Authors: Jordyn Tracey
Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #Multicultural, #Romantic Suspense, #Multicultural & Interracial, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense
Sweet Arrest
Aidan Books
www.aidanbooks.com
Copyright ©
Copyright © November 2008, Jordyn Tracey
Cover art by Aidan Books © November 2008
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Aidan Books
USA
www.aidanbooks.com
A bakery was the last establishment she should own. A'isha glowered at her panty line, clearly visible through her jogging pants. A thong might have worked out better, except she had no wish to give herself a wedgie and her giggly butt needed the extra covering to hide the dimples.
She slapped the offending round cheeks and drug in a resigned breath. The decision had been made months ago. With her new jogging outfit, designed in her favorite color—blue—she had no excuse not to get out on the trail through the park. Just after sunrise had to be early enough for no witnesses to her first lengthy exercise in three years.
Popping a stick of sugarless gum in her mouth, she tucked her phone in her pocket and bound down the stairs of her family home. On the front steps of the row house, she placed her head phones on her head and set out.
Twenty minutes into her walk-ten minutes, jog-for two, she was sweating, and her thigh muscles burned. At a curve in the trail, with a large bush obstructing the path ahead, she stopped. Her cell phone buzzed against her hip, and the vibration felt pretty good right about now. If only it were all over her stiff, painful muscles.
She flipped the phone open and bent to remove her shoe lace from inside her sneaker. “Hello?"
The hard body slammed into her, and her phone went flying. A'isha landed on her back with a man pinning her to the ground. She screamed, fighting for him to release her.
"Hey, easy. I'm not the one who was bent in the middle of a blind spot.” His deep voice and bright blue eyes sent chills along her arms. “Now, if you'll give me a sec I can haul myself and you up. Okay? Please, don't scratch my eyes out.” His charming smile disarmed her.
"Um, yes, of course. Sorry."
His tanned skin glistened from his run. His tussled brown curls were in wet ringlets on his forehead. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt and biker shorts. When he hefted his body up off her, she spotted the bulge at his crotch and blushed. He followed her line of vision, knowing what she was looking at, and he winked.
A'isha scooted away from him. He stood, reached down, and hooked his hands beneath her arms to hoist her to her feet. “There you go. Are you okay? No permanent damage?"
"No, thank you. I-I have to go.” Not wanting him to see her ass, she offered a half smile and faced him while she shuffled sideways pretending such a move was natural. The amusement in his eyes told her he wasn't fooled, and probably that he thought she was an idiot.
When Mr. Gorgeous was out of sight, A'isha straightened her walk, the jog dismissed. “How embarrassing.” He was probably bent over laughing his head off at her antics. She grunted, stomping along the path.
"Excuse me."
She stopped. Too late to turn now. She was facing away from him. On a tormented pivot, she glanced up to find his gaze where she least welcomed it. Her panties had ridden up despite being granny style, and her pants were too tight.
"Yes?” When he didn't look up, she cleared her throat.
"Oh, yeah.” He held up her cell phone. “You forgot this in the grass. It must have gone flying when we bumped, um...?"
"A'isha."
He nodded. “Pretty. Very pretty.” To her surprise, he wasn't commenting on her name. The man must have had a screw shaken loose in the fall. “I'm Connor. Nice to meet you.” Sparks ignited at his touch. His palm was rough but warm, engulfing hers.
Their gazes locked. The park came to life around them—birds chirped, a dog barked, and someone's shoes slapped against the concrete.
"You know, I—"
"I have to go—” She was going to run away again, from a man, from an awkward situation, but she couldn't help herself. He was too sexy anyway. A man with a face like that and a body to match, wouldn't look at her twice. Except to return her cell phone. “Thank you. I have to go."
She spun away, and this time jogged in the opposite direction than what she intended. Her car was parked at the south end of the park. She would have to circle around a least a mile to avoid him and get back. If her thighs had to spontaneously combust, oh well.
By the time she reached the bakery, A'isha realized Cammie had not opened when she was supposed to, and she hadn't started the donuts that needed to be fresh that morning. Groaning, she let herself in and flipped the card to open on the door. Mr. Stanton, the old man who lived at the end of the block would be in less than an hour expecting his usual to be ready.
A'isha flipped on all the lights, shoveled up the mail from the day before—delivered late—and scanned it between setting the coffee pot and pretending she was not on the edge of bankruptcy.
"Bills and credit card applications. Just once, I'd like to see a check in here!” She threw the waste of good trees on the counter and slipped into her apron. Next, she washed her hands with the thoroughness a surgeon could admire then readied her stove and ingredients for the donuts.
A flick of the switch on the radio to soft relaxing music and the scent of coffee in the air. That's how she liked it, would always start her day. The thought occurred to her that Cammie had been calling on her cell when she stopped on the walk. Yet, if she was calling out, it was still too late for A'isha to do something about it. “Spilled milk. Spilled milk.” She had many more issues to cry over than Cammie being late or Mr. Stanton not getting his breakfast.
The bell over the door jingled, and Mr. Stanton's stooped figure shuffled in. His pleasure but toothy grin brightened her day a little. “Morning, A'isha, how is my beautiful flower?"
"Good morning, Mr. Stanton. The usual?” She poured his coffee at the counter. Every day for two years they used the same greeting, and every day for twenty he had given the same compliment to her mother. Clearing her throat, she turned away to hide the mist in her eyes. Her mother was gone, but never forgotten. Purely Sweets had been her mother's baby. Now it was hers, and it tore her insides apart knowing she was losing it.
"Yes, the usual, A'isha.” He glanced around. “Where's that apprentice of yours, in the back?"
"Nope, missing in action.” She fished her cell from her bag. Sure enough, the call had come from Cammie. She sighed and put it back, not feeling like hearing the excuse this time. For a woman who claimed she wanted to be a pastry chef, she sure didn't take it seriously. A'isha didn't have the luxury of being picky though, having no formal training beyond her mother. Purely Sweets was small time. “I have to sneak in the back, if you don't mind, Mr. Stanton. Just help yourself to more of those donuts."
He waved a wrinkly, liver-spotted hand. “Go on, dear, I will keep an eye on things."
Blowing him a kiss, she turned and headed into the kitchen. She loved this part of her business, just ignoring the world and baking. Kneading dough, mixing ingredients, even as simple as beating eggs. The therapy in baking a banana bread was heavenly.
At that time of the morning, for no reason, she was in the mood to make some Mississippi mud but had to settle for blackberry muffins. Flour, eggs, milk and sugar all on the table, she popped open the industrial sized refrigerator she adored and brought out her blackberries. The blackberry muffins were a mainstay, the cheap, warm pastry that her customers would snatch up by the dozens, feeling like they weren't being completely bad. She chuckled thinking of it. Later, those same conscientious women and some men would sneak back in to grab a slice or two of her apple pie with all-butter crust.
A grunt escaped her. If she developed more low fat or low sugar recipes, maybe her rear wouldn't be so damn big. Thinking of her rear brought thoughts of Connor to mind. Oh he was hot. She had dated a white man a few years ago, but it had never gotten to anything physical. “But Connor ... Damn, that package was huge,” she mused.
The door burst open. “A'isha, I'm so sorry for being late!” Cammie, with red hair flying every which way, and clothes rumpled as usual, stood unbuttoning layers of clothing. The woman could withstand high temperatures, and unlike anyone else, buried herself in warm clothing even in summer. A'isha imagined she wouldn't get warm enough now that the season was changing. “I called. Did you get my message?"
A'isha didn't address the question. “You do realize how hard it's been lately, Cammie? I can't afford to lose one single order. Not one! And you decide for whatever reason to not open up on time, and to not tell me early enough for me to get in here and do it myself?"
While she shifted out of her extra clothing, Cammie plodded over to the small TV mounted on the kitchen wall and flipped it on. A'isha cringed. The jarring voice of the newscaster invaded her sanctuary. “...police are looking for Selena Goode who was last seen..."
"I'm sorry, A'isha.” Cammie caught her attention. “I had an appointment. It couldn't be avoided. I will stay late and prepare everything for tomorrow. And I'll come in early the rest of the week, give you a break. How's that?” Her puppy dog eyes were tempting.
Slapping her hands on her hips, A'isha frowned. “Fine. But don't let me down, Cammie. My mom gave you a chance when you begged for it. You had no experience and no training. I kept you on, because you have real talent and a love of food like I do.”
Just not the weight to go with it.
The flash of resentment was not missed. “Thanks, A'isha. I won't let you down. I promise. Things are looking up for me anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh nothing.” She shuffled out to the front at the sound of the bell.
A'isha rolled her eyes. That woman would be the death of her. She hadn't been exaggerating. Cammie could bake, and she sometimes sprung out recipes for treats that had the customers smacking their lips for more. A'isha had done all she could not to demand Cammie stop for the jealousy burning in her heart. After all, the treats brought in extra money, and that meant more to pay bills. Yet, lately, Cammie couldn't be bothered to do anything beyond what was assigned to her.
The phone rang. A'isha sighed and picked it up, forcing a smile. “Purely Sweets. This is A'isha. How can I help you?"
"Ms. Greene, this is Tamara Lincoln at Town Bank."
A'isha's heart rate kicked up a few notches. “Yes?"
"I need you to come in to talk about your mortgage payment. I understand your difficulties, but we can only go so far on good faith,” the woman explained. “How does tomorrow at three sound?"
Like it doesn't make any difference, because I don't have any money.
She banged on the counter with her knuckles. “Oh someone's at the door, a delivery. Can I call you back and confirm? Thanks, Ms Lincoln.” She slammed the phone down with too much force.
"What am I going to do?” She stood there, smelling her precious muffins burning, with tears in her eyes.
A'isha forced herself to take each step after she had struggled from the car. Another morning of jogging, with no incidents this time. Her muscles cussed her out for what she had done to them. “It's for your own good,” she grumbled, knowing damn well she wouldn't keep this up if it didn't get a little easier.
Approaching the shop, she noted the lights still off and the blinds down.
"I'm going to come in every day this week,"
she mimicked Cammie. “I've been too lenient on her! Ma had a better handle.” Her shoulders slumped. Her mother had a better handle on everything, including the finances. If she lost this bakery...
The bell didn't jingle when she opened the door. A'isha glanced up to find it missing, but the hook it had hung from for years was still there. She shut the door and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. “No, please not the electricity.” Searching her memory, she tried to recall whether she had sent the check off to the electric company. She had. Surely it hadn't bounced. Not that one at least.
