Uncle Devon’s son—Uncle Devon being the only one of Lillian’s children that never married. Belinda’s parents were Matt and Daisy, Lillian’s only daughter. Belinda’s younger brother was Drake. All of Lillian’s grandchildren worked at the bakery. As a matter of fact, they should be in the kitchen in exactly twenty minutes for the emergency meeting Lillian had called. Belinda was early. There was no mystery there; she was always punctual.

“I’ll get the slips to the back for the delivery guys to look out for,” Amber said.

“Is anyone here yet?” she asked, smoothing down her top and making sure there was no lint on her pants. Black picked up everything, but these were her favorite and most comfortable work pants. She had a busy day today so comfort was her first priority. While most of her clothes carried a designer label and made her five-seven frame look even taller, Belinda knew when to sacrifice the look for the feel. In this case the outfit worked both ways, as the pants were designer, an excellent fit, and would still feel comfortable in about twelve hours when she’d finally be able to leave the bakery. And with that in mind, Belinda resisted the urge to find a mirror and double-check the freshly cut edges of her hair or the quality of the honey-blond streaks she’d been adding for the past two years.

“The meeting’s not for another twenty minutes,” Amber said with a half smile. “You know that nobody is going to arrive until five minutes before.”

Belinda sighed. “Punctuality is a virtue.”

“More like an obsession where you’re concerned,” Drake Drayson-Jones said as he entered the bakery.

Before she could turn completely around, he was already leaning forward, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said with the grin that had won him the Mr. Congeniality award in his high school superlatives.

“Good morning, Drake,” Belinda said, shaking her head at her brother, who always seemed to be in a good mood. “You’re early. That’s a good look for you.”

“I want to make sure my presentation is on point, so I had to get here early.”

“Presentation? But Grandma called this meeting. I figured that meant she’d do all the talking.”

Drake shrugged, heading behind the counter and taking out a Belgian-chocolate frosted doughnut. Before she could remind him that it wasn’t even nine o’clock in the morning and he was too old to have doughnuts for breakfast, Drake had bitten through half and chewed it as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Grandma’s going to talk and then I have a few things to say. It’ll be short and sweet, I promise.”

“But she never calls a meeting on a weekday, in the bakery for that matter. You know how she is about working when in the workplace. What’s going on?”

Drake finished off the doughnut then headed to the other side of the showroom where scents of different-flavored coffees brewed at the coffee bar. This convenience had been added to the bakery about three years ago. With the rise of coffeehouses and internet cafés across the nation, Drake was finally able to convince their grandparents to ride the wave. So far, based on how many coffee sales eventually turned into big bakery orders, it was a great idea.

Belinda followed him, taking a seat at one of the four café tables that occupied the space. The quaint little corner not only added ambiance but, thanks to the hand-painted mugs on the tabletops, added a touch of art to the bakery that she loved.

Drake followed her lead and took a seat with his cup of coffee in hand.

“This is a special circumstance,” he told her.

“One you are dying to tell me about,” she said, letting her hands fall to her lap.

Drake shook his head. He looked a lot like their father with his caramel complexion and thick black eyebrows that matched the soft ebony curls, which he kept cut short.

“Not this time. Grandma wants to make the announcement herself.”

“That means it’s serious,” she said quietly.

“And so are you,” he told her, reaching forward to tap her on her forehead. He’d done that since she was little. Belinda half hated it and half loved it because it was a warm memory. Things had changed so much since she’d grown up. “Stop overthinking everything. The meeting will go fine and you’ll rise to the occasion like you always do.”

He was right. She would. Because that’s what everyone expected of her.

* * *

Malik Anthony straightened his tie. It was silk and several different shades of blue all swirled into a paisley design. He figured it went well with the dark denim of his jeans and the white dress shirt he’d donned especially for this morning’s meeting. Immediately thereafter he had a North Carolina Tar Heels T-shirt he would change into for work because Malik hated ties.

He figured that was one good thing to come out of his departure from the NBA—he didn’t have to dress in a suit before and after every game. Now, almost eight years later, Malik could joke about the year he’d played professional basketball. He could look back on that time and not feel a deep sense of loss at a dream long gone. Some would say that was attributed to his laid-back demeanor, that he could always brush off things and move on. They weren’t entirely wrong. But he readily admitted that brushing off the NBA was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

Since then he’d found a new career. Becoming a pastry chef had not been on Malik’s to-do list. In fact, during their years at college while his best friend, Carter Drayson, had planned to join his family’s baking business, Malik had only focused on the fact that Carter always made some banging desserts for their frat parties. Carter would become a businessman, in addition to learning more about the baking craft that had started with him tasting everything that came out of his grandmother’s kitchen. He was going to someday either own his family bakery or create his own that would be top-notch because that’s the way Carter rolled. As for Malik, it had been all basketball, all the time.

And when that time was gone, he’d had to regroup. Because diving into a pity party for one wasn’t his idea of a good time. Instead he’d gone through a year of rigorous rehabilitation, during which time he’d begun taking online courses in, of all things, culinary arts. It was meant as a diversion, to keep his mind off the pain that sometimes threatened his sanity and the loss that could potentially haunt him forever. It wasn’t until his therapy was complete that Carter suggested he spend some time at Lillian’s Bakery.

Malik had wanted to laugh at the idea of becoming a delivery man after four years of college, a year playing professional basketball and another year taking online courses. But he needed to do something with his time, needed to keep moving or else he’d stand still in that same place for the rest of his life. So he went to work at Lillian’s and eight years later he was still there.

No longer delivering the delectable sweets that came out of this world-renowned bakery, today Malik was a senior pastry chef right alongside the Drayson grandchildren. Hence his dressing up today for this very important meeting with Ms. Lillian, a woman Malik had come to love and respect as if she were his own grandmother.

He’d arrived at the bakery early; then again he did that on most days when he had three cakes to go out by noon. The orders were usually split among the chefs unless the customer requested someone in particular—which mostly happened to Carter, who was as smooth and charismatic as he was the absolute best artisan cake designer Malik knew. While each of the senior team were masters at baking and decorating signature cakes, cookies, brownies and fine pastries, they all had somehow managed to find their own niche that was respected throughout the business. As for Malik, his favorite dessert had always been fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies so it was logical that he spent a lot of time developing new cookie recipes. Brownies were a new specialty that he’d been working on, and after a tremendous response from customers to his new flavors, he figured he’d hit on something big in that department.

There was a children’s party later today to celebrate one of the local middle schools’ production of The Wizard of Oz, so in addition to the three cakes on his schedule, Malik had ten dozen cookies and four dozen mint brownies to bake by three o’clock this afternoon.

He looked at his watch as he moved down the hallway that separated the large kitchen and the offices at Lillian’s, and headed toward the showroom. He knew Amber would already be at the front desk since the bakery opened at nine and it was already 8:50 a.m. Now, he would check the display cases to make sure they were full before heading into the meeting—the meeting he hoped didn’t take too long.

As he approached the swinging doors to the showroom, Malik heard voices and figured more of the staff was here early this morning. He was just about to enter when he looked through the circular windows first and stopped dead in his tracks.

There should be a law against being so fine and so uptight at the same time. He shook his head as his eyes stayed fixated on her—a pastime he’d long since developed. His body had a systematically physical reaction to seeing Belinda. The heat always started at the top, with a lick of his lips as he swallowed deeply. His chest heaved, his heart rate increasing. Then his fingers clenched because the thought of touching her was almost irresistible. All that pooled into the groin area, causing an undeniable erection. To get rid of it, he’d have to focus extremely hard on something like baseball stats or the last chick flick he’d been forced to watch.

About thirty seconds later his brain would once again take control of his traitorous body and he’d be back to business.

Belinda Drayson-Jones was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. That was a simple fact. Her tall, curvy frame was alluring and the buttery complexion of her skin enticing. But for Malik, it was her eyes that grabbed him by the balls and squeezed so tightly he thought he’d have an aneurysm every time he stared at her. Not just their green color, because he’d seen green-eyed beauties before. No, for him, it was deeper. It was the look of pure sadness that he found in the hazel-flecked depths that kept a stranglehold on him.

Even today, as he finally pushed through the door and walked into the showroom, he could tell she wasn’t happy.

“Morning, good people. How are we today?” he asked in his normal upbeat tone as he approached the table where Belinda sat with her brother, Drake.

“Hey, man, glad you’re here early. I have something for you,” Drake said to Malik as he dug into his leather briefcase and pulled out what looked like a report. “When you get a moment, look that over. I have one for Carter, too. We should meet sometime this week to talk about what we want to do.”

Malik took the bound papers from him and flipped through them quickly. He nodded. “That’s right. We did talk about this a few weeks ago. I’ll look at it tonight.”

“When’s a good time for you to meet?” Drake asked.

“I’m free this weekend,” he told him, still looking at the papers and not at Belinda, who he knew was looking at him.

Here was a fact he’d discovered about Belinda in the years that he’d known her. She had to know everything, be in control of everything and do everything. Now, that seemed like more than one fact, but actually it all culminated into one—perfection. That should have been her middle name. On most days, to the bulk of the people who knew her, it was annoying as hell. To Malik, it was funny and sad at the same time. Some days, he felt as sorry for her as he was attracted to her.

“I’m free for a meeting this weekend, as well,” she said in a voice that wasn’t husky but wasn’t dainty and feminine like her cousin Monica’s, either. It was simply Belinda, to which Malik had learned to classify a lot of things about her.

“You’re not invited,” Drake told her with a quick smile.

“Sorry.” Malik added his own smile when she eyed him suspiciously. “No girls allowed.”

“Very funny,” she said, standing and walking from the table.

Her perfume was heavenly, Euphoria by Calvin Klein. He knew it well and wanted to personally thank Calvin for creating the scent that matched the woman so expertly. He was about to turn and say something else to Belinda when the front door opened and Shari Drayson walked in.

“Grandma’s here. Time for the meeting.”

Chapter 2

Lillian Reynolds-Drayson walked into the kitchen with an air of royalty that rivaled Queen Elizabeth. She was a tall woman, almost five-seven, with skin the color of warm honey weathered only slightly by time. She wore a rose-colored suit, the skirt modestly five inches below her knee, the jacket custom fit with floral appliqués at the shoulders and down the lapels. She loved pastel colors as much as she loved fresh flowers. But what Lillian loved most was this bakery and her grandchildren, most of whom were assembled around her.

“Good morning. I know you’re all wondering why I called you here this morning so I won’t beat around the bush,” she said.

Lillian stood at the head of the twelve-foot-long stainless steel worktable. To her left, her grandson Drake sat on a stool, his briefcase and paperwork spread out in front of him. Drake always had paperwork because his mind was always busy. That had been the case when he was a child and more so now that he’d grown up and decided he was better at marketing and advertising than he was at baking. After he’d graduated college and come into the fold, he’d brought new-generation fundamentals and visions into Lillian’s. He’d been the one to suggest those dang computers that took over most of the duties that Lillian and Henry had done themselves. Not that Lillian was complaining. She knew the day was coming soon that she would no longer stand at the helm of this business, dictating what its next step would be. And she wasn’t sad about that. It was the natural course of things. Life had to go on. Together she and Henry had built this legacy so that one day they could sit back and watch their offspring continue on with its success. She’d been fortunate that her grandchildren had the same talent and passion for baking as she did. While her children had also learned at her elbow, watching everything she did, tasting her new creations and helping in the early days of the bakery, they’d all seemed to grow in different directions.

But Lillian wasn’t one to be deterred. She knew at some point there would be someone to pass down the bakery to. Sitting right beside Drake was his sister Belinda. A more beautiful child Lillian swore she had never seen. A natural talent in the kitchen, tenacious and unwavering in everything she did. Lillian prayed especially hard, however, over this one every day.

To her right was another one of her granddaughters. Shari was a quiet one, very talented and a great mother to her four-year-old son, Andre. Lillian was proud of how dedicated a mother and a baker Shari had become. She only wished her granddaughter would one day experience the fulfillment of a good relationship.

Monica was her other granddaughter, but she wouldn’t be at today’s meeting. Monica had spearheaded one of their newest ventures, the production of dry cake and cookie mixes to be boxed for sale. Today she was meeting with their attorneys and distributors to discuss how to get Lillian’s gourmet mixes onto the shelves in as many stores as possible.

Standing beside Shari was a young man who was like a grandson to Lillian. She was the first to admit that she’d initially had doubts about Malik Anthony when he had no choice but to make a complete U-turn from a sports career to delivering cakes and pies all over Chicago. But Henry had convinced her to give the boy a chance. Her dear sweet husband had seen something in this young man that Lillian wasn’t quite sure was there. However, over time Malik had definitely proven himself to her and to this business.

She had another grandson, Carter, who was mysteriously missing from this meeting. That fact she would definitely deal with later.

“As you might know already, Daisy just returned from Los Angeles, where she had a meeting with a television studio.”

Malik stood up from his seat, going over to help Lillian. Taking her elbow, he guided her down as she angled for the stool behind her.

“Thank you, son,” she said with a smile.

Drake was also moving, bringing her a mug that Lillian knew would be filled with her favorite hazelnut coffee—three creams, one sugar. These boys had been raised right and would one day make some woman very happy.

“Daisy attended on behalf of the bakery. When she called me to report that the meeting had been successful, I was beside myself. Henry and I are very excited about this opportunity.” As she spoke, Lillian was careful to look around the table at the faces of the people who helped make this a renowned bakery.

In the back of her mind she knew that these bright and talented individuals would need more to draw from than just their undeniable talent for baking, a pretty face or charismatic personality. This was a big opportunity for them, and Lillian only prayed they would be able to come together to pull it off.

“One of those reality TV shows that your generation loves to watch has offered us a place in their next competition, I believe they call it...” she said, looking over at Drake for his input.

Drake nodded and pulled out of his briefcase a couple pamphlets that he passed among his sister, his cousin and Malik.

“You Take the Cake is the Festival of Foods channel’s highest-rated baking competition. It airs live weekly and features four bakeries that go head-to-head in a cake baking competition. The prize is one-hundred-thousand dollars and national recognition. We’re slated to compete in the next competition, which is two months from now,” Drake said, barely containing his excitement.

“Are you serious?” Shari asked first as she looked up from the pamphlet to Drake.

“Daisy was very serious about this deal,” Lillian answered. “As am I. I hope you all know how important this is.”

She heard Belinda sigh as she read Drake’s meticulous outline of the details of the competition. He paid as much attention to the details of his marketing presentations as Belinda did to everything else, whether it was baking or simply getting dressed. That girl needed everything to be just right. She’d been that way since she was little, and Lillian had watched her coordinate all the books on her shelf in alphabetical order then make sure each book was lined precisely so that none were sticking out farther than the others. Belinda had even played neatly, keeping all the clothes from her Barbie dolls stored in labeled ziplock bags. And when she packed them away, she was careful to smooth down the hair of each doll before laying them in the box and closing it. Then she would carry the box ever-so-slowly before slipping it under her bed. While Drake’s room usually looked like a hurricane had swept through it, Belinda’s, even at seven years old, looked as if she’d hired a maid to come in and clean it. The last time Lillian had been to Belinda’s apartment, she noted her granddaughter’s ways hadn’t changed over the years.

“So we’re going to compete with another bakery on a national television series?” Belinda asked.

Drake smiled. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. And we’re going to win this competition because once we do, Lillian’s will be recognized as Chicago’s number-one bakery.”

“We’re already Chicago’s number-one bakery,” Shari added.

“But this will make us official,” Drake told her.

“This will make us national,” Malik spoke up finally. “With the win under our belt, Monica won’t have any problem getting the stores to carry the mixes. We could open another location, branch out to have shops in different states.”

“Now you see where I’m going with this,” Drake said. “This is a phenomenal opportunity for us. Once we win, we’ll be golden!” Drake told them, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

Even Belinda had smiled at that. “Winning would be a coup for us. We’ve already been featured in a couple cooking magazines but with this we’re liable to make the cover. And Festival of Foods has a great national following. They’re the top food channel out there.”

“We could try some new recipes,” Shari said, tapping her fingers on the pamphlet as she talked. “Do something nobody has ever done before. Different flavors and fillings.”

Belinda nodded. “You’re right. We need to think about designs, too. Those shows pay a lot of attention to detail. Do we know what the theme is?” she asked.

Drake’s smile widened. “Around the World. We’ve got five different countries to work with. Five unique opportunities to show why we’re the best.”

“And since we are the best, we’re going to wow those judges with our cakes!” Shari added, her excitement showing in the smile on her round face.

“Not so fast,” Lillian interjected. “You all are rushing into this like winning is the only possible outcome.”

“It’s called confidence, Grandma,” Drake added, still smiling.

“The same confidence the Hare had when he thought he was a shoo-in to win that race against the Tortoise,” she replied with a frown. “Just because we bake good cakes here inside this bakery doesn’t mean we’ll be able to do the same thing in another location, against other bakers. Talent is not enough for this competition.”

“We’re not trying to be overconfident, Grandma,” Shari said. “We just know what our strengths are. We know what we’re capable of because we had the best teacher.”

Lillian could have smiled at that compliment but she didn’t want her grandchildren to become complacent. She hadn’t gotten this far in this business by believing she was the best; she’d done it by showing she was the best. Not just in baking, but in customer service and professionalism. This had been no easy feat, and she wanted her grandchildren to realize that.

“And that’s why I’m going to teach you something else,” she told her grandchildren. “This competition can only be won if you all work together. Teamwork has got to be the key. If all of you go out there trying to show that you personally are the best, you’ll fall flat on your face.”

“We know that we’re a team, Grandma,” Belinda added.

Lillian shook her head. Belinda came from what Lillian liked to call “Team Me.” She believed that she was the best at everything and so she rarely let anyone help her. She was independent to the point of being a loner and that definitely was not going to work.

“Then it’s time you all showed it. Play your strengths and divide and conquer. I want the team to win, not one of you. Your grandfather and I are looking to retire and we’d like to know who’s able to run this company and who’s not,” she said pointedly, being sure to look at each and every one of them that was there.

“We get it, Grandma,” Drake said after a moment of silence.

Shari nodded and reached out to touch Lillian’s hand. “We’ll make you proud.”

“I’m already proud,” Lillian said.

“Do you know who our competition is?” Malik asked Drake.

“They’re all listed in the back of the pamphlet. Two of them are relatively new but one—” He stopped to look up at Shari.

She had just flipped to the back of the pamphlet and they all knew the second she read the list of names because she dropped the pamphlet.

“I can beat her,” Shari said defiantly.

By “her” she was referring to Dina English, owner and head pastry chef at Brown Sugar Bakery.

“This is not the place for personal grudges,” Drake told Shari.

She lifted her chin and took a deep breath. “I don’t hold grudges.”

Everyone in the room went silent. That was one of the biggest and most blatant lies they’d ever heard. Shari indeed held a grudge against her once-best-friend Dina English, who had not only branched out and started her own bakery, but had taken a few of Lillian’s baking secrets with her. For years Dina had been like a member of the Drayson family, working summers in the bakery while she and Shari had attended college together. When she started Brown Sugar Bakery, it had come as a complete surprise, especially to Shari.

“I mean it. I’ll be fine,” Shari told them.

Lillian simply nodded toward her granddaughter, hoping she would be able to stand true to her word.

Chapter 3

She’d changed to flat black shoes with thick rubber soles that would grip the floor so there would be no slipping and falling. Her jacket and top had also been changed to a short-sleeved black T-shirt with the word DIVA scrawled across her delectable breasts in white rhinestones.

Malik continued to watch as Belinda went directly to the third hook on the rack that held their coats and jackets or whatever else they decided to hang up on any given day. Her apron was always on this hook and nothing was on the two hooks surrounding it. Belinda had a thing about her apron touching street clothes so nobody hung their stuff near hers. She pulled the apron over her head, reaching behind her back to tie it in place. He smiled each time he saw her put that on, he couldn’t help it.

“What are you laughing at?” she asked, her brows immediately wrinkling with a frown.

“You,” he replied, moving from where he’d been standing across the room to the double Sub-Zero refrigerator.

“I wasn’t aware I looked that funny,” was her cool retort.

Malik almost laughed again but knew better. There was only so far you could push Belinda and he wasn’t trying to get on her bad side. It wasn’t quite noon yet so they had a lot of hours to work together in the kitchen.

Shari was traveling with a delivery of two cakes that replicated sculptures by an up-and-coming artist that were being shown at a gallery in Bridgeport. Drake had closed himself in his office, making more moves where the bakery was concerned, no doubt. He was definitely dedicated to the business. As were the rest of the Draysons. They were a close-knit family, the business holding them as strong as their familial bond.

That left him and Belinda in the kitchen today to get out the orders. Carter was expected, but there was no exact time one could ever expect Carter. He worked his own hours, which were usually long and rigorous since he was always striving to achieve more, even though he was already a master at his craft.

“You don’t look funny,” he said when he’d closed the refrigerator, carrying the rolls of fondant over to the working table. “You look really cute in your Betty Boop apron.” It was an honest assessment, one he usually kept to himself. Today, however, Malik had the urge to go out on a limb.

“It was a gift,” she said, slapping her hands down over the apron. Too hard to be an attempt at wiping something off, more likely she thought she could erase Betty Boop’s voluptuously shaped body from the material.

“A very nice gift. Who gave it to you?” he asked as he worked.

Belinda had finally stopped touching the apron and obviously decided to get to work herself. There were two full sheet cakes on the other end of the table. She picked up a bowl of buttercream icing and a spatula and moved closer to the table, on the opposite side from Malik.

“My father.”

“You a Betty Boop fan?”

“Yes.”

It was cordial conversation, the likes of which he and Belinda had gone through on more than one occasion. It wasn’t normally this stiff, even though Belinda was not a fan of conversing while she was working. But Malik sensed there was something bothering her today. She was even more reserved than normal.

He retrieved a marble cutting board and rolled out the first layer of pea-green fondant. Using the rolling pin, he began the painstaking process of smoothing it out just another layer or so before he would drape it over the golf course cake he was working on.

“I can like Betty Boop if I want to. I’m not so stuck-up that I don’t know a simple cartoon character when it’s splattered on the front of my apron,” she said abruptly.

Malik had looked up at her, not speaking for a moment. She hadn’t even gazed at him, just kept scooping icing onto that spatula and gently smoothing it onto the cake. It was amazing how much pent-up emotion she was holding on to. He could see it in the stiffness of her shoulders, the stern set of her lips. And yet, her hands were supersteady, smoothing icing in lengthy strokes, making sure the cake was covered evenly.

“You can like whatever you want. That makes you decisive, not stuck-up.” And yet he wondered who’d called her stuck-up, and if they’d had the guts to do so to her face.

“Right,” she said slapping the spatula into the icing bowl. She turned the cake, surveying it.

“If you tell me who, I’ll gladly punch the person who called you stuck-up,” he offered with a serious face. “Providing it’s not a female.”

The edge of her lips twitched and he knew she wanted to smile. He’d seen her smile before, had received a sucker punch to his gut each time. This one, albeit small, was hard earned. Something was really bothering her.

“It’s not worth it,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “His loss.”

The last was spoken in a softer tone. So much so Malik had barely heard it. After only a few minutes of trying to phrase his question just right, he asked, “So a guy you were dating called you stuck-up. Why? Because you weren’t into him?”

She’d been making sure the tip was properly attached to the tube and had just been about to apply the border to the cake when she paused. Her head turned to the side and she looked at him. Even on Belinda the white hair caps they were required to wear at all times in the kitchen looked cute.

“How did you know it was a man?”

“Because you’re not the type of female to get bothered by what another female says about you. Besides, if it were a female, you would have simply cursed her out and kept it moving.”

She chuckled. “You’re right about that.”

He’d seen Belinda tear down jealous females with a look and a few words spoken in the coolest voice. She wasn’t the screaming and hollering type, nor was she into physical altercations. But she was no doormat, either. Anybody coming at her with smart words should prepare to get an earful. So it had to be a man that had said this to her. A dumb-ass man that most likely needed an eye-opener to see the error of his ways. Malik would be more than happy to open his eye for him—or close it permanently.

“It’s nothing. Just another date gone wrong. I should probably start my own reality show. Surely my love life is entertaining at best.”

Her love life. How long had Malik been thinking about Belinda’s love life? Too damned long. Belinda Drayson-Jones was not on the list of available women for him—no matter how attracted to her he was. How attracted to her he had been for some time now. But pursuing her would go against too many of his rules on dating, namely the no-drama rule. If he went after Belinda, Carter would totally go off. The men in this family were very protective of their women. And as his best friend, Carter would definitely have strong feelings about a relationship between Malik and Belinda—especially with Carter’s never-mix-work-with-pleasure rule. And then there was the fact that Belinda was Lillian’s favorite granddaughter. No secret there. The matriarch doted on everything Belinda did, because everything she did was always right.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You’re dating the wrong guys.”

“Tell me about it,” was her reply.

“Okay, I will.” He smiled to keep things on this light tone. “Just because he comes from a good family, with money and stature, has a high-paying job and drives a fancy car doesn’t mean he should be a candidate.”

“That is not how I select my dates.”

Malik gave her a knowing look. “You’re not going to date any man you think will tarnish the Drayson family name. So in your mind the man for you has to be influential, accomplished, handsome and debonair. Those are all superficial traits, flimsy as the society pages that describe him that way. Hence, big mistake for you.”

“Malik, really? Do you think I select men from the society pages? You make me sound desperate.”

“Not at all,” he said shaking his head. “You’re too beautiful to be desperate.”

Now, that was a first. Malik wasn’t shy when it came to women; he’d just been careful to stay in his lane where Belinda was concerned. With that comment he’d just swerved into the left lane and had to regain his control to keep from crashing.

“That’s sort of what he said. Apparently I’m also too beautiful to be so stuck-up.”

“Like I said, he’s an idiot. Which means you made a bad choice.”

“Apparently beauty has nothing to do with that that, huh?” she asked.

Malik wanted to let this conversation drop. He’d never talked to Belinda about the men in her life before. Actually, he’d made a point not to discuss that with her. Pity parties weren’t his thing so thinking about the woman he’d never had was a pastime he tried to do without.

She’d finished the yellow border of the cake and was just about to line up the previously made sugar roses when one of them slipped from her spatula and landed on the table instead of the cake. She cursed, her lips drawn tightly as she retrieved the rose that hadn’t been harmed and put it in its place.

“What you need to do is relax,” he told her. “Take some time to just let loose. You’ll forget about what’s-his-name taking his frustrations out on you.” And you can stop being perfect for just one minute, he added, though he kept that part to himself. Because Malik was sure the perfect routine was one tiring job.

“I don’t see how relaxing is going to make a difference in the man I choose to go out with.”

“I’m not saying it’ll make a difference in your choice of men, only you can make that change. But sometimes it’s good to just get away from all the pressures of life. How about this? I pick you up tonight at seven. We’ll go out and have a fun-filled evening at which time you will not think about what’s-his-name that didn’t have the good sense God gave him. You will not think about this bakery and what orders we have for tomorrow. You will not think about the competition that’s coming up or what you can do to contribute for us to win. Deal?”

* * *

First of all, Malik Anthony had always been too damned fine for his own good. As if it wasn’t enough that his body was perfectly toned, tall and sculpted like the basketball player he used to be. No, his honey-colored skin had to be smooth and enticing. His always-close-shaved head and dark brown eyes were like dangling a carrot in front of every female rabbit. The tattoos he had on each of his biceps should have been a turnoff and yet Belinda had always found the scorpion on his left bicep, which represented his zodiac sign, as well as the justice scales on his right bicep, which represented his mother’s zodiac sign, heartwarming instead of offensive.

His laid-back demeanor and almost-always-positive mood tended to give her a headache more often than not. Nobody could be in a good mood all the time. It just wasn’t possible. Life wasn’t that good. Especially not for him, Belinda presumed. Having his dream collapse and ending up here could not have been easy for Malik. But watching him move around this bakery, laughing and joking with Carter and working just as hard as the rest of them, she couldn’t tell he was suffering. Sure, it had been years and he’d probably gotten over the cruel hand fate had dealt him, but Belinda was positive he harbored some resentful feelings. He had to, right?

“I can’t go on a date with you. Besides we both have to be back here first thing tomorrow morning. We have a heavy schedule,” she told him matter-of-factly.

“We’re not the only staff members that work here. Besides, I’m not talking about keeping you out overnight. We’re just going to go out for a few hours and have a little fun.”

“I don’t need you to show me how to have fun,” she said defiantly.

“I didn’t say I was going to show you. I said we’ll have some fun. Meaning both of us. Stop analyzing it to death. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What if I say no?”

“You can. I’m not desperate either, you know. I won’t beg to take you out,” Malik said in that casual tone

of his.

Why did that hurt her feelings? She didn’t care if Malik didn’t want to take her out. Why should she?

Rolling her shoulders, Belinda took a deep breath. This was silly. Malik was like family—even though his wide smile and infectious laugh often did things to her that neither Carter’s nor Drake’s ever had. Spending an evening with him wouldn’t be that big of a deal. She’d done it before when they’d worked late nights, or at family dinners. There was no reason to expect that tonight would be any different. And yes, she could use a reprieve.

Earlier this week when she’d gone out with Patrick Masterson of Masterson Wholesale Foods, she hadn’t been relaxed at all. And by the end of the evening she’d been ready to wrap her hands around Patrick’s scrawny little neck and squeeze until the shrill sound of his voice stopped completely. He was an annoying, self-centered man who thought the sun rose and set on him. And he had the audacity to call her stuck-up because she’d declined a third date.

The first date had been a favor to her mother, who was on some committee with Patrick’s mother. The second time had been because she feared she hadn’t given him a fair shot the first go-round. After an hour and a half on Monday night and hearing about Patrick’s latest accomplishments which centered around his new shipment of veggie burgers and other organic meats, she’d deduced that a third date would be the type of torture she did not deserve.

“I know you’re not desperate, Malik.” She took another deep breath and used the inside of her arm to wipe her forehead. “You can pick me up tonight at seven. We’ll go out and have some fun, because you think that’ll make everything in my world better. And we’ll be back here tomorrow for work as usual.”

Malik looked as if he were going to say something else. Instead he only nodded and continued to work on applying the fondant to the lower layer of the Ricardo wedding cake.

Hours later after they’d both worked themselves to the brink, Belinda drove herself back to her apartment. She stripped out of her work clothes, switched on the faucet in the tub and poured in a generous amount of bubble bath. She couldn’t wait to sink down into the water. Heading into her bedroom she grabbed a book from her nightstand. These were Belinda’s only indulgences—hot baths and reading. They were her only support system in a life she feared was spiraling out of control.

Just as she was almost out of the bedroom, the phone rang and she circled back to the nightstand to grab the cordless device. She said hello, continuing on her trek into the bathroom.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask when I saw you earlier. How was your date with Patrick?” Shari asked. The preschool had called Shari earlier this afternoon and she’d had to leave straight from her delivery to pick up Andre. So Belinda hadn’t seen her since this morning’s meeting. Of course she thought about her cousin’s reaction to the contest announcement—more aptly about how Shari really felt about Dina English and this upcoming competition. Shari had said she was fine with it, but Belinda hadn’t believed her. The grudge between Shari and Dina had been going on for years now, but as far as Belinda knew, neither of the women had ever confronted each other or had any reason to be in the same place at the same time. A live competition on national TV probably wasn’t the best setting for a reunion, but there wasn’t much they could do about that now.

“It wasn’t worth talking about this morning and it’s definitely not worth talking about now,” was Belinda’s reply to Shari’s question.

“But you two look so good together,” Shari said excitedly. “And just think, if you hook up with him, we could probably be a featured bakery in their store. You know those warehouse stores get lots of traffic. They usually make and sell their own baked goods. But what if we could work out some type of distribution with them? We could use that publicity.”

This was only a small sample of the pressure Belinda always felt weighing on her shoulders. Ever since she could walk and talk, expectations of her had been high. In elementary school she had to be the cutest, the smartest. By middle school her parents had encouraged—she wouldn’t say “forced,” out of respect—her to join the spelling club, which had her traveling for nationwide competitions. At the same time she needed to be well-rounded, so three years in gymnastics and four years of piano lessons were also prescribed. High school was the Debate Club, the Honor Society and every honors class she could enroll in. College was more committees and activities, but by that time, Belinda had begun to tune out more than she absorbed.

“You sound more and more like Drake every day,” she said. “I’m not going to pimp myself out, even for the sake of making Lillian’s a household name.”

“Come on, you know I would never suggest that, girl. I was just saying that would be a perk. Of course you would have to feel something for him, as well. Which by the sound of your voice I’m guessing you do not.”

“Then you would be guessing correctly,” Belinda said as she sank down into the tub, loving the soothing feel of hot water as it touched her skin, and the chamomile fragrance of the bubbles that permeated the air.

“He’s a pompous ass. And he had the audacity to call me names when I said I wouldn’t go out with him again. How childish.” Even though Belinda had to admit the fact that she was still bothered by his words probably spoke volumes about her own maturity. It wasn’t as if she had never been called names before—that, too, had happened when she was younger. Being perfect had never been Belinda’s goal—it was a prerequisite. For so long she went along with it because for the most part it came naturally. Now, twenty-six years later, she felt like she was renting space inside this body—living the life others expected her to live. It was a huge price to pay, one Belinda wasn’t sure she could continue to afford.

On the other hand, there was the guilt of wanting to lead what she presumed was a “normal” life. Her grandmother had risen above what was expected of a normal African-American single mother, and she’d made something bigger—her family and her business. And Belinda owed it to her, to their legacy, to be the best always. That’s what her parents had instilled in her and that was the rule she’d lived by all her life. The one that haunted her to this day.

“So you’re on the hunt again?” Shari asked with a chuckle.

“I’m not now, nor have I ever been on the hunt. My parents are the ones who think I should be married and ready to have babies by now.”

“You should have started young like I did,” Shari quipped.

Shari was a single mother and proud of it. She took care of her son on her own and never complained.

“I don’t even know if I want kids. Or a man for that matter.”

“Oh, you want a man,” she said. “It’s in our genes to want to get married and have kids. We’ve got a legacy to carry on. If we don’t have kids, who does it carry on to?”

Belinda was so tired of hearing about this legacy.

“The show will go on no matter what,” she said drily. “Anyway I won’t have time to think about men with this competition coming up.”

“I know. I’ve been drawing sketches all afternoon. Andre has a fever so he’s been sleeping. But I have so many ideas.”

Belinda had none. Sure, Malik thought she was thinking about the competition all day today, and she’d let him think along those lines. But it just wasn’t true. This competition was important, she knew that. But there was something else she thought was just as important. Something she feared she’d gone too long without experiencing.

Even now talking to her cousin was a distraction. Belinda had decided to make a change, one that was going to require some thought and planning. “Well, I just came home and I’m trying to take a bath. How about I call you later?”

“Sure, you go ahead. I want to work on my ideas some more. At some point all of us need to get together to figure out what our game plan is.”

Belinda nodded, knowing that would inevitably happen, no matter how much she dreaded it. “Right. You coordinate the others and I’ll be there.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know.”

“Hope Andre feels better,” Belinda said before bidding her cousin good-night and hanging up the phone.

She lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. She could get out of this tub and climb right into her bed. Sleep would be a good way to get things off her mind—if she could sleep. Most likely she’d continue to think about her life-altering decision—the one she’d made after her date with Patrick. The one where she decided to take charge of her own life. Unfortunately, once again, her life would have to wait. Tonight she had a date. Or maybe she should just call it an outing. Whatever it was, it was going to take her away from planning and contemplating. And Belinda wasn’t happy about that.

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