A frown creased
Grace’s forehead. Did she know this man? Something resonated in her memories
but no name bobbed to the surface. He resembled the faceless man of her
fantasies. The hair, short and styles instead of long and shaggy. Was he
someone she’d seen on TV, except she watched cooking shows, not sports, prime
time or movies?
“How did you
get in here?”
“By the door.”
His crooked
grin brought a name closer to the surface. Did he look like someone she should
know? “Why did Bonnie let you come into the kitchen?”
“The arrival of
a flock of customers derailed her.”
Grace sucked in
a breath. Who was he? He was too young and too well-dressed to be one of the
men her mother had dragged home years ago. “Do you really think the cupcake is
good?”
“I do.” He
finished the last bite and crumpled the paper. With a flick of his wrist he
tossed the small wad into the trash bin across the room. “You’ve achieved a
miracle. Edible fruitcake.”
His smooth
words spread over her skin like a swatch of velvet. Whoever he was he talked
about the treat like a man who knew food. Was he a rival? Had he come to steal
her recipes? He certainly hadn’t appeared to ask for a job. Not when he wore
what looked like custom-made clothes.
“What will you
call this one?”
Grace stepped
back. The cold marble of the worktable edge pressed against her back.
“Fruitcake.”
“Not like any
I’ve ever tasted.” He grinned. “I hate holiday parties where the hostess pushed
dark dense stuff she’d ordered by mail or baked.”
Grace laughed.
“I’ve eaten some of that kind. This was my sixteenth try to make an edible
one.”
He stepped
closer. “Persistence pays. You’ve created a light cake with the traditional
flavors and the right amount of fruit. The touch of rum in the frosting is
perfect.” He raked his fingers messing his perfectly stylish dark hair. “Is it
legal?”
“Just a flavor
essence.” Definitely the competition.
Warmth shone in his deep brown eyes. When he stepped in her direction she
grasped the pastry bag. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you
remember me? I’ve never forgotten you.”
The dimple in
his left cheek made her want to touch. Seduction filled his voice. A whiff of
evergreen beneath the aroma of the bakers reached her. He oozed the kind of
danger she had to time to allow in her life. The suggestive gleam in his eyes
raised a need to run. Only, she was trapped.
He placed his
hand on her arm. Though the touch was light she felt as though his fingers
branded her. “Think back, Grace.”
“I’ve never seen
you before.”
“Sure you
have.”
“Really?”
“I sure
remember you. Years a go I made a play and you turned me down. When I said you
would be sorry, you said I would be the one to regret.”
With warp speed
her thoughts flew to the fence between the group homes. Was he really? He looked so different from the boy she’d known. The
features of the face in her thoughts matured and became the man crowding her
space.
“Jules Grayson,
what are you doing here?”
“Representing
Good Eatin’. Since you refused to sign the contract for a future feature
article I thought the personal touch might work. I didn’t realize who you were
until you turned.”
A smile broke
her somber mood. “Most of my communication was with Allie Blakefield.”
“You and I
spoke twice but the moment I mentioned the magazine you hung up. Just listen to
my spiel. I’m sure I’ll do a better job of making the case than I did years
ago.”
Though knowing
he didn’t plan to steal her recipes her instincts remained on high alert. Her
thoughts raced from what had been to what ifs. Not a good place to be.
“I sent the
proposal back unsigned. The feature doesn’t fit with my plans for growing the
business. A year from now or maybe two I might take a chance. I’ve seen too
many in this field move to fast and fail.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You didn’t read the proposal carefully. All expenses are covered by Good
Eatin’ and you’ll be paid for the recipes the magazine prints.”
“That’s not
why. You’ve seen my entire staff. I’m baker, decorator, bookkeeper and
sometimes salesperson.” She scowled. “I’m even the cleaning crew with Bonnie’s
help.”
A buzzer
sounded. “Move. I need to pull the pans.” She pulled on gloves and went to the
oven. One by one she transferred the trays from the oven to the cooling rack.
“Cinnamon,
cloves, nutmeg,” he said. “What are they?”
“Add a touch of
vanilla and you have Pumpkin Pie.”
He inhaled. “I
could be tempted to try every flavor.”
“Think of the
calories.”
He arched a
brow. “I can think of ways to work them off.”
Grace removed
the last tray from the oven. She had no intention of asking how. “Since you’ve
come for that reason why don’t you leave? I’ll give you a box of today’s
favorites. Share them with your significant other.”
“There’s no
one.”
She returned to
the work table and assembled the dry ingredients for another batch. She placed
flour and a sack of chocolate powder with the eggs and butter. “You should
leave.”
“Why?”
She pulled
cayenne and powered jalapenos from the spice shelf along with vanilla beans.
“I’m making Chocolate Fire and I don’t want a cleaning bill for your light gray
jacket and trousers.” He had definitely succeeded in the ten years since he’d
left the group home.
“We need to
talk about the offer.” He crossed his arms.
Grace slid past
him for the baking powder, salt and milk. “I know the opportunity would be
great. I’m just not ready to take the risk.”
“Your cupcakes
impressed Allie Blakefield. That’s hard to do. Besides restaurants Good Eatin’
features small establishments producing good food. Have dinner with me and we
can discuss the pros and cons.”
Again his
temperature-raising grin appeared. “I can’t. We’re open until nine tonight.
Then there’s clean up, planning for tomorrow and a run to the bank.”
“What time do
you close tomorrow?”
“At six.”
“I’ll be by
then. We’ll go to dinner. You choose the place.” He closed the distance between
them. His lips brushed hers. “Years ago you said no. I was a fool and crude.
Won’t happen again.”
Grace froze.
Her knees locked and kept her upright. His whispered words and hot breath
swirled over her. She felt as if she’d been sucked into a whirlpool with no
escape. He’d been trouble as a teenager. As an adult he’d become dangerous.
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