How Sweet It Is

How Sweet It Is

Kelly Jamieson

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

How Sweet It Is

Copyright © 2014 by Kelly Jamieson

ISBN: 978-0-9918532-3-6

Cover by The Killion Group

Edited by Briana St. James

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF KELLY JAMIESON

Jamieson creates an emotionally complex, well-written story about relationships.

—RT Book Reviews

Ms. Jamieson is rapidly becoming one of my favorite authors.

—Just Erotic Romance Reviews

Her characters are intelligent, believable and heartwarming.

—Night Owl Reviews

Ms. Jamieson once again gives the reader a richly detailed story that is brimming over with sexual tension, intoxicating desires and intriguing carnal needs that is edgy and psychologically intense…

—The Romance Studio

…I love Kelly Jamieson’s books and the way that she depicts her characters…

—Sizzling Hot Book Reviews

Chapter One

In the dark recessed entrance of a closed shop just off Harbor Drive, Mirelle Brasseur wriggled out of her favorite pink-silk thong panties.

Hurry! Her best friend Sofi stood guard on the sidewalk, looking first right, then left down the busy main business street in Corazon, California.

Mirelle tugged the panties from beneath her skirt, bent to push them down over her knees, then stepped out of them in her high-heeled platform shoes and scooped them up from the pavement. With a triumphant grin, she held them up, crumpling them into her palm just as a couple walked arm in arm toward them. She widened her eyes at Sofi and they held back their laughter as they pretended to look into the shop window, waiting for the couple to pass by.

Okay, Sofi whispered, once the couple had gone.

Mirelle headed toward the dark-blue BMW parked at the curb in shadows, just outside the illumination of a streetlight. She unlocked the passenger door with a furtive glance up and down the sidewalk as Sofi had been doing, then slipped into the passenger seat and opened the glove compartment. She placed the panties inside and closed the door, making sure a small piece of pink silk protruded. With a final tap to ensure the glove box was closed and a twitch to the panties, she repressed a giggle then clambered out of the car, closed the door and used the key fob to lock it again.

I can’t believe you still have his keys! Sofi grabbed her arm and they started down the sidewalk at a near run, holding on to each other and laughing.

I know! He gave me an extra set to keep because he was paranoid about locking his keys in the car. Apparently he did that a few times. She rolled her eyes at her ex-boyfriend’s paranoia. They’ve been in the bottom of my purse ever since.

I just wish I could see her face when she finds your panties!

"And his face. Although… Mirelle grimaced. He’s such a player, he probably won’t even be shocked."

Well, his new girlfriend will. Sofi snorted. I love it!

After leaving the club they’d been at, Mirelle and Sofi had been walking toward Harbor Drive to find a cab when they’d spotted Curtis’s car parked on the street around the corner from Star, his favorite restaurant. Mirelle knew the plate number, knew it was Curtis’s car, and she’d had the brilliant idea of leaving her panties in the car for his new girlfriend to find. The girl he’d cheated on Mirelle with, only a few weeks earlier, the wound from that still fresh and smarting.

Was it too much to expect when you agreed you were exclusive with someone, that he didn’t see other women? Geez. Mirelle’s insides burned as she relived that moment of horror when she’d sat in that restaurant and realized the guy making out with a girl in the back booth was her boyfriend. Blerg.

The sad thing was, that hadn’t been the first time that had happened to her. Well, not that she’d caught other boyfriends making out in a restaurant. With John, it had been in his bed when she’d arrived unexpectedly at his apartment. She hadn’t caught Darren cheating, but she’d been pretty sure he had been. And with Kevin… Well, there was no point in reliving every hurtful relationship she’d ever had. Really, they were all pretty similar.

She knew that. She just couldn’t seem to break the pattern.

Oh, Sofi, she said with a sigh once they were settled into the back seat of a taxi. Why do I keep doing that?

Doing what? Leaving your panties in men’s cars?

No! Mirelle choked on a laugh. Although there was that time in college… Oh, never mind. That was an accident. I meant, why do I keep going out with losers? Guys who cheat on me. Irresponsible, lying cheaters.

She’d tried to pretend it hadn’t been that big a deal with Curtis, but damn, she’d thought she could fall in love with him, and it still stung. A lot. Was there any hope that she would ever really find someone to love, someone who would love her back and be faithful to her, forever? Did that even really happen in life anymore?

A scary bleak emptiness filled her and she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat of the taxi.

Duh, Sofi said. It’s your unresolved issues with your dad.

Mirelle contemplated that glumly. Thinking about her father was never pleasant. She sighed. Yeah. I guess. She turned her head to gaze out the window at the passing city lights. She’d been ten years old when her dad had left her and her mother. He’d come back once, then left again, and the only time she’d seen him after that he’d remarried and had two daughters. It had hurt so bad when he’d sat there and gushed about his children, as if they were they only children he had. When she’d tried to tell him how that hurt, he’d gone all cold and closed up and she hadn’t seen or talked to him since.

Maybe I should try to see him again. Maybe that’s what I need to be able to have some kind of real relationship with a man.

Maybe. Or maybe you should just try to find a nice guy, instead of dating guys who are just like your dad.

I don’t date guys just like my dad! She turned to Sofi, horrified. Eeew!

Come on, hon. Sofi’s voice was gentle. "They’re exactly like him."

Irresponsible…check. Lying…check. Devastatingly handsome…check. Phony and pretentious…check. Cheating…check.

Shit.

You probably think you can change them, like you weren’t able to change your dad. Or maybe you just subconsciously seek out men who are unavailable to avoid the risk of getting too attached to someone you might really care about, who might abandon you. Or maybe they’re actually not that bad, but you just expect them to hurt you, and so…

When did you become a psychologist? Mirelle narrowed her eyes at her friend, even though a sinking feeling inside her told her Sofi might have a point. Dammit.

It’s not rocket science, hon.

Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?

I’ve tried, Mirelle. You don’t want to hear this, but it’s true. I wish I knew what the solution was…maybe if I was a psychologist, I’d know.

Mirelle regarded her friend thoughtfully. Oh, man. You’re right, Sofe. I’m such an idiot.

Sofi shrugged. No you’re not. Your dad hurt you. It’s understandable.

I just…wanted him to be a father. Mirelle’s throat tightened. Like yours.

Sofi laughed. You can have my dad! He’s overprotective, bossy and a pain in my ass.

He loves you. That was all Mirelle wanted—her father to love her. Like he loved his new kids. Sofi shouldn’t complain about how overprotective her dad was…it was better than a dad who didn’t even care.

Mirelle pursed her lips and blinked a few times at the unexpected sting in the corners of her eyes. Oh for heaven’s sake. Enough. She drew in a long, deep breath.

Okay, she said. You’re right. Here’s what I’m going to do. From now on, I only date nice guys…I don’t care how good-looking they are. I don’t care how charming they are. Charming guys are just douchy reptiles.

Sofi said nothing, but her lips twitched.

Nice guys who um…look after their mother and…work for some kind of charitable cause…

Like you do.

Yes. Mirelle volunteered at an animal shelter at least once a week. It was important to her. And who…aren’t into money and status and seeing how many women they can juggle at one time. Someone with values.

Sounds good. Sofi grinned in the dark car. I’d like one of those, too. But make him also gorgeous and sexy.

No, Mirelle said firmly. That doesn’t matter. That’s part of my problem. Guys who are gorgeous and sexy are full of themselves. They’re the ones screwing around. So I’ll date a guy who’s five foot four and bald, as long as he’s nice.

Hmm. I know some nice guys at work. Maybe there’s someone there I can fix you up with.

Mirelle straightened her shoulders despite the misgivings nudging her. She’d met some of Sofi’s co-workers. Sure. That would be great.

And…?

And what?

What about your dad? Are you going to try to get in touch with him?

Mirelle tossed her hair back. Nah. I tried that once before and it didn’t go so well. I’m not going to let him reject me again.

The taxi took her home first and when she entered her apartment, she dropped her purse on the table near the door and headed straight to the small cage in the corner.

Hello, my little buddy, she crooned, reaching inside. She lifted out Amos and held him up to her face and rubbed her nose against his. How are you, my guy?

She loved animals and longed to have a dog or even a cat, but her apartment building didn’t allow pets at all. Technically she shouldn’t have Amos, but so far she’d managed to keep her rat a secret from the building super.

You are so cute! She stroked his soft golden fur and turned back to her apartment, cuddling him. The wild colors and patterns she’d decorated with weren’t what most people considered soothing, but she loved it, her own little sanctuary from the world, decorated just the way she wanted.

Sofi thinks I have some kind of father issues. She held Amos in front of her face, nose to nose again. What do you think? She smiled into his tiny eyes, his cute little nose twitching, then sighed. Yeah. I was afraid of that. Well. Things are going to change.

* * *

Bradan Hunt nudged the woman toward the door of the kitchen.

You said you’d call. Poppy pouted. Heat and steam swirled around them , carrying odors of garlic, olive oil, and char-broiled beef, the clang of pots on the flat top range, the sizzle of hot oil, and the line cooks shouting at each other.

Chef! Where are you going? called his sous chef Paco. We’re in major fucking weeds here!

Bradan held up a finger to Paco as he maneuvered Poppy out the door and into the narrow back hallway that led to his office.

No, I didn’t, he told her gently but firmly. He turned her by the shoulders and pointed her in the direction of the restaurant out front. I’m sorry, Poppy. This isn’t a good time to talk.

Understatement. This was the busiest night in a long time, every table in the restaurant booked for four full turns, and they were right in the middle of it all. He loved it, totally loved it, and had no time to deal with a pouting woman he’d made the mistake of seeing more than once.

You’re right. She turned to face him and stopping in the middle of the hall, smiling smiled seductively. We can talk tomorrow.

He swallowed a sigh. No, Poppy. I’m sorry. This isn’t just a bad time to talk. It’s a bad time for me to be seeing someone. I’m way too busy, with this restaurant and now planning the new one, and everything else that’s going on right now.

Her pout reappeared. But Bradan…I love you.

He stared at her. Ah, shit. Yeah, they’d been on a few dates, spent a few nights together, but she couldn’t possibly be in love with him. He searched for the words to let her down gently. He didn’t have it in him to be cruel, but he didn’t want to lead her on either.

Chef! Paco stuck his head out from the kitchen.

I have to go. Sorry, Poppy. He kissed her forehead, turned her again toward the restaurant and headed back to the kitchen.

Bradan! Are you going to call me?

He paused at the door and looked back at her, swallowing a sigh. No, he said gently. I’m sorry. I can’t see you again, Poppy.

The hurt look on her face made his gut tighten. Damn. This was why had that one-date rule—to avoid situations like this where someone got hurt. He’d been an idiot to break that rule.

Bye, Poppy.

He stepped back into the kitchen.

What orders do I have hanging? he barked, launching into motion, finding his focus again.

You got one duck and one salmon on order for the deuce on eight.

It was all about the food. It had to be all about the food, about making everything perfect, as perfect as he could. He grabbed a pan, slammed it onto the flattop, checked the orders.

Fire one salmon! he yelled. No, make that two!

The wait staff squeezed in and out of the kitchen, ducking and dancing around each other to add garnishes, wipe plate edges, pick up orders. The busboys carted dirty dishes and laundry in for washing. Luis the dishwasher was up to his elbows in suds.

Bradan stirred a sauce simmering, then dipped a spoon in to taste it. He closed his eyes briefly to let the flavors of shallots, garlic and cream slide over his tongue. That is a bitching sauce, he said with satisfaction.

Paco grinned as he pulled a pan from the oven. Who the hell was that?

Bradan grimaced. Don’t worry about it. Jesus, are we going to run out of salmon?

Nah. We’re good.

Fuck! screamed a voice across the kitchen.

Bradan didn’t even look up from the duck breast he was preparing. What?

I sliced my fucking finger open! Tomas yelled.

Bandage it up and keep going, Bradan called. Unless it’s amputated, you’re not leaving. But he cast a quick glance across the kitchen to make sure Tomas was okay.

Paco laughed and he and Bradan moved around each other, knowing without words each other’s moves, what needed to be done, working as a team, efficient and precise.

Vitality buzzed inside Bradan, the adrenaline rush of cooking, knowing he was doing his best work—fast, impeccable, delicious and beautiful, the energy from the full dining room stimulating him. All those people out there enjoying his food—no loving his food. He couldn’t restrain his grin as he picked up a sauté pan and deftly flipped the contents.

He wanted more. So much more. Despite the high he still got from cooking, he wanted more. That was why he was opening another restaurant, the planning of it consuming all his time when he wasn’t cooking and running Star, the first restaurant all his own. When he wasn’t working on his cookbook or doing TV appearances, magazine interviews and photo shoots. Jesus.

Later that night, the restaurant now empty, the adrenaline rush somewhat abated, he left his staff to empty the garbage, make sure the walk-ins were at the right temperature, make sure the ovens were off and turn out the lights.

As he climbed into his car to drive home he inhaled the cool night air, catching a whiff of food odor that came from him. He needed a shower. And sex.

Yeah, sex.

But he’d sent Poppy on her way, telling her he was too busy for a relationship. And it was true. Sex, on the other hand, he always had time for. He debated calling her. But only for about two seconds, because that was a bad idea. That wasn’t fair to her—she’d already gotten involved. He’d broken his one-date rule, because hey, she was good in bed, and somehow she always managed to get him there, but it had been a huge fucking mistake.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want a relationship or was afraid of commitment. Some day he was going to slow down and find someone to spend time with. He loved women, for more than just sex, but until he had the time, it wasn’t fair to the women he dated to let them think there was going to be anything more than one night. Women got all emotionally involved and expected more than he was able to give. They didn’t understand his career and the demands it put on his time. The huge demands it put on his time, and his dedication to it. So it was better just not to go there.

But despite the fullness of his life, he was going home alone, to an empty condo, and an empty bed.

Chapter Two

The designer who did Dolce. That’s the one I want.

Bradan and Paco sat in his office the next morning reviewing plans for the new restaurant.

But you’re not doing Italian, Paco said.

Bradan shrugged. No. Contemporary American, French influence.

Paco gave him a long, level look. Are you sure you don’t want the same designer just because of Jerick?

Bradan scowled. This has nothing to do with him.

He lied. He was totally talking through his ass. This was all about Jerick, his former sous chef. Asshole.

It’s the feel of the room I’m after. I want incredible style, I want it to be an experience.

It was Max Roysell Design Studio who designed Dolce. I’m sure they’ll tell us which designer worked on it.

Perfect. I’m gonna call them right now. I need to get moving on this. The bank approved the financing, we need to get busy.

Paco grinned. Slow down, boss. You won’t be opening next week.

Bradan grinned ruefully as he picked up the phone. Yeah, yeah. I know. There were only a million things to do to make this happen.

You need to cool your jets. Paco’s smile faded. You go into this too fast, you’re risking a lot.

Bradan paused and looked at Paco. He trusted his sous chef completely—in the kitchen. For business advice, he preferred to rely on his own instincts. Yeah, he was well aware of his tendency to be impatient, but this was important. It was his career. It was everything.

Don’t worry. He flashed a smile at Paco as the receptionist at Max Roysell Design answered. After identifying himself, she put him immediately through to Max Roysell. His name was getting known. Bradan couldn’t help but feel satisfied as he arranged a meeting with the other man, who promised the designer who’d worked on Dolce would there as well. But when Max suggested meeting the following week, Bradan frowned. Is that the soonest?

Roysell immediately accommodated his request to meet sooner and Bradan agreed to be at their office the next day. Mornings are better for me, he informed Roysell. I get busy with restaurant business in the afternoons.

Ten o’clock, Roysell said. We’ll see you then.

Excellent. Bradan hung up.

Chef, Cliff from Eckert’s is here. Lissa, the hostess stuck her head in the door. He wants to talk to you.

Coming. Bradan rose from behind his desk. Come on, let’s talk to Cliff about cheese. Bradan loved doing business with Cliff, who supplied unique quality cheeses from his artisanal cheese shop. They’d collaborated on a couple of educational events too, pairing wines and cheese in inventive recipes. Talking about food was almost as good as cooking it. And eating it. Bradan liked to eat, too.

Out front, he greeted the purveyor.

Got an amazing new goat cheese, Cliff told him. From a little farm near Pescadaro. You’re going to love it.

* * *

I already have a meeting at ten tomorrow. Mirelle turned from her computer with a frown on her face. I can’t do that, Max.

Reschedule it. It’s Bradan Hunt, Mirelle. He’s opening a new restaurant.

Mirelle sighed. That’s not really fair to my other client. But Bradan Hunt…yeah, that was interesting.

He asked for you specifically.

Her head snapped around again and she gaped at her boss. He did?

Yes. He wants the designer who did Dolce.

She smiled. Her finest work. Dolce was an elegant restaurant that had been open not quite a year. She’d put her heart and soul into that project. Well, in that case…

Max grinned.

That’s very flattering that he asked for me.

No shit. And we need this job.

She rolled her lips in as she turned back to her computer. Yes, business was not exactly booming. Things were starting to pick up in the economy, but major high-end design projects were scarce these days. She was just finishing up a medium-sized project working on a small coffee shop and after that…a few other small jobs, but nothing significant. Which made her feel just a teensy bit worried about her job there, since she was the most junior designer on the team.

This could be huge for your career, Max added.

Excitement flickered inside her. Yeah, she’d move her schedule around to accommodate Bradan Hunt, especially if he’d asked for her.

She’d eaten at Star a number of times. It had been one of Curtis’s favorite places to eat and it had suited him perfectly—cool and stylish, über expensive, the place to see people and be seen. People were coming from San Diego, even all the way from Los Angeles to eat there. She’d never met Bradan Hunt, but she remembered one time he’d come out from the kitchen to speak to some of the guests, how heads had turned at his dark good looks, a bad-boy scruff of whiskers on his face, white teeth flashing easily, his coffee-dark eyes sparkling as the guests succumbed to his charm.

A lot of the restaurant’s success had to do with Bradan Hunt himself—the charismatic chef who was quickly becoming known not only for his food but for his personality. He’d been featured in a number of magazine articles lately, named the top new chef in California by California Cuisine Magazine, and after his appearance on Chef Wars, his notoriety had exploded. The fact that he was young, gorgeous and sexy didn’t hurt either.

She faced her computer screen and the design program she had open, but didn’t really see it as her mind wandered away with thoughts of what Bradan Hunt wanted. A new restaurant—probably different from Star. Star’s global fusion menu was hot—would he want to recreate that? Visions of global décor filled her head—spice colors and exotic fabrics and accessories. She knew the greatest little place to pick up artifacts from Asian and Africa and…she could make the new restaurant so much better than Star. Not that Star’s décor was bad; she just knew she could do better.

Or maybe he was going in a different direction…French? Italian? Hmmm… Dolce had been a dream to design. She let her mind wander to the sun-drenched green rolling hills of Tuscany, the blue sea, black rocks, yellow sand beaches…

A long sigh escaped her and she blinked and focused back on her computer. There were many practical aspects to designing a restaurant, too, and she took pride in her ability to deliver ambience along with functionality. But there was no point in letting her mind, wayward at the best of times, run away with plans before she’d even talked to the client. He probably had his own vision of what he wanted, although that could be a problem too. Clients who had definite ideas often had impractical dreams that were either impossible to achieve or wildly expensive. She’d never had a client for whom money was no object—there was always a budget, always a bottom line. It was a business after all, and she got that.

What would Bradan Hunt be like to work with? He had a growing reputation as a super-talented chef, but in her experience, that often went with a temperamental personality, someone arrogant and full of himself.