Delectable Desire

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.

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