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Sugar Rush

Book by Donna Kauffman · 10 quotes · Leilani Trusdale, Leilani And Baxter, Baxter Dunne

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Sugar Rush Quotes

“I'll apologize," he said, "for the poor timing. And the sorry lack of forethought in not making my interest known. But no' for kissin' you, Leilani. Or, more t' the point, for wantin' to." He stopped, hearing the accent of his childhood creeping back into his words. He smiled broadly then, to cover how much that little backside had shaken him, knowing full well he was relying on his infamous rapscallion grin that had, from a very young age, gotten him out of countless scrapes and sticky situations. For a very long time, it had been the only thing he'd had going for him. Leilani would not likely be swayed... but it was a defense mechanism he couldn't override at the moment. "It wasn't exactly how I'd imagined it, but I promise you, I'm nothing if not diligent when trying to perfect something new. " She said nothing to that. Keeping the smile in place suddenly took quite a bit of work, so he turned and opened the door. "You imagined kissing me?" He jerked his gaze back to hers, his grin broadening further, without the least bit of calculation this time. "It's been the centerpiece of some of my very best daydreams." He wisely left unspoken the far more vivid ones he'd had at night.”

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“She let him kiss her, let all the sensations he brought with his kiss course through her freshly relaxed body. His mouth was warm, strong, and he tasted sweet and spicy, partly from the ginger-laced cupcakes they'd been baking and testing, and partly because she knew that's just how he tasted. Under his continued exploration, she relaxed further, opened her mouth to him, took him in... and sighed as he filled her so perfectly. She groaned softly, or maybe it was him, as he took the kiss deeper, and it slowly turned more ardent. She realized she'd dug her nails into his shirt, pressing her knuckles into him as she clutched the linen in her fists in her urgent need to get closer to him. "Wow," she gasped against the skin of his jaw as he left her mouth to kiss the corners of her lips, then her cheek, her temple, and dropped his head down to nuzzle at the tender side of her neck. It was the sweetest seduction and a primal rush, all at the same time. She rose up on her toes, wanting more heat, more contact, more... Baxter. "How can this not be the right thing, Leilani," he whispered gruffly against the sensitive skin below her ear.”

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“A slow grin slid across his face, lighting his eyes with a very different, decidedly wicked glow. For the first time, she could honestly believe he'd come from the rough part of town. There was something elemental in the way he was looking at her, like a man willing to brawl, to fight with his bare hands, if that's what it took to get what he wanted. It made her skin prickle with awareness... and her muscles shudder with need. And her heart ache with want. "But you should know, Lei, that kissing you, feeling you kissing me back... didn't feel much like torture." He stepped in, and lowered his mouth until his lips were almost, but not quite touching hers. A mere breath of air separated their bodies. Her breath caught in her throat as his warm, spicy-sweet breath fanned her lips... lips he'd so recently taken with his own. She quivered when he framed his hands, palms in, then moved them slowly down the outline of her body without ever once touching her. She was trembling by the time he finished. "And this," he whispered gruffly, "is never going to go away, whether we will it or not.”

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“He'd thought a lot about that kiss. A whole lot about that kiss. He wished he felt more sorry about it than he did, as it could likely prove to be his downfall in his mission. But he couldn't. It had been to... perfect. Like a souffle that combined airiness and light, with that rich, dark, kicky finish. Yes, that kiss had lingered on his lips... and permanently in his memory, ranking up there along with the richest, most decadent desserts he'd ever had the pleasure of sampling. Just like those decadent desserts, he was equally driven to taste her again. As passionate as he'd ever been to create the most amazing flavor combinations, the richest and most unique desserts, Lani was like that to him. For as long as he could remember, that passion had always been everything.”

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“Her breath caught in her chest and she couldn't seem to form words. She was too busy reveling in the reality that she was in the exact place she'd dreamed of being, for so long. It was light years better than anything she'd ever fantasized it would be. His hands were big, but gentle. His words soothed, but there was an edge to his voice that incited as well. And he was bigger somehow, more imposing, more densely muscled than she'd imagined him to be. She'd thought of him as the tall, lanky golden boy, all sunny good looks and breezy charisma. But, looking up at him from where she was, tucked in the shelter of his body, she could see the street in him. She'd had a hard time imagining that such a good-natured charmer could have been forged from the rough and tumble life he'd described. But she believed it now. There was a hard edge to his jaw, and the muscles in his shoulders bunched tightly as he skimmed his fingers into her hair. He exuded heat, and she swore she could feel the thudding beat of his heart, even with the bedspread bunched between them. "What are you thinking?" He brought his fingertips back to her cheeks, then ran them along her bottom lip. She moaned softly at the contact, and recalled, quite vividly, the way he'd leaped the counter and taken her in that claiming, branding kiss. Yes, there was a lot more rough and tumble to Baxter Dunne than she'd ever imagined. And now all that rough and tumble was sprawled naked in her bed, focusing a formidable level attention on her. "You've nothing to be afraid, of, luv," he said, as if reading her mind. And maybe he had. Or maybe there was something of what she was feeling in her eyes. She felt like she was tucked up against a jungle cat, muscles coiled and bunched... just waiting, tail flicking, all languid and relaxed to the casual eye, all poised for just the right moment to pounce.”

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“He glanced down at the movie poster art that had been skillfully airbrushed not his custom apron, thanks to Lani's interesting assistant, Dre. He had thought the eclectic collection clever and a fitting contribution to the tone the show was trying to strike, being set in a cupcakery, and featuring its whimsical owner. 'Whimsical she might be,' Baxter thought, 'but when it comes to smoldering sensuality, even Marilyn Monroe in her movie star prime doesn't hold a candle to little Miss Snow White.' He'd been attracted to her drive, her focus, her steady demeanor and steadier hand. She'd been steel wrapped in sunshine, a dependable beacon of light he could rely on and trust in his always loud, rushed, chaotic world. Now he looked at her, with the warm, buttery, bakery sweet scents filling the air, accented with rich, dark, chocolate undertones... and all he could think about was adding the taste of her to the mix.”

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“He could mentally picture, in great detail, some of the grand, intricately detailed pastries and cakes Lani had constructed at Gateau. Her inspired creations had drawn raves. She hadn't been a Beard nominee during her first year of eligibility for nothing. She'd worked tirelessly to perfect even the tiniest detail, not because the client- or an awards committee- would have noticed, but because it mattered to her that each effort be her best. In fact, it was her work ethic and dedication that had first caught his attention. She wasn't a grandstander, like most with her natural ability, behaving in whatever manner it took to stick out and be noticed. She let her work speak for her. And speak it did. It fairly shouted, in fact. Once he'd noticed, he couldn't help being further captivated by how different her demeanor was from most budding chefs. Bravado, with a healthy dose of self-confidence bordering on arrogance, was a trademark of the profession. Some would say it was a requirement. Leilani's quiet charm, and what he'd come to describe as her relentless calm and ruthless optimism had made an indelible mark on him. She wasn't like any baker he'd ever met, much less any top-notch chef. She cared, she labored- hard- and she lived, breathed, ate, and slept food, as any great chef did. But she was never frantic, never obsessed, never... overwrought, as most great chefs were. That teetering-off-the-cliff verve was the atmosphere he'd lived in, thrived on, almost his entire life. Leilani had that same core passion in spades, but it resided in a special place inside her. She simply allowed it to flow outward, like a quietly rippling stream, steady and true. As even the gentlest flowing stream could wear away the sturdiest stone, so had Leilani worn down any resistance he'd tried to build up against her steady charm... and she'd done it without even trying.”

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“On closer notice of her apron, he said, "Is that-?" "The Mad Hatter," she said. "I told you, I have a collection." "You collect aprons?" "Since I was little and my mom taught me to bake." When he smiled, she arched a brow. "Some find it charmingly quirky." "You never wore any to Gateau." "Shocking, I know. Because I'm certain the staff would have greatly appreciated the humor in them." His smile twitched wider at that. "You have a point, I suppose. I must say, this dry side of you is surprisingly appealing. What does it say?" He nodded toward her apron front. She lifted her arms away so he could read the script that accompanied the copy of an original pen and ink art rendering of the Hatter seated at a long table, holding a teacup aloft. "YOU'RE NEVER TOO OLD TO HAVE A TEA PARTY," he read out loud, then smiled at her. "I rather agree. You make a charming and somewhat more quirky Alice than I'd have expected. I seem to recall Alice spent the better part of her time being irritated and flustered, too. Perhaps if I'd come bearing tea and crumpets, with a bewildered, bespectacled white rabbit clutching a pocketwatch in his paw, you'd have been more willing to give me the time of day.”

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“She'd never been anything other than absolutely professional with him. Always in a good mood, the calm in the center of every storm. And there had been many. He could depend on her to be consistently cool, competent, and focused. Aside from her rather amazing talent, the way she handled the day-to-day chaos of the kitchen with such smooth aplomb was the thing he'd admired most about her. He'd been convinced that bombs could be going off, and she'd been steadily working away with that quiet smile of hers, truly content, as if she existed inside her own personal sunbeam. To him, she'd been the perennial Snow White, kind to one and all, always making life easier for those around her.”

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“You think in terms of educated palates, and you'd be right to assume most folks here wouldn't know a panna cotta from a semifreddo. But what I've discovered is that food is just another form of art. The people on Sugarberry might not know why they like it, but they know when they do. I'm discovering that I don't need to educate people, I just want to feed them and make them happy. And if in doing so, I get to play with new flavor profiles and complex combinations, even in something as rudimentary as a cupcake? That makes me happy. In fact, trying to maximize new flavors in a tiny cup of cake motivates me, challenges me. Seeing my customers lick their lips when they taste my creations is all the validation I'll ever need.”

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