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With a Cherry on Top
by Dee Carney

Category: Erotica/Multicultural-Interracial Erotica
Description: When sexy consultant Emory Dawson puts plump executive chef Keira Bronley's job on the chopping block, she's not going to take it lying down. Err... Obviously, he's never tasted the delights she offered. Or her food either. Now, alone in a kitchen with decadent novelties at their disposal, she'll get him to try both. But can she get Emory to understand that their erotic encounter is not about saving her job, but instead about putting out the fires of desire he's sparked?
eBook Publisher: Cobblestone Press, 2010
eBookwise Release Date: March 2011

eBookeBook

2 Reader Ratings:
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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [41 KB]
Words: 7389
Reading time: 21-29 min.


Chapter One

A whirling dervish who somehow made the rolled-into-one aroma of peach cobbler, chocolate chip cookies and key lime pie smell good, barged into Emory's office. The minute she appropriated the stark expanse of his desk with some sort of baked good he actually was curious to taste, he should have known he was in trouble.

She thrust a clenched fist at him, the paper enclosed strangled within an inch of its life. "You're the new HR consultant, Emory Dawson, right? You're the one responsible for this?"

He took a look at "this", knowing almost immediately what it was and should have known the memo wouldn't be kept a secret for long. Emory took a deep breath, rose to his feet, and sized her up. If he were a smart man, he'd be ducking from the lasers shooting from her rich brown eyes instead of admiring her plump lips. He might even consider barking outrage, rather than just shifting from the unexpected rush of interest heading south on his anatomy while he studied lush curves not hidden very well behind a white apron. "You're not supposed to have that," he said with a nod. He'd somehow managed to drag his gaze away from her hips to the bad news in her hand.

"Do you even understand the significance of my job, Mr. Dawson? What I bring to this company?"

Here we go. If he ever found out who'd let the list of people potentially slated for layoffs get out, he'd personally add that person's name to the top. The food empire, which had hired him, needed to cut back. Those with higher salaries, and who were expendable, made the short list. "I'm sure you're a very valuable asset to Down Home Desserts, ma'am."

Those words spiked her ire. "Valuable? Valuable is what your grandma's jewelry might be. I'm the effing Mona Lisa of food. I am priceless. For God's sake, there's an insurance policy on my mouth. My mouth!"

Which he could barely stop staring at before. Now, he was just short of fixated on it. Emory tried to beat his attention into submission, forcing it elsewhere. The gentle slope of her rounded cheeks was a good start. Or maybe the place where a white dusting of what might have been flour caressed pretty brown skin near her temple. Too late he realized studying errant strands of silken black hair made his fingers itch with the urge to tuck them back into place. Hell, he had to shift just to keep his cock from standing to attention.

"Why not first tell me your name and then we can discuss this in a calm, rational manner?" Please. For the love of heaven, stop drawing his attention to her mouth and the very many things he wanted to do with it. His brain had zero problem imagining the swollen purple tip of his cock resting against her lips, or teasing him with thoughts of her moist mouth suckling him hard. "Have a seat, please."

Still standing, she shoved forward the small metal tray of food he'd completely forgotten. "Keira Bronley. Executive chef, soon to be unemployed. Nice to meet your acquaintance."

Emory winced. Now that he knew with whom he was dealing, he had to put on his game face fast, and fix his enthusiastic lower anatomy. Her position with the large baked goods distributor had been the very first he found redundant and frankly, unnecessary. Although the list of names was still considered a draft, he'd bet good money she'd be jobless in under a month. "Ma'am, you should understand that nothing on there is a done deal. It's just with the economy the way it is, I've been asked to look for places where DHD might scale back--"

"My career is not a 'scale back' for you to mess with!" She flopped down into one of the plush leather chairs. His gaze dropped just enough to catch the sway of her breasts, about palm-sized, as they settled with the rest of her. "I've been balls out since I started working here when I was seventeen and some country twanged know-it-all in Brooks Brothers isn't gonna--"

He lowered himself to the rolling desk chair, relieved she finally took a seat. "Balls out?"

"Yeah, you know, working like an Egyptian slave."

He lifted a brow, but got her meaning. "Hugo Boss."

At last her tough-as-nails armor took a ding. "Excuse me?"

Emory leaned forward, at once amused and intrigued by their exchange. "I'm wearing Boss, not Brooks."

"And what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?" Her mouth--that oh, so delectable mouth--curved up in a whisper of a smile that made his heart race.

"I could do this with you all day," he said, grinning.

Keira scowled. Or at least tried to. If he said just one more word with that sexy Southern drawl, she'd melt into a puddle of brown female flesh.

Enemy! Think enemy!

But damn, he looked good. She'd never cared much for blonds, but his hair, obviously combed back with his fingers, leaned just this side of that color enough to make her wonder about his natural color. Down below.

Now, why did she even go there?

No sooner had the thought formed than her libido raced into hyper-drive, kicking up a fuss and reminding her that despite what everyone said, a year of consuming chocolate was not a suitable substitute for hot and sweaty loving. Her womb clenched in agreement, her nipples also tightening beneath her uniform. She'd caught the way he'd tried to nonchalantly look at her chest. And, truth be told, she'd liked it.

"Would you at least explain to me why a company that specializes in food would even start to think that their executive chef is expendable?"

"That's not what this means. At all. It means we're looking for jobs that might be...redundant to other positions."

"Redundant?" Mr. Southern sex just dropped in potential quite a few notches.

"The products at DHD are based on recipes handed down from the original owners. Tried and true--"

Keira's amusement bubbled up and out of her mouth before she could recall it. Indignant laughter, yes, but laughter nonetheless. "Tried and true recipes?" She was barely able to form the words in between chortling. "Old fashioned?" When his smoky green eyes narrowed in confusion, she took deep steadying breaths. "Baby doll, you obviously have zero idea about the food business."

A very cute blush brightened the tips of Emory's ears. "I take it that my understanding you're here to oversee food production isn't quite correct."

"Like I said, I'm the Mona Lisa of food." She watched his blush creep further down his neck, dipping beneath his tightly knotted tie, which gave him the illusion of corporate conservativeness. Except she knew better. When he'd been standing, she'd seen the tailored shirt cling to a lean body, which must have been disciplined with long hours in the gym.

Based on that physique, he'd obviously never tasted the delights she had available for sampling. Or her food either. "Why don't you and I head to my kitchen so I can show you first-hand exactly what I do? Then you can decide just how redundant my job here really is."

Something mysterious flickered across his features. A decidedly carnal suggestion in his eyes. Without looking at his watch or the clock, he replied, "Ma'am, I believe I have time to accompany you. It would seem that some research is in order."

Keira had never before heard someone make the word 'research' sound like it should star in its own porn movie. It left little to the imagination just what kind of research he had in mind. Then again, she could be grasping at straws, hopeful that he might change his mind about her job.

Only one way to find out.

"Follow me, please," she said with a touch of huskiness to her voice. Two could play at this game.

Emory rose once again to his impressive height. "After you."


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