Just Desserts Part 1

Just Desserts.

Lyn Cash.

Dedication.

For Ann Wesley Hardin who told me I could do this and showed me how; The Belfry Collective who made certain I did it-especially Ann, Alexis Fleming, Gerrie Shepard, Catherine Berlin, Merry Stahel, Bronwyn Parry, and Christine Zubko who patiently critiqued me the most; and editor Nick Conrad who said "welcome" and made my dream of publis.h.i.+ng with Ellora's Cave a reality.

Chapter One.

Pelican Point Summer Tea.

Ingredients:.

6 cups strong tea.

1 cup sugar (add to tea while tea is hot).

1012 ounces frozen lemonade.

1012 ounces water.

2 1/2 cups pineapple juice.

Mix, freeze, serve as a slush, garnish with maraschino cherry.

"Mr. Delacroix..." Marilyn felt her crotch grow wet just saying his name as she looked at the book jacket photo, imagining what it would be like to have the arrogant author's lips against hers.

"It's p.r.o.nounced 'Dell-uh-qwa', chere, but call me Jack, please." The deep voice on the other end of the line was a nice, rich baritone, more than hinting of the owner's Creole roots.

"As I was saying," Marilyn Mason O'Malley continued, "as your new editor, I must insist that you accept this challenge. Cookbook authors from around the country will be entering this cooking contest. Surely, out of five best-selling books you can come up with at least one menu to compete with theirs!"

Jack hesitated before replying, "I think it's wonderful that Larabee Industries has agreed to supply the cookware-I mean they're as synonymous with good cooking as Williams-Sonoma, but I still can't enter the contest! I gar-ahn-tee you my schedule won't permit it!"

You gar-ahn-tee? Momentarily distracted from the frustration, both s.e.xual and otherwise, building inside her, Marilyn bit down on the laugh that threatened to erupt as she listened to her client's Cajun-Creole-whatever the h.e.l.l South-of-the-Mason-Dixon-line accent he had.

"Mr.-Jack, I don't think you quite understand. Larabee is paying for everything! Larabee is one of your main sponsors. It's because of their backing that we've been able to keep printing your books! We are a small publis.h.i.+ng firm, and we rely on sponsors who help us produce and promote our nonfiction department! If you'd just agree to a few more spotlights! There's that Celebrity Chef television series in New York-you could enter one of their-"

"Absolutely not!"

"There's always local television programming. We've had hundreds of letters on your cookbook of home remedies for health!"

"There's simply no way," Jack insisted.

"Then enter the Larabee Cook-Off-"

"Marilyn, again... I appreciate your position, but I must decline, chere. I have way too much to do here at home helping my brother run the family business. I simply cannot leave, not even for a week. I'm sorry."

"But what about the telephone interview with your grandmother?" She pressed the issue. "Surely, you can at least grant us that much..."

The click at the other end of the line made Marilyn stiffen her spine and stare at the phone as if it were a snake.

"You pompous river rat!" Marilyn slammed the phone down and slumped back into her chair. "He hung up on me!"

Marketing director Colette Francis, who'd witnessed the New York half of the conversation while sitting opposite Marilyn, shook her head and returned her employer'

s worried look.

"I don't know what we can do about that one." Colette winced sympathetically.

"Do? I'm going to lose my job before I've even had it a month! Even though this is a family business, Dad and Uncle Dave have told me, nail this guy down, or they'll drop either him or me! And he's making them money-so far I'm not!" She growled and gave an ironic laugh. "I'm hopping on the next plane from New York to Oklahoma, and I'll force him into letting me interview his grandmother who gave him those recipes! I gar-ahn-tee it!" Marilyn tried shaking off his s.e.xy voice in her ear.

"But what about the cook-off?" Colette asked.

"I'll have one of our senior editors get hold of Larabee Industries. Surely there's a way to include our best cookbook author in their contest! We can't afford to offend our largest sponsor just because Mr. Delacroix wants to be such a prima donna!"

"What about Ben?" Colette drew out the name of Marilyn's fiance as she spoke. "Don't you think he'll mind if you're gone next week?"

"s.h.i.+t. I forgot all about Ben's company banquet. He wanted to introduce me to his regional manager. d.a.m.n!" She picked up the telephone to call her fiance then cradled it, changing her mind. "I'll work on Ben tonight."

"And if he says he doesn't want you leaving town?"

"Then he'll just have to get over it. I'm not one of Ben's land holdings or oil wells or blue chip funds. He knows how important this job is to me." Besides, she thought to herself, one good b.l.o.w.j.o.b and Ben was as good as putty in her hands.

Marilyn tapped her fingers against the back jacket copy of one of Jack's previous books, This Won't Hurt A Bit, her nails stabbing at the handsome author. If his face alone wasn't enough to shatter her self-confidence as his editor, his self-a.s.sured voice was the proverbial last straw. The man was insufferable! He could've made her job a lot easier if he'd just agreed to an interview, much less the cook-off sponsored by one of the country' s top manufacturers of cookware and kitchen aids.

The press would've eaten him up. Plus, Larabee Industries had been pus.h.i.+ng Birmingham and O'Malley Press to place Jackson Delacroix on the popular television show they'd sponsored for several years. It wasn't good enough that he endorsed their products in his books-they wanted higher visibility from the reclusive writer, and if Jack wouldn't give it to them, they'd soon find somebody who would.

"Men are so difficult," Marilyn groaned. "You're the marketing director who started this whole cookbook publis.h.i.+ng gig. What do you think?"

"I'll check under the part of his contract regarding Larabee products." Colette pursed her lips. "Hmm. Seems like he has to either mention them in his books so many times or on a television ad, of which he's done none."

"Does Robert Neal have the same requirements as Jack?"

"When we first thought of adding cookbooks to our line, your uncle picked Robert, your dad picked Jack and both men received pretty much the same contract at first. Then as Jack's popularity grew, so did his advances and his perks...such as the Larabee endors.e.m.e.nts."

Marilyn nodded. "And with all of that, Dad and my uncle wound up being rivals over yet one more thing. I'd like to put a stop to this juvenile nonsense, so see what you can do."

Colette touched her finger to her forehead in a mock salute. "I'll be right back!"

Marilyn looked into the eyes of the man staring back at her from the book jacket, and her fingers traced the rough outline of his jaw and the sensuous lips that hinted of a sardonic curl. She took a sip of the slushy tea sitting on her desk, one of Jack's recipes in his latest book, and rolled the liquid in her mouth.

"He looks like someone out of an historical novel. Almost civilized. But with those sinful looks and that s.e.xy voice... he probably has animal skins hanging from his plant hooks and a gator as a pet."

An hour and a half later, Marilyn opened the front door of the penthouse she shared with Ben Fields and started removing her clothing before she'd left the foyer and entered the hall leading to their bedroom.

"Where's my man?" she demanded in loud tones, stripping. "I'm hungry, and I'm h.o.r.n.y, and I haven't had anyone f.u.c.k me blind in days!"

She had her skirt off and was taking off her jewelry when Ben stepped into their bedroom doorway, staring straight ahead as if he'd been blind for years.

"I've heard of that happening," he said, frowning and doing what always cracked her up, his Jimmy Stewart impersonation. "As a...as a matter of fact...it happened to me just last week."

"Oh, it did?" Marilyn played along, feigning sympathy for him and gliding to stand before him.

"Uh, yup...yup...darnedest thing. I had her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in my hands."

He lifted his palms upward, and Marilyn brought them downward to cup the orbs he'd just mentioned. Ben's frown deepened, and he shook his head.

"Nope. These don't feel like the same b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

Marilyn guided his fingers to the b.u.t.tons on her blouse, where he played with them for a moment before shaking his head again.

"These...you see, these nipples are just too hard. Her nipples were much softer."

Marilyn smacked his hands. "What are you doing still in your suit?" she asked. "I figured you'd have already taken your shower and that you'd have been going over..."

"I thought perhaps we'd go out to dinner," Ben said, breaking out of his character impersonation. "Steak maybe and a good bottle of wine. How about that new place near Central Park?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "All right-let's have it. Who are they?"

He blinked, innocently enough. "Who... who is who?"

When she set her jaw, crossed her arms and stared at him, he confessed. "Okay. A new client...just signed them today, and Jerry wants me to show them a good time, spin some new ideas, catch their reaction."

"Ben! You promised!"

"I know, honey, but I'll make it up to you. You have things that come up unexpectedly, and I'm always understanding...right?"

Marilyn grinned, ready to move in for the kill.

"As a matter of fact, I do have a trip coming up next week...the night of Jerry's big gala. I'm sorry. I can't get out of it." She smiled weakly and lifted her palms, as if asking, What's a girl to do?

"But you can't do that!" Ben bellowed. "This is a firm deal, something that's been planned for weeks... months!"

"I know, but I have a business to run, and this trip is extremely viable for me. I'm on thin ice with Dad and my uncle as it is."

Ben wagged a finger in her face. "You set me up just now. You knew this whole time that you intended to play hurt and upset over tonight, when all the time you planned on dis.h.i.+ng it back to me in spades."

Marilyn sighed. "d.a.m.n it, Ben, why do we keep going through this? We both work."

"You don't have to work! You could stay home...here with me."

"And do what? Shop during the day, or file my nails at night while waiting on you to come home from whatever? I can't do that."

"I need someone here for me when I get home from work, Marilyn. I need someone I can depend on to be at the important functions, to help me further my career."

She gave him a steely stare. "You know what? So do I."

Later, brus.h.i.+ng her hair before going to bed, she listened to Ben's gentle snoring and tried psychoa.n.a.lyzing herself. So she'd gone another night without getting much attention from him, even though her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and c.l.i.t were swollen with unrequited need. She knew how important his caseload was to his position at Creative Consultants Circle, where he worked sixty-hour weeks headlining ad campaigns.

While the s.e.x wasn't mind-blowing, at least she was mildly content. Ben was attractive, charming, attentive when he wasn't married to his job. They enjoyed the same restaurants and music. And no head games with this man-he was the epitome of grace, honesty and loyalty. So why couldn't she be happy?

Leaning her face in her hands, she stared at her reflection, wondering if other men and women were simply content, or whether at least a good fraction of them were ecstatic.

She heard Ben snoring softly, and she slipped into bed beside him, trying to imagine what it would be like with another man. She'd been with Ben for so long that it was difficult-until she imagined Jackson Delacroix's handsome face on the pillow.

Her hands worked slowly upward to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and her lips parted involuntarily at the thought of Jack's eyes focused on hers while his fingers slipped ever so slowly downward. She moaned softly, eyes closing as she took a deep breath, and she inhaled and exhaled in tandem with her fingers stroking her c.l.i.t, at first slowly, methodically, then faster and faster, creating a hot fire within her for a man who didn't even know her, eliciting soft moan after moan as she imagined his c.o.c.k inside her p.u.s.s.y, pumping her, f.u.c.king her, sending her over the edge of reason into an oblivious dream state.

Sadness crept over her with every beat closer to her climax. Why couldn't it be like this and better with Ben? What was it about the tall, s.e.xy author that fascinated her so?

What would it feel like to have him inside her, fulfilling the promise held in those deep blue eyes?

Marilyn had never been the groupie type, not even during her teenage years. Why now? What would compel her to chase after him, find him and... then what?

Tears brimmed as her body found its release, and she knew that no matter what happened, she would meet Jackson Delacroix, if for no other reason than to a.s.sure herself that the feelings he aroused in her were completely superficial.

Chapter Two.

Belle's Breakfast Ca.s.serole.

Ingredients: 3 cups freshly grated potatoes (once they've baked and cooled) 3/4 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese with jalapeno peppers 1 cup diced fully cooked ham or Canadian bacon 1/4 cup sliced green onion 4 beaten eggs 1 12-ounce can low-fat evaporated milk 1/8 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon black pepper 4 liberal dashes of Tabasco or other hot sauce Grease a 2-quart square baking dish. Arrange potatoes evenly in the bottom of the dish. Arrange meat, vegetable(s), cheese on top of potatoes.

In a medium mixing bowl combine eggs, milk, pepper, salt and Tabasco. Pour egg mixture over potato mixture in dish. Bake uncovered at 350 degrees for 40 to 45 minutes until center appears to be set. Let stand 5 minutes before serving.

"Mimi, please! I can't keep stalling them forever-this is the second time they've called this week. All you have to do is tell my publisher that you're the one who taught me how to cook!" Jackson Delacroix ran tense fingers through his jet-black collar-length hair, and his deep blue eyes flashed worry despite his instinctive smile that curved as he recalled his publisher's words. River rat, she'd called him. He'd merely clicked the receiver, letting her believe he'd hung up on her, but he'd listened quietly on the other end of the line, waiting to see what else she had to say before she hung up in a huff. There was something about his new editor's voice that made his c.o.c.k throb just listening to her say his name.

The pet.i.te, elderly woman who sat opposite him in the sunny breakfast nook shook her head emphatically, waggling a finger at him as if he were thirteen instead of thirty.

"No, cher. Dat's what you get for lyin' in de first place!" She crossed herself then held her hand about three feet from the ground, still talking and lapsing into her old ways of using Ds instead of Ths in her speech. "Your mother and father would roll over in der graves if I did dis for you! I raised you and your brothers from dis high, and never once did I ask you to lie for me!"