Pure Indulgence. Janelle Denison
mind on business, she reminded herself sternly. Since he was the one who’d come to her shop, she waited patiently for him to explain why.
But instead of stating the reason for his presence, he tipped his head and studied her with too much insight. “You look a little surprised to see me.”
“Pleasantly surprised, if that makes you feel any better,” she said, wondering how this man managed to see beyond her attempt to be professional and composed around him. “I’ll admit I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d hear from you again.”
His gaze caught and held hers steadily. “There’s one thing you ought to know about me right up front. I’m a man of my word, and I don’t ever say anything that I don’t mean or that I don’t follow through on.”
His tone was adamant, his eyes honest, and she believed him. “That’s good to know.”
He nodded succinctly. “I know I probably should have called first to let you know I was stopping by, but I was able to get away from the restaurant tonight and took a chance on you being here.”
He cast a quick glance around the shop, and while the initial rush had died down, there were still half a dozen customers waiting to place their orders. “Is this a bad time to talk? Because if it is, I can make an appointment and come back later.”
She appreciated his consideration, and her resistance toward him softened a notch. There was no reason to postpone the appointment. Besides, she was curious to find out what he wanted, and if he was still interested in her services. No sense postponing the inevitable.
“Now is fine,” she said, and could have sworn she heard him exhale a sigh of relief. “Come on back to my office where we can talk privately.”
He followed her through the kitchen, his gaze taking in the wall-to-wall convection ovens, the abundance of cooling racks and proof boxes, and the industrial-size dough-and batter-mixing machines.
“This is quite a setup you have,” he commented, seemingly intrigued by the high-tech equipment she used to create her desserts in mass quantities. “I had no idea you had such a production line back here.”
She tossed a smile over her shoulder at him. “It sure does beat doing it the old-fashioned way of mixing and baking one dessert at a time.”
He laughed, the low, husky sound touching her in intimate places. “I’m sure it does.”
They entered her office, and she took the comfortable tweed chair behind her desk and expected him to take one of the seats in front of her. Instead, he boldly strolled around to where she was sitting, propped his fine backside against the corner of her desk, and crossed one ankle over the other.
The pose was predominantly male, and her pulse leapt at his shameless self-assurance and close proximity. She forced herself to keep her gaze on his handsome face and his sinful blue eyes, but out of her peripheral vision she could see the way his hard, muscular thighs stretched his faded Levi’s and she couldn’t miss the impressive bulge beneath the fly of his jeans. He was near enough to touch, tempting her to do just that, and it was all she could do to keep her hands to herself when she envisioned pushing him back on her desk and having her wicked way with him.
That burning, aching need she’d been fighting for days now made itself known once again, overwhelming her mind and body with a desire that pulled at her like a riptide. She swallowed a groan. Boy, she had it bad and probably should lay off the aphrodisiac candies, which seemed to have increased her sexual cravings even long after the effects of the stimulant should have worn off—which was a reaction she’d be sure to make note of later. Better yet, she needed to find a sexy, available guy to eat her creations, then release all his lust on her.
Oh, yeah, she could definitely go for having her own boy toy for a while. A guy whose sole purpose was to make her body sing with pleasure—over and over again. Especially if he had pitch-black hair, eat-me-up blue eyes, and a mouth made for sin.
Just like the man sitting in front of me.
Another rush of heat swept through her. Drawing a deep breath, she shoved those provocative thoughts right out of her mind before they got her in big trouble.
She leaned back in her chair, putting distance between them any way she could. “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Tremaine?”
“It’s Jack, please,” he insisted, “especially since we’ll be working together.”
She raised a brow at his presumptuousness. “We will?”
“I told you I was interested in having you design the desserts for Tremaine’s Downtown, and you promised me an exclusivity agreement.” He tipped his head questioningly. “Have you changed your mind?”
He looked a little anxious as he waited for her reply, and she found it hard to believe that such a confident man might be worried that she’d refuse his request. Not that she’d pass up such a golden opportunity, but it was nice to know that her agreement mattered to him, that he truly wanted her to create his desserts. It gave her a sense of feminine power that was foreign to her, but one she liked very much.
“No, I haven’t changed my mind,” she said softly, and immediately saw his shoulders relax. “And I’m glad you didn’t either.”
He graced her with another one of his breathtaking grins. “Then I guess that makes us even.”
Yes, it did, and she smiled back at him. “Do you have any preference on the kind of desserts you want?”
“That’s what I’m paying you for. To be creative and to provide a variety of different desserts. I’m completely open to new experiences and ideas, so don’t hold back.”
“It’s good to know you’re so daring,” she teased. “That gives me a whole lot of creative license.”
His eyes sparkled just as humorously. “Hey, I tried the Pink Squirrel the other night, didn’t I?”
She laughed at his indignant tone. “And you liked it, too,” she reminded him.
“That goes to show you the kind of risk-taking guy I can be, so bring it on, sweetheart.” He winked at her.
Bring it on. He had no idea just how adventurous her desserts could get, and she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what would happen if she mixed a bit of pleasure with their business. The result would be spontaneous combustion, no doubt.
“When do you think you’ll have the first dessert ready for me to try?” he asked.
“Let’s see,” she said thoughtfully, as she opened the day planner on her desk and skimmed through the pages. “It’s Wednesday and I need a few days to experiment with some new recipes, and to see what I can come up with. I could have something ready for you to sample, say, by Sunday?”
“That works for me. What time?”
“Since I’d prefer that we weren’t interrupted by business, how about six-thirty in the evening, a half hour after the shop closes?”
“Perfect. I’ll be here.”
She penciled in the appointment on her calendar, and as she did so, her arm brushed his jean-clad hip. She valiantly tried to ignore the heat of him, along with the tightening of her breasts that the chaste touch evoked. She could only imagine the sparks they’d ignite if they ever rubbed skin to skin.
He moved off her desk, straightened, and reached into his back pocket to withdraw his wallet. He pulled a check from his billfold and set it in front of her. She glanced from the staggering amount on the check, all the way back up to his deep, drown-in-them-forever blue eyes.
“What’s this for?”
“A down payment for your services,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I’d rather wait until services have been rendered and I have a better idea of what you owe.” She pushed the check back towards him. “You don’t even know if you’ll like the