Mocha Pleasures. Pamela YayeЧитать онлайн книгу.
Jackson loved women, and in all his twenty-eight years he’d never met a female he didn’t like—until now. Why did she have to be so cold? Why did she have to dog his baking? Didn’t she know how hard it was to wake up at 5:00 a.m. and bake hundreds of pastries after a night of clubbing?
Hearing his cell phone buzz, he took it out of his back pocket and punched in his password. He had two new text messages. As usual, Diego was checking up on him. He’d call his buddy during his lunch break to touch base with him. Jackson considered Diego Maldonado—his friend since the fifth grade—and his large, loving, Portuguese brood to be his second family. Reading the second text, he couldn’t believe his good luck. His ex-girlfriend wanted to know if he was free tomorrow night. She had two front-row tickets for the T.I. concert, and VIP passes for the after party at Trinity Nightclub. Did he want to go?
Hell, yeah, Jackson thought, immediately responding to her message. He’d dated the paralegal for three months, but called it quits when she started dropping not-so-subtle hints about moving into his Beacon Hill bachelor pad. They weren’t soul mates, but they’d always be great friends. Jackson hung out with all of his exes—except Mimi. They hadn’t spoken since he’d called off their engagement last year, and he had no intention of ever speaking to Mimi Tanaka again. As far as Jackson was concerned, she was dead to him.
Remembering the night they broke up, he realized he’d dodged a bullet by ending their relationship. Marriage wasn’t for everyone, and Jackson was smart enough to realize it wasn’t for him. He had decades of bachelorhood ahead of him, years of skirt chasing to enjoy, and he wasn’t going to screw that up by getting hitched. His brother and sister were over-the-moon in love, walking around the bakery all day long with permanent smiles on their faces, but Jackson had zero desire to find love. That didn’t mean he didn’t value and respect women. He did. Thought they were exciting, fascinating creatures, and for that reason just one would never do.
“We’re running low on éclairs and we’re out of lemon scones, as well...”
Jackson blinked, returning to the present. Kelsey Andrews, an intern from the Seattle Culinary Academy, sidled up beside him, eyes bright, smile in place, curls tumbling around her face. Yesterday after work she’d invited him to Zani Bar for drinks, but he’d turned her down, lied and said he had plans with his dad. Kelsey was ten years his junior, and he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea or encourage her advances. Workplace romances never worked, and if he hooked up with the fresh-faced barista, Mariah would kick his ass.
“If you don’t mind manning the till, I’ll head to the kitchen and make another batch.”
“No problem,” she purred, her gaze full of longing. “Anything for you, Jackson.”
Put off by her seductive tone, Jackson stalked out of the bakery and into the bright, spacious kitchen. He grabbed an oversized mixing bowl and the ingredients he needed from the cupboard. Getting down to work, he put all thoughts of Luscious Lips out of his mind. She wasn’t the only beautiful woman in town, and if she didn’t want to go out with him it was her loss, not his. He had things to do, had to finish the pastries before the insane lunch rush, but this time when he made pistachio cupcakes he’d go easy on the vanilla extract.
Despite himself, he wore a rueful smile. What a morning. What a woman, he thought, remembering their terse exchange. Jackson was mad at himself for not getting her name. He wished he knew more about her besides her penchant for pistachio cupcakes. He had a feeling Luscious Lips would return to Lillian’s one day soon, felt it in his gut, and when she did he was going to get her name and her phone number—even if it meant using every trick in his arsenal.
“You did what?” Doug Nicholas roared.
He cursed, yelling so loud it caused the window inside his elegantly decorated office at Sweetness Bakery to shake. The room was filled with vibrant area rugs, cozy chairs and potted plants, but Grace would rather be at the dentist than stuck in her father’s office, listening to him rant and rave about how irresponsible she was. She was a twenty-six-year-old woman with a strong head on her shoulders, but he made her feel like a screwup.
“What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind?”
Of average height, with thinning grey hair and eyeglasses perched on his nose, he had a grumpy disposition and spoke in a low, clipped tone. He was rough around the edges, gruff at times, but Grace loved him with all her heart. “Dad, calm down—”
“What possessed you to go to Lillian’s?” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. “What if a reporter was on hand and snapped a picture of you stuffing your face at our competitor’s shop? Do you know how embarrassing that would be?”
Grace bit her tongue, didn’t dare answer because it wasn’t a rhetorical question, and she didn’t want to make the situation worse. Swallowing a yawn, she snuck a glance at her wristwatch. It was eight o’clock and the bakery was closed for the day, but her father was making such a fuss she feared the cleaning crew would come running. Grace managed Sweetness, had since her mother’s untimely death, but her father was always on hand to help. It had been a banner year for the bakery, but Doug wasn’t satisfied, never was. They had an exceptional team that loved Sweetness Bakery, just as Rosemary had, and she knew her mother was smiling down on them. Thinking about her mom made her heart ache. Grace would do anything to see her again, to hug her, to hear her voice just one more time. “Dad, relax, it wasn’t that serious.”
“Don’t tell me to relax,” he snapped. “You could have humiliated the shop, and caused irreversible damage! Your behavior was dumb and reckless.”
His words stung, bruised her feelings, but Grace straightened in her chair and projected confidence, not fear. She’d made the right decision. She’d had no choice but to march into the splashy new bakery after reading the food blogs during her commute to work. According to bloggers, Lillian’s was the best thing to ever happen to Seattle. Their cupcakes were divine, the ambiance darling, the staff personable and attentive, the location a winner. Unfortunately, Grace had to agree. She couldn’t deny the truth. Her visit had been memorable—and not just because she’d met the hunky owner, Jackson Drayson—and she was curious if all of their pastries were to-die-for, or just the pistachio cupcakes. “Dad, I was merely checking out the competition and I’m glad I did. Now that we know what we’re up against we can formulate a plan.”
A pensive expression on his face, he stroked his pointy jaw. “What did you find out?”
That the picture in the Seattle Times of Jackson Drayson at Lillian’s grand opening in April didn’t do the baker justice! Grace felt a nervous flutter inside her belly. He’s even sexier in person, and his voice is so seductive I shivered when he spoke to me. Add to that, his cologne, like his smile, was intoxicating.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Doug admonished. “Spill it.”
Grace chose her words carefully, didn’t reveal everything at once. She told her dad about her visit that morning, but didn’t mention her run-in with Jackson. It wasn’t important. He wasn’t important, and she didn’t want to waste time talking about him. She’d sized him up in five seconds flat. He was a lady-killer, a man who took great pleasure in seducing women—not her type in the least. Jackson Drayson was the personification of the term deadly sexy, and when she’d entered the bakery she noticed every female in the room was staring at the dreamy baker with lust in her eyes. The man was an attention seeker who wasn’t happy unless women were fawning all over him, and Grace planned to stay far away from Mr. Smug.
“Tell me more.” Doug leaned forward in his leather chair. “Was the bakery packed? What is the mood and feel of the shop? Did you enjoy the cupcake?”
Grace answered her dad’s questions the best she could. The more she spoke the more stress lines wrinkled her father’s forehead. She’d never seen him like this—fidgeting with his hands, shifting around on his chair, grumbling under his breath—and feared he was having a nervous breakdown.