Delectable Desire. Farrah Rochon

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      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.”