Taste for Temptation (Kimani Hotties)

by Bourne, Phyllis

  “This is my life. Not Dad’s.”

  Kyle scrubbed a hand down his face. “So you’re flushing your life down the tubes over a bake-off.”

  Adam had explained it to his brother already, but Kyle, like their father and uncle, couldn’t imagine anyone having an aspiration that was about their passion, not making more millions for Ellison Industries.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call the International Chocolate Pastry Competition a bake-off, but yes, it’s important to me.”

  “For God’s sake, why?”

  Adam exhaled a weary sigh. “Haven’t you ever wanted to achieve something on your own, without the benefit of our status or money?”

  “Hell, no,” Kyle replied. “I love being rich.”

  “Well, I need to do this.”

  Initially, Adam had only skimmed the application his grandmother had emailed him for the renowned competition. She’d noted for the first time ever there was a concurrent competition for amateur chefs, but Adam had been embroiled in his duties at Ellison Industries.

  The day after they’d buried his father, Adam had retrieved the application from his deleted emails. Last week, he’d traveled to Montreal for the North American round of the competition, where his twist on chocolate lava cake won the title, beating out entries from over a hundred amateur chefs from the U.S. as well as Canada and Mexico.

  Now he faced the monumental task of creating two chocolate-based entries so decadent and delicious, that he’d win the world title for self-taught chefs.

  “But you already won first place for some pie, right?” Kyle asked.

  “Cake,” Adam corrected, knowing full well his brother couldn’t care less.

  Kyle hadn’t spent summers and school holidays in Paris with maternal grandparents who owned a patisserie. So he hadn’t grown up longing to follow in the footsteps of a grandfather who created the most magnificent chocolate pastries in the city.

  “Whatever.” Kyle tossed the ball in the air and caught it. “You’ve proved your point. Now it’s time to get back to real life.”

  “The only thing I’m going back to is my kitchen,” Adam said.

  Scant weeks remained between now and the final rounds of the competition in Paris, and he still found his potential entries lacking. His focus had to remain on impressing an international jury of master pastry chefs. Not on his uncle, his ex or Ellison Industries.

  And certainly not pursuing a purple-clad mystery woman.

  * * *

  A growl erupted from Brandi’s stomach, the ferocious sound and accompanying hunger pangs waking her from a fitful sleep.

  She inhaled deeply. As it had for the past week, the intoxicating aroma of chocolate surrounded her.

  “Noooo.”

  She yanked the pillow from beneath her head and pulled it over her face to block out the scent and stop her mouth from watering. Who had moved into the place next door anyway, Betty Crocker?

  The first night she’d thought it was simply a dream or better yet, a chocoholic dieter’s hallucination. However, the night after she figured out the heavenly scent wasn’t her subconscious balking against a menu of celery and frozen, low calorie meals.

  It was chocolate all right, and her nose had pinpointed the source—the condo next door to hers.

  Brandi had yet to spot her new neighbor, but the midnight Mrs. Fields was wreaking havoc on her sleep and her willpower.

  She tossed the pillow aside and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Who bakes at three o’clock in the morning?

  Her stomach roared again, making sleep out of the question.

  Brandi kicked out from under the warmth of her blanket.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow!” she chanted, her aching legs reminding her of the torture Heather had put them through. Easing her feet into slippers, she hobbled through her two-bedroom condo. Limping from the living room to the kitchen to the spare room she used as a studio for her online handbag boutique, there was no escaping the aroma that was turning her knees to pudding. Chocolate pudding.

  Sighing heavily, she slumped onto a stool in front of the breakfast bar. She stared longingly at the refrigerator until she remembered replacing the stash of chocolate bars in the vegetable crisper with actual vegetables.

  “I’m not listening to you.” She looked down at her rumbling belly, noting the fumes now had her talking to herself.

  Crossing the kitchen, she pulled a bowl of precut carrot and celery sticks from the fridge.

  Unfortunately, the carrot did little to appease her appetite. In fact, the harder she chewed the crudités, the angrier she became.

  Brandi crunched into a celery stick and thought about the day ahead. Ordinarily, she spent Saturdays in her sewing studio filling orders for her online boutique, Arm Candy. However, today she was meeting her sister and mother. Erin had already selected a wedding gown, and now it was time to pick a maid of honor dress for Brandi.

  Truth be told, Brandi didn’t wholeheartedly approve of her sister’s upcoming nuptials to the Vanderbilt senior resident.

  A nursing student at Tennessee State, Erin was book smart. However, she was also a young, spoiled and slightly immature twenty-two-year-old, and her fiancé was a bit too authoritative for Brandi’s taste.

  But when she’d tried to gently broach the subject with Erin or their mother, she was told unequivocally to mind her own business.

  So the last thing she needed was to start her day off crabby and sleep deprived.

  “It’s not fair. I got rid of my chocolate stash so I wouldn’t have to deal with temptation.”

  She inhaled deeply, and her stomach responded with a mournful noise that sounded like a wounded animal.

  “Enough,” Brandi announced. The way she saw it, her new neighbor had left her with one of two choices: either she suffered in silence every night or demanded whoever it was stop the chocolate torment.

  Tossing the celery aside, she pulled her purple robe over her flannel pajamas and marched three feet down the corridor to the condo next to hers. She took a long, delicious breath in before raising her fist and banging on the door.

  It swung open wide and Brandi cast her eyes on what was either her worst nightmare or most decadent fantasy.

  Mr. Dark Chocolate from the park filled the door frame holding what she could only describe as sex on a plate.

  Chapter 2

  Shock held Brandi in a vise grip as her astonished gaze met his. He recovered first, and she watched his surprised expression melt into one of the sexiest smiles she’d ever encountered.

  Her gaze skimmed his smooth dark skin, taking in the full lips and shadow of beard dusting his square jaw. A single word popped into her head.

  Magnificent.

  Despite the hour, her knock didn’t appear to have awakened him. Jeans rode low on his lean hips and a black pullover sweater stretched across his broad chest.

  “Do you like chocolate?” His deep baritone rumbled through her.

  Breathe. Brandi gave herself a mental slap on the back.

  “Uh…sure,” she finally stammered.

  “Then your visit is perfect timing.”

  She lowered her gaze to the sumptuous torte on the plate in his hands and looked on mesmerized as he used the side of a fork to cut into it. He speared the morsel and held it out to her.

  No way was this real, Brandi thought. Sexy strangers bearing chocolate were in the same category as the Easter Bunny and cute shoes left in her size at a fifty-percent-off sale. They flat-out didn’t exist.

  She slid her fingers up her arm to test the theory with a pinch, but stopped herself. If this was indeed a dream, did she really want to wake up?

  Not yet, Brandi thought, as she leaned toward Mr. Dark Chocolate and wrapped her mouth around the fork.

  Chocolate, lac
ed with the complementary flavor of hazelnut, exploded on her tongue, and she couldn’t help moaning aloud as she chewed.

  “So what do you think?” he asked.

  Think? There was no thinking in dreams. Besides, the exquisite hit of chocolate had stalled her brain along with her memory, and she promptly forgot the reason she’d knocked on his door in the first place.

  “More,” she demanded in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own.

  Brandi ate the second proffered bite with the same relish as the first. “Mmmm,” she crooned. The smell and flavor made her feel like she was in Europe’s finest bakery instead of her building’s corridor.

  “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” He ducked back inside with the torte and returned a millisecond later with a cake just as impressive.

  “Try this one,” he said, holding out a fork. “I’ve been experimenting with the recipe and could use some feedback.”

  “Look, I only came over to…”

  “Please.” He cut her off with what her mother used to call the magic word. However, on his lips it brought to mind carnal acts good mamas cautioned their daughters against unless they were in possession of a marriage license.

  Brandi sighed and took the fork. Just one more bite, and that’s it.

  He held the plate while she dug into a cake so beautiful it belonged behind the glass case of an upscale bakery. “Oh, my God,” she said, the taste rocking her world. “The first one was very, very good, but this is incredible.”

  Her enthusiasm was rewarded with another sexy, male smile, reminding her chocolate wasn’t the only thing she’d been denying herself these days.

  “I agree. The second is the better of the two,” he said, leaning against the doorway. “But it’s just not there yet.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Brandi asked, amazed anyone could find fault in either dessert.

  “The balance of sweetness and chocolate is still slightly off.”

  On impulse, Brandi took another forkful of cake. This time she moved it slowly around her mouth giving her taste buds the opportunity to pick up all the flavors. She was by no means a chocolate connoisseur, but she’d eaten enough of the stuff to feel like one.

  “I taste the milk chocolate, and both the white and dark chocolate,” she said.

  He nodded. “I’ve cut back on the sugar and experimented with the cacao content of the dark chocolate. While this is the best version so far, I’m still not totally pleased with it.”

  “As wonderful as this tastes, I wonder…” Brandi began as an idea formed in her head. “Since you’re tinkering with the recipe, anyway…”

  “Go on.” He nodded eagerly.

  “Well, I was thinking maybe you could add a pinch of espresso to the bittersweet chocolate in the ganache. It might keep the sweetness in check and bring out the intensity of the chocolate.” She shrugged. “Just a thought.”

  Adam appeared to mull the idea over in his head. “I’ll give it a try and see what happens,” he said, then added,“You certainly seem to know your chocolate.”

  Brandi snorted. “For the last six months, me and chocolate have been like this.” She held up crossed fingers.

  “So your visit really is perfect timing. I also made some pastries, and I’d love to get your opinion,” he said. “Come inside.”

  Brandi took a step toward his threshold. Then her brain kicked into gear, and she stopped in her tracks.

  What in the hell was she doing?

  Getting sidetracked from her diet was one thing, following a stranger into his place was another. She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “As I was saying, I live next door…”

  “Adam Ellison. I moved in a few days ago,” he said smoothly as if it were three in the afternoon instead of in the morning.

  “Brandi Collins,” she said. “Anyway, I need to talk to you about…”

  He sniffed. “Damn!”

  Shoving the cake into her hands, he dashed inside.

  “But I’m not supposed to eat chocolate,” she said. However, it was too late, he was already out of earshot.

  “Come on in,” he called back.

  Brandi stepped into the entryway. She’d simply hand him back his plate of triple chocolate yumminess, say her piece and be on her way, she reasoned as she followed the sound of his footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor.

  She glanced at the living area as she passed. Only a huge flat-screen television, tuned in to the twenty-four-hour sports channel, and easy chair occupied the otherwise empty space. Brandi quickly did the math in her head. A sparse man cave of a living room plus zero dining-room furniture added up to a very single Mr. Dark Chocolate.

  She caught herself smiling at the thought and then quickly reminded herself his eligibility was none of her concern.

  Mr. Dark Chocolate was pulling a round cake pan from the top portion of a double-wall oven when she walked into the kitchen. He frowned at the curl of smoke rising from the cake.

  “That’s probably my fault. Sorry if I distracted you, Mr. Dar…Ellison,” she quickly corrected.

  “No, I should have set the timer.” He dumped the scorched cake into a trashcan. “And it’s Adam.”

  Brandi glanced around the kitchen. If his living room screamed undomesticated bachelor, the kitchen was like stepping into the prep area of a gourmet restaurant.

  Professional, stainless-steel appliances gleamed against a background of polished cherrywood cabinets and shiny hardwood floors. An overhead pot rack, in the same brushed nickel of the cabinet knobs and handles, hung above a massive kitchen island workstation.

  Her gaze dropped to the island’s granite countertop, and a gasp escaped her lips.

  “Wow,” she whispered, feeling like she just stepped into a cover shoot for a food magazine.

  Brandi looked from a basket heaped with flaky, chocolate croissants to a tray of glossy, strawberry-topped chocolate tarts. Both looked too pretty to eat.

  Adam inclined his head toward the bounty. “Help yourself.”

  Brandi stared at the treats, resisting the urge to snatch up the biggest croissant and stuff it into her mouth like a greedy toddler. She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

  Her stomach took the opportunity to counteract her statement with a loud wail of protest. Brandi cringed as she watched the corner of Adam’s mouth twitch upward.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Her resolve wavering, Brandi summoned up her trainer’s motivational speech from earlier to bolster the little resistance she had left.

  “…think about that no-show jerk leaving you standing at the altar. Remember how you felt when his mother informed you he’d eloped the night before with another woman?”

  However, instead of the anger it had evoked before, she found herself comparing her neighbor to her ex-fiancé.

  Where Wesley’s body had begun to grow pudgy from too many sedentary hours behind a desk at the business magazine he edited, Adam Ellison was obviously no stranger to the gym. His sweater couldn’t disguise the hard, sculpted torso and bulging biceps she’d glimpsed earlier at the park.

  Wesley had never bothered to make coffee. Yet, within seconds of meeting him this man had practically hand-fed her.

  Whoa! Brandi stomped the brakes on her runaway thoughts. Her new neighbor had already invaded her condo with his chocolate. She didn’t need him taking up space in her head.

  She set the cake she was still holding on the countertop and took a step backward to put physical distance between her, the man and his culinary offerings.

  Brandi cleared her throat. “I didn’t come here to eat. I came to ask you to stop.”

  “Stop what?” Concern radiated in his dark brown eyes.

  “All of this.” She spread her arms, gesturing toward
the pastry-laden countertop with a frustrated wave. Brandi knew she sounded as deranged as she must look standing there in her pajamas in the middle of the night, but she was here now, and it was past time for her to put an end to the chocolate torture.

  “I need you to shut down the all-night chocolate buffet.”

  * * *

  Adam had envisioned a few scenarios if he ever encountered the beauty from the park again. Most of them involved her in his bed. None of them included her standing in the middle of his kitchen ranting about chocolate.

  “Why?” he asked. “Does the building have a covenant or restriction on baking at night that I missed?”

  Brandi shook her head. “Nothing like that.”

  Even if they did, Adam didn’t have time to scrounge around for another kitchen space with the final round of the competition only a few weeks away.

  The transition from his family’s sprawling estate to this condo which he’d purchased years ago as an investment property, had eaten up enough valuable baking time. But the move had been necessary. His new home provided the solitude he needed to perfect his entries without distractions or interference.

  “Then there’s no reason for me to stop.”

  He opened the small, leather-bound notebook, similar to the moleskin one his grandfather had used to record recipes and notes, and began jotting down possible changes to the cake recipe. He silently debated whether to tweak the current or an earlier version of the triple chocolate dessert that included pistachios.

  “I can’t deal with this aroma every night. I’m trying to lose…” Brandi paused. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Of course. Your suggestion was to add espresso to the bittersweet chocolate, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But as I was saying, I’m trying to lose weight.”

  Adam looked up from the notebook. “Mind if I ask why?”

  “My sister’s getting married next month, and I need to look my best for the wedding.”

  He closed the notebook, and his gaze slid from her face downward to the heavy robe and flannel pajamas his neighbor apparently wore to bed. If she were his, he thought, the nights they shared would be too hot for flannel. Or anything else.