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Decadence
    I moaned, my eyelids fluttering shut of their own volition as I savored the dark, velvety-rich textures coating my tongue. Warmth trickled down my throat, bringing with it an unexpected shot of arousal. This…this was pure decadence. I licked my lips, wanting another taste.
    “Anaya.” The laughter in the man’s husky voice broke my reverie. “Come back to me, Naya.”
    Opening my eyes, I stared into the sparkling hazel-green gaze of the man across the kitchen island from me.
    “You cut me off midfoodgasm,” I accused.
    Devereaux Cavanaugh leaned back in his chair, stretched out, and laced his fingers behind his head. Only a dead woman wouldn’t have stopped to admire the way his muscled arms strained the fabric of his black T-shirt, or the flat stomach that made one want to check and see if he actually had a six-pack. He was alarmingly beautiful, in a bad-boy kind of way.
    “Apologies, chère .” The faintest hint of New Orleans flavored his words. “I didn’t want you to forget you had an audience. Although that was the reaction I was hoping for.”
    I looked down at the plate in front of me and sighed. Warm, melted hazelnut fudge filling trickled out from the small dark chocolate cake, tempting me to take another bite. Raw sex appeal aside, the man had a way with desserts that could make anyone with a sweet tooth swoon. How someone hadn’t dragged him off caveman-style yet was beyond me.
    Were I not happily married to my soul mate, I might have bemoaned the fact that Devereaux often treated me like a little sister. Before Devlin had come back to me and Emerald Valley, he and Devereaux had been roommates—two young chefs who’d struggled to make it big in Los Angeles and had been incredibly successful. Their good looks and complementing skills—not to mention the extreme catchiness of their paired names—had made them an excellent bet for the cooking shows. Devlin turning his back on the celebrity-chef lifestyle to open a restaurant in his hometown was only a surprise to those who hadn’t known him or seen him burning out. That he’d managed to coax Devereaux into becoming the pastry chef for his restaurant, Decadence, had shocked everyone; even Devlin hadn’t thought his friend would do it.
    I took another bite of cake, tried to control my response, and failed. “Dev, this is too good to be true. If my husband doesn’t add this to Decadence’s menu, I’m dumping him.”
    That earned me a faint smile. “Devlin hasn’t tasted it, but if his reaction is half as visceral as yours, I think this one’s a go.”
    “Please tell me it’s not going to be a seasonal option.”
    “No. With rhubarb now in season, I’m switching out the truffle tarts for a chocolate-rhubarb pot de crème. The cake is something I wanted to add to the regular menu. I’ve been playing around with it for a while, going back and forth on what I’m mixing into the fudge. The hazelnut was my favorite option, but you’re my first taste tester. Are you sure you don’t want to try it with the wine I brought? They make a good pairing.”
    I forced myself to push the plate away; it was already late afternoon, and I had a lot to get done before my husband came home. Not to mention there was another minicake ready to be baked later tonight. As it was, I was already going to have to put in a considerable amount of time on the running trails to make up for this calorie explosion.
    “I’m always happy to be of service, but I’ll pass on the wine for now. Thanks again for making this and the extra minicake. I know how long a day you’ve had already. I wanted something special for tonight, and well, you know how I am in the kitchen.”
    “Just be careful when you put the cake in the oven, chère. You don’t want to burn your house down before you fully move in.”
    Given that even I had to admit bad things happened when I tried to cook, I didn’t take offense. My cell phone rang, and I glanced down at the readout.