Decadent Dreams (The Draysons: Sprinkled with Love)

by Arthur, A. C.

  “Chicago-style or thin crust?”

  Belinda cleared her throat to cover up the fact she’d been thinking of something other than ordering from the menu. With her cheeks flushed from her thoughts, she closed the menu and sat back against the seat. “Chicago, of course.”

  “I like shrimp.”

  She nodded. “And pepperoni.”

  “Ham and pineapple,” he added.

  She shook her head. “No pineapple. This is dinner not dessert. I cannot do fruit and meats together.”

  He laughed at that. “Right.”

  The waiter came and they ordered the pizza along with a soda for her and a beer for Malik.

  She couldn’t help but stare at the veins in his arm, which shot upward like taut strands of rope, fading out into the massive bulge that was his bicep. Her mouth watered and she picked up her glass of soda.

  “So what do you think about the competition?” she asked after she figured she’d drank enough to either cause a brain freeze or quench her thirst. The former was much more likely since every time she looked at Malik she felt parched.

  He’d just taken a sip of his beer and licked his lips as if to savor every bit of the taste. She found herself wanting to also savor the taste...of him. It was crazy, she knew. Malik was not the type of man she normally dated. But he was apparently the type of man to make everything that was “normal” about her raise up and take notice.

  “You’re looking at me like you’ve never seen me before,” he said out of the blue.

  For a second she thought about denying it, but games and lies really weren’t her forte.

  “Just realizing that things aren’t always what they seem.”

  He nodded. “Things or people?”

  “Both.”

  “So which one of us is different than you thought?”

  Good question, she surmised.

  “I’d say you aren’t what I thought and I’m not what you think. Does that put us on even ground?”

  “It definitely puts us somewhere.”

  Dinner passed with polite conversation, which led to Malik ordering another beer and her having another soda. They bypassed dessert. Working in a bakery all day sort of diminished the taste for sweets prepared by someone else. At least for Belinda it did. She figured Malik was simply being polite.

  On the ride to her apartment, Belinda warred back and forth with herself. There was something lacking in her personal life, something that had been lacking for too long to remember. She was a grown woman and her experience was... Well, next to none would be accurate. Virgin would be politically correct. Nervous would carry some truth. And absolutely tired of all of the above would be pure unadulterated honesty.

  For too long she’d done everything that was expected of her, and with whom it was expected. She’d baked and gone to school and smiled when she was told, danced when it was appropriate, been the mediator when it was required. Everything she’d done in her life had been to someone else’s tune. She thought it might be time to make her own music.

  “I don’t want to be Little Miss Perfect anymore,” she said abruptly.

  If Malik had been surprised, he didn’t show it. He’d simply pulled his car into the parking garage beneath her building. Earlier he’d picked her up out front. She figured—with him being just as protective as her brother and cousins—he’d most likely want to walk her to the door this time and there was no street parking in front of her building.

  When the car was parked, he shut off the engine and undid his seat belt. Turning slightly in his seat he looked over at her.

  “Then who do you want to be? The CEO of Lillian’s? Head pastry chef? The face of the company?”

  Each of his questions was condescending to the point where she could feel herself becoming offended. “I wasn’t talking about work.”

  “Oh. So you don’t want to be the socialite girlfriend. Arm candy to the next congressman or possibly senator? You want a normal life, a family, the white picket fence, two kids and a dog?”

  Okay, now she was officially offended. She should have known better. Why she’d thought Malik could be the one to talk to about this, the one to...

  “Fine. I guess you already know everything about me. So I’ll just be going,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her retreat.

  “I know that you’re too beautiful for your own good and that you’re used to getting your way. I just want to make sure you know which way you’re heading right now.”

  Sparks of heat soared through her body from the point where his hand connected with her skin, creating a firework effect exploding all over. The interior of the car seemed fifty degrees hotter than it had been before, and suddenly Belinda couldn’t breathe.

  “Since you know so much, why don’t you tell me?” She tossed those words at him as sort of a dare...for herself.

  If he made a move, she would follow. Then if it was a mistake it wouldn’t be hers.

  Malik stared at her for one long, excruciating moment, then he reached toward her. His frame seemed to dwarf hers as she was pushed back farther in her seat. She kept her eyes on his. Even in the dimness of the car, she could see their piercing darkness absorbing her. Every muscle in her body tensed with expectation. When she heard a clicking sound she jumped, then settled as she realized he’d only unsnapped her seat belt.

  The next couple of seconds were spent berating herself for thinking Malik was going to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. She’d read scenes like this in books, the ones she didn’t let anyone know she read. Her heart had pounded in her chest as the words formed some type of fantasy in her mind. She wanted to be swept away like a character in a romance novel, to be loved desperately by a man, her hero, and to live up to everything he wanted in a heroine.

  From where she was sitting, she’d end up back in her apartment in bed with the ceiling fan on high and her pillows tucked between her legs to still the throbbing in about ten minutes. In her hand would be another one of those books, in her mind, her own fantasy. Reality was her life, the one she’d settled for and the one she was quickly beginning to hate.

  In the middle of her thoughts his lips touched hers. She hadn’t seen it coming because she’d been too deep in her own misery. But the splash of heat that hit her instantly as his lips brushed lightly over hers a second time was unmistakable.

  “Relax,” he whispered, his hand cupping her cheek, tilting her head upward to meet his next assault.

  And it was exactly that, a slow brutal assault of each of her senses. His touch was soft, as if she was fragile and he didn’t want to break her. When she inhaled—because otherwise she was sure to faint from the breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding—the scent of his cologne wafted through her like the freshness of a summer’s rainfall. His voice had been a rough whisper that made her nipples go hard. Then his tongue stroked her bottom lip. She hurriedly traced her tongue along that same spot, loving the taste that slightly resembled the pizza they’d just eaten and the beer he’d consumed. That shouldn’t have been sexy in the least bit, but it was. Oh, damn, damn, damn, it was.

  Belinda kept her hands by her sides, didn’t know what else to do with them. But that was okay because Malik knew precisely what to do with his. That one hand still cupped her cheek while the other moved to her shoulder, slipping behind her back so he could pull her closer. She had no idea that meant it would take the kiss deeper, but he did. And like a baby bird fresh out of the nest, she fell blindly into his embrace.

  His mouth slanted over hers. She welcomed him, loving the feel of his tongue brushing along hers, swooshing deep inside her mouth then retreating to play a sensual little game with her lips. It seemed to last forever, but she knew logically it had only been a few seconds.

  When he pulled back, it wasn’t too far. If she nudged forward just an inch, she’d be kissing him again. But they both remained perfectly still.

  “Is that the direction you want to go?”
he asked, his voice even more gruff than it had been before, his eyes even darker.

  Belinda swallowed and took a second to try and regain her senses. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say and that wasn’t like her.

  “I want more,” was her final reply. “More out of life than what I’ve been getting.”

  “And you want that from me?”

  When she didn’t respond immediately, he pulled back further, releasing his hold on her entirely. She felt cold instantly.

  “I gave up games the minute that doctor told me I’d never play in the NBA again, Belinda. You need to be absolutely certain this is where you want to go because, once we take that step, there’s no turning back.”

  He climbed out of the car before she could say another word. Which was probably better because again she didn’t know what she wanted to say. If he were asking if she wanted his kisses, hell yes would be the immediate reply. But Belinda sensed Malik was asking much more of her than that. She’d never been impulsive, never did anything without considering all the consequences and repercussions—never really had to consider those things before. But Malik was right. They worked together, closely together. He was a part of her family even if not by blood. There was a lot at stake if they changed the boundaries of their relationship. She did need to be sure. She thought she was.

  He stopped at her door, held out his hand for the key and let her inside.

  “I’ll see you at the bakery in the morning,” he told her. Then after a moment he leaned forward and brushed his lips over her forehead. “Sleep tight,” he whispered before walking away from her.

  Belinda went into her apartment and did exactly as she’d predicted. Lying on her side with the pillow between her legs and her ceiling fan running on high, her bedroom windows opened a few inches, she tried to breathe through an internal heat that threatened to suffocate her. It wasn’t that she simply wanted a man. She wanted Malik Anthony. That was a revelation that bore a lot of thinking. In which case she knew she wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, even though Malik’s last words to her sounded remarkably like her father’s. Or probably because of that. She couldn’t decide.

  Chapter 5

  “Either you’re early or I’m extremely late,” Carter Drayson said the moment Malik entered his office on Saturday morning.

  It was nearing thirteen years that they’d known each other, and Malik figured Carter was the closest thing to a brother he was ever going to have. And he wasn’t complaining. A more loyal and devoted friend he couldn’t ask for—which only made Malik feel more like an ass for what he’d done last night. If there was one thing he knew about the Draysons, it was that they were a tight family. The men were very protective of the women and the women were all jewels in their own right. One particular jewel, the green-eyed one, held a special place in Lillian’s and her parents’ hearts. All of the above facts should have kept her wrapped in a neon DO NOT TOUCH sign.

  But Malik had touched. And he’d tasted. And he’d enjoyed. Much more than he’d enjoyed any other female he’d touched and tasted in his life. If he thought he’d wanted Belinda before, after last night he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands off her again.

  “I’m early. Wanted to talk to you for a sec before Drake arrived.” Malik took a seat in one of the guest chairs across from Carter’s desk.

  “That actually works out because I wanted to talk to you, as well,” Carter immediately replied.

  And since Malik had a feeling what he wanted to say was of a more serious nature, he nodded and said, “It’s your office, you go first.”

  “It’s about a phone call I received. I’m trying to figure out how to handle it,” Carter began.

  “You make a date, take her out, then sleep with her. What, have you been doing this so long you’re starting to doubt your abilities?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Ha. Ha,” was Carter’s glib reply. “This is serious, man. It’s not about women.”

  To that Malik nodded. In Carter’s mind the words serious and women were like oil and water and definitely did not mix. “Okay, tell me about this phone call.”

  “It was from Robinson Restaurants. You know the big conglomerate out of New York?”

  Again Malik felt himself nodding and watching his friend carefully. “I’ve heard of them. Why are they calling you?”

  “To offer me a job.”

  Now he raised a brow, sitting back in the chair and crossing one ankle on his opposite knee. “Really. Is that why you missed yesterday’s meeting, because you were talking to the folks at Robinson?” Malik asked.

  “No. Or yes. I guess you could say that. But good old Dad filled me in on the meeting and I talked to Shari yesterday before she had to leave to pick up Andre.” Carter sat back in his chair and looked away. “They want me to move to New York to be the executive pastry chef at their flagship restaurant.”

  Carter stared out of the one window in his office at the bakery. The other two walls were lined with bookshelves where he kept his portfolio—binder after binder filled with pictures of his renowned, lavishly decorated cakes. They sat on the oak wood shelves like trophies. Carter was proud of his work, he was confident and some would say he leaned heavily on the arrogant side. None of that bothered Malik because he knew the real Carter. He knew the young man who was struggling to prove his place in this family and who, because he considered himself his father’s bastard love child, felt like an outsider.

  That put them on common ground since Malik’s father hadn’t stuck around long enough for his birth, and his mother had struggled to raise him on her own, until she’d remarried a man old enough to be his grandfather. Then Malik had been whisked away from his inner-city home in south Philly, to a suburban neighborhood where he was the only African-American child walking around with a basketball cuffed under his arm.

  They were both outsiders in their own way. And that realization prompted Malik’s next words. “You’re considering this offer, aren’t you?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Carter asked. “It’s a great offer. I’d finally be in charge of everything that went on in my kitchen. I could spread my wings and really show what I can do.”

  “And you don’t do that here?”

  “Are you serious? All of us work in the shadow of my grandmother. Not that I begrudge her any success. She’s a wonderful woman and I’ve learned most of what I know from her. But I just feel like I’m trapped here. Like there’s a place out there for me as Carter Drayson and not as Lillian Drayson’s grandson.”

  “I hear you,” Malik said. “But it’s a big move. Your family will be disappointed.”

  “And that’s the only reason I didn’t tell Robinson yes right away. I know there’s a lot more here than just a bakery. It’s family and it’s loyalty. I just have to figure out my place in it all.”

  “Whew.” Malik let out a whoosh of breath. “That’s heavy especially with the competition.”

  “I know they want to win. No news there.”

  “You don’t sound excited,” Malik noted.

  Carter shrugged. “It’s good exposure for the bakery,” he replied. “I’ll do my part.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do more than your part. We’re going to need you to pull out some fantastic designs for this one.”

  “I’ve thought of some new things, here and there.” Carter looked up at Malik as if he’d just now realized he was sitting there and why. “But that’s not what you want to talk to me about, is it?”

  Malik rubbed a hand down the back of his head. “I guess it’s all connected to what I wanted to say. I’m trying to figure out my place here, as well.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You’ve been here for years and you’re just as good a pastry chef as the rest of us.”

  Just as good, Malik thought with a sigh. He wondered if that would equate to him being good enough for Belinda.

  “You know me well,” Malik said with a sigh.

  “Too well. So what’s on your mind?”


  “Belinda.”

  “What? Is she driving you crazy in the kitchen with her obsessive ways?” Carter laughed at his own questions. “Man, she’s been like that all her life. You should have seen her the weekends I came to visit. She was even obsessive about playing games. You had to play precisely by her rules, no deviation. If we played dodge ball, she had to outline the boundaries for where the ball could go, where the person throwing the ball could stand. She was one uptight little girl. And now she’s an uptight woman.”

  “With beautiful eyes and a kick-ass body,” Malik added, knowing those words would effectively stop Carter’s diatribe.

  Carter did a double take then let a slow grin hover for a few seconds while he rubbed a hand over his chin.

  “You looking at Belinda like that?”

  Malik leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If I was, would that be a problem for you?”

  “My first reaction is that might just be one of the stupidest decisions you’ve ever made,” Carter replied.

  Malik wasn’t surprised. “She’s a good woman,” he countered because he’d never been the type of man to back down from something he decided he wanted.

  “She’s too much woman. I mean really, she’s ‘I’m Every Woman’ that Chaka Khan and Whitney sang about. Everything has to be just right with her, all the time. She’s even fanatical about her food touching on her plate. Is that something you want to deal with?”

  The answer to Carter’s question didn’t readily come to Malik’s mind because the lyrics to the song he’d mentioned were too busy playing like a broken record.

  “I’m not intimidated by an accomplished woman. And you’re her family, man. You shouldn’t put her down like that.”

  Carter was shaking his head. “Not doing that at all,” he told Malik. “I love my cousin and I know how hard she works and how good she is at what she does. But I also know she’s got some issues that nobody in this family has ever wanted to deal with. She’s intense, man. I figured she’d never get a man because she would always find something wrong with him.”