Sweet Persuasions. Rochelle Alers

for the second time in more than a decade. In college, he’d been a student at The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina, where he’d graduated with distinction. He’d subsequently enrolled in The Citadel’s graduate school, earning a degree in U.S. History and then went on to earn another degree at the Marine Corps War College. This time, he was back in Charleston not as a student, but as a teacher at a small, elite military prep school, teaching U.S. Military History. Just when he’d thought his days of wearing a uniform were over, he found out he still had to wear one whenever he was on campus.

      It was late September, and the sultry heat of summer had not yet subsided. After growing up in Pennsylvania, he’d come to appreciate the relatively mild Southern seasons. Walking along King Street, he slowed his pace when he peered into the window of a pastry shop that displayed desserts and sweets reminiscent of a Parisian patisserie.

      He smiled when he read the white lettering on the dark blue awning: Sweet Persuasions. The delectable confections were the pastry shop’s best advertising. Xavier stared through the front window at the customers sitting at bistro tables, sipping espresso and noshing on savories and tarts. When he saw a sign indicating that shipping was available, he knew exactly what he’d get Denise for her birthday. He’d always thought of his sister as delicate when it came to desserts. She preferred chocolate éclairs and tiramisu to pound cake or peach cobbler.

      He opened the door—painted a high-gloss, dark blue—and walked into the cool air-conditioned space. The soft tinkling of the bell just inside the door caught the attention of the young woman behind the counter. She offered him a friendly smile.

      “Good morning. Welcome to Sweet Persuasions.”

      Xavier went completely still. Her voice was as enticing to his ear as the pastries in the window were to the eye. The sound of her voice was low, rich and ethereally melodic. The inflection had Charleston overtones, but not so much that he could detect exactly where she was from.

      “Good morning,” he said, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from the face that matched the hypnotic accent. If he had been asked to describe her, it would have been in the mouthwatering way one describes a confectionery masterpiece. Her face was the color of toasted hazelnuts, and her almond-shaped eyes were as dark as chocolate chips. He liked the way her nose crinkled when she smiled, but it was her mouth with its perfectly curved lips that garnered his rapt attention. His gaze shifted from the blue-and-white-checkered scarf tied around her hair to the trays of pastries, cookies and tarts.

      “May I help you with something?” Xavier stood awestruck. “Sir?” she said, when he didn’t respond.

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Everything looks too pretty to eat.”

      Selena Yates felt her heart rate kick into a higher gear when she stared at the tall, slender man who’d walked into her pastry shop. She had lost count of the number of gorgeous men she’d seen since moving from West Virginia to Los Angeles and now Charleston, but the one standing before her literally and figuratively took the cake. He was more than delicious—he was scrumptious.

      He wore a white polo shirt and khakis with the aplomb of a well-tailored suit. There was something in his ramrod-straight posture that commanded attention. Thick black eyebrows framed a lean reddish-brown face that lifted a fraction when their gazes met and fused. She found the deep dimples in his face breathtaking whenever he smiled. There was a tattoo on his inner right arm, but she wasn’t able to make it out.

      “Is there anything you’d like to sample?” she asked.

      Xavier laughed heartily, the rich sound bubbling up from his chest. “I don’t think you’d want me to do that,” he said when he sobered.

      Selena smiled. “Why not?”

      He leaned in closer. “Because, I’d inhale everything in here like an anteater. I saw the sign said that you do shipping. Where?”

      “We can ship our goods anywhere in the lower forty-eight.”

      “Overnight?” he asked.

      “I can guarantee overnight if it’s along the east coast. Otherwise, it’ll be two-day delivery. Your order will be packed and sealed in a special container that is heat resistant, ensuring that it will be fresh by the time it arrives.”

      Smiling, Xavier continued to stare into the dark eyes that didn’t seem to look at him as much as through him. “I’d like to send something to my sister in D.C. for her birthday. What would you suggest?”

      “Is she allergic to chocolate or nuts?” Selena asked him.

      It wasn’t often that she had male customers. Most of her patrons were women who came into the shop to enjoy specialty coffees and teas with a pastry or savory tart, or to pick up an assortment of cookies or sweets for their offices, or to place an order for a special occasion. In the six months since the shop opened, Selena had been blessed because business was good. Some of her customers had standing orders, and her mail-order business had increased appreciably in the past few months.

      Xavier shook his head. He pointed to a tray with cream-filled chocolate cookies. “She prefers sweets like these.”

      Selena peered into the showcase. “Those are hazelnut galettes. They’re chocolate rounds filled with fromage frais, a kind of cream cheese,” she explained.

      “Will they stay fresh during shipping?”

      She wanted to ask him if he’d heard her when she’d mentioned the special shipping container. Flashing a smile usually reserved for children, Selena nodded. “If it arrives inedible, then I’ll replace the order at no charge. By the way, they are usually served chilled.”

      Xavier moved along the length of the display case, his gaze lingering on the trays of brownies. “What kind of brownies are these?” he asked.

      “Those are caramel-pecan.” Selena reached for a pair of tongs and a napkin with her clear latex gloves. She picked up a brownie square, and handed it to Xavier. “Taste it.”

      He bit into the moist fudge, chewing slowly while shaking his head. “That’s definitely X-rated,” he drawled, after swallowing.

      “The sweets in this showcase are what I call decadent delectables.”

      Xavier took another bite. “I take it back. It is triple-X-rated.”

      That’s what Selena loved, someone who appreciated her variation on the classic brownie recipe. “Do you think your sister would like the brownies?”

      “Yes.” If there was one thing Xavier knew for certain, it was that Denise was a chocoholic. “She loves chocolate,” he added.

      Selena smiled. “Do you mind if I put together an assortment that I think she might like?”

      “Please.”

      “I’ll need you to fill out the shipping information.” She pointed to a counter-height table with an empty stool in the corner. “The forms are over there. I’d appreciate it if you would sign the guestbook so that I can send you notices about our specials.”

      Reaching for his BlackBerry, Xavier scrolled through the directory for Denise’s address. He filled out the shipping information, but decided it was best to send the package to her job instead of her apartment.

      The coziness of the shop enveloped him as he hummed along with the soft music piped in through the speakers. Three couples sat at bistro tables, talking quietly as the tantalizing aroma of coffee filled the shop. Sweet Persuasions was exactly what the name implied. The subtle charm of the owner and the tantalizing pastries had drawn him in. But taste had been what sealed the deal. His gaze lingered on the raised lettering on the stack of business cards in a silver tray. A smile tilted the corners of his mouth. If the woman with the sensual voice behind the counter was the owner, then she had to be Selena Yates.

      As he completed the shipping information, Xavier thought about his mother. Since she had retired from teaching, she’d begun baking in her spare time. Even though Paulette Eaton’s cakes and cookies