Sweet Heat Read online

  “EXCUSE YOU, DOUGH BOY. WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING. AS BIG AS MY BEHIND IS I KNOW YOU SAW IT BACK THERE.”

  Marvin did a quick, barely noticeable body scan. Now that she’d mentioned it, that ass was an attention grabber. His mother called them Carter-catchers, because they all were butt men. Marvin didn’t know whether to be insulted or to fall in love. He decided on staying focused, read her name tag, and stepped behind her.

  “You can’t say sorry?” she asked.

  “I could, but I’m not. You stepped back at the same time I moved forward. So I could be the one copping an attitude right now and saying you ran into me. And with all this going on”—Marvin paused, emphasizing his body—“I can see why.”

  The woman’s shocked expression made him laugh. Clearly, she wasn’t used to getting what she served out dished right back to her.

  “What’s your name?” She leaned forward to read the label stuck to his shirt. “Marvin Carter. Figures.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Common name for a common brother. Trying to work my nerves on the very first day.”

  “Oh, I get it. Working those jaws helps calm your nerves. Might as well get your digs in now, because more than likely this first day of the competition is going to be your last.”

  A collective, combined groan and gasp went up from those who heard him. He watched her raise her brow and take a breath. “Darling,” she said, her voice changing from a loud, caustic tone to one that was soft, almost loving. “I’m going to slice you and the rest of this competition up just like a loaf of fresh bread.”

  Also by Zuri Day

  Lies Lovers Tell

  Body by Night

  Lessons from a Younger Lover

  What Love Tastes Like

  Lovin’ Blue

  Love in Play

  Heat Wave

  (with Donna Hill and Niobia Bryant)

  The One That I Want

  (with Donna Hill and Cheris Hodges)

  The Morgan Men Series

  Love on the Run

  A Good Dose of Pleasure

  Bad Boy Seduction

  The Blue-Collar Lover Series

  Driving Heat

  Packing Heat

  Sweet Heat

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Sweet HEAT

  A BLUE-COLLAR LOVER NOVEL

  ZURI DAY

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  “EXCUSE YOU, DOUGH BOY. WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING. AS BIG AS MY BEHIND IS I KNOW YOU SAW IT BACK THERE.”

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Zuri Day

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-6177-3429-8

  First Kensington Mass Market Edition: July 2019

  ISBN-13: 978-1-61773-430-4 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-61773-430-6 (ebook)

  To all foodies and thick chicks everywhere. Cheers!

  Acknowledgments

  DayDreamers who’ve been with me for a while know that when I’m not writing I’m a chef in my own mind! Because of that, this book was especially delightful to write. Thanks to my ace Kensington team for indulging my fantasies—Selena James, who wears an “S” on her chest, my editing eyes Rebecca Raskin and Robin Cook, Janice Rossi for the PERFECT cover, Steven Zacharius for loving Zuri the mostest, EVERYONE at the K . . . love you bunches. To all the cooks and chefs who’ve inspired me, starting with my mama, my beautiful sister-authors (you know who you are), and to all of the beautiful DayDreamers . . . the wind beneath my writer wings! Fix a plate, pour a drink . . . and enjoy.

  1

  “Mama, taste this.”

  Marvin Carter entered his parents’ living room bearing gifts, this baker’s take on a Southern favorite. Traditionally a gooey, white, sugary filling covered in caramel and rolled in chopped pecans, Marvin placed all of the above between the layers of a triple-tiered dark chocolate cake and topped it with a caramel pecan frosting. Enough sugar for Type 3, 4, or 5 diabetes, if such a thing existed, but eaten in moderation it was better than sex.

  Elizabeth Carter, whom everybody called Liz, and her husband, Willie, sat in matching La-Z-Boy recliners engrossed in a marathon of Family Feud.

  “Shh! Quiet, boy.” Liz leaned forward, as if she couldn’t see the fifty-five-inch screen. “I’ve got to help this family win twenty thousand dollars.”

  “I don’t have a dog in the hunt,” Willie drawled, examining the contents of the saucer Marvin gave him. “Was just thinking about something sweet, too. This smells good, boy.”

  “It sure does,” Liz agreed, her attention drawn away from the television by the tantalizing aroma wafting toward her from the saucer Marvin passed under her nose.

  “Cake!” she yelled, responding to the TV prompt, smacking Marvin’s hand as she threw up a meaty arm.

  “Dang, Mama!” Marvin jumped back, barely saving his creation from a meeting with the carpet.

  “Didn’t you hear Steve ask her to name something sweet you might eat at a kid’s birthday party? You inspired me, Marvin. I think we’re going to win!”

  Aware that he was no competition for Steve Harvey, Marvin waited until the game was over. Cake was that category’s number-one answer. Indeed, the family on TV walked away with the prize.

  “Now,” Liz said, huffing with excitement as she settled back against the couch. “What do you have over there smelling so good?”

  “My version of a pecan log roll.” He handed her the saucer.

  “A log roll?” Liz looked at her husband.

  “You never had one?” Willie asked her.

  “A big old log roll?” Her look turned suggestive. “You shared yours with me just last night.”

  “Stop it, girl.” A brusquely delivered comment, but a smile spread across Willie’s face as slowly as a squeeze of molasses down a stack of pancakes.

  Marvin was not amused. “Mom, when it comes to what you and Daddy do behind closed doors, please spare me the details.”

  “If we’d spared those you wouldn’t be here.” She took a bite of the dessert. Marvin watched, waited. She took another forkful, chewed more slowly this time.

  “Lord Jesu
s.” She shook her head, licked frosting off the fork.

  “Boy, you have outdone yourself this time.” She continued a running commentary, softly, as if to herself, and didn’t stop eating until the last piece was gone. His parents now preoccupied with the unexpected dessert treat, Marvin went back into the kitchen to get a slice for himself.

  Liz watched Marvin return to the living room and sit down. She eyed his plate hungrily. “Why didn’t you bring me another slice?”

  “You didn’t ask for one.”

  “She don’t need one, son,” Willie drawled. “She’s supposed to be trying to lose a pound or two.”

  “Yeah, but not tonight,” she mumbled, then smiled sweetly when Marvin got up and reached for her saucer, quickly returning with another, smaller slice.

  “Thank you, baby.” Liz quickly downed another forkful of goodness. “Can’t call it a roll anyway, since it’s a slice. That don’t make sense.”

  He shrugged. “It’s inspired from a recipe for what’s called a pecan log roll. I think it comes from the South. But you’re right. Maybe I’ll call it a pecan log cake, or a Southern pecan log cake.”

  “Or you could shape the cake like a log,” Willie offered, which from this retired army sergeant was rare culinary input.

  “Baby, at the end of the day you can call it whatever you want. Cake, log, whatever . . . it’s heaven on a saucer. Almost as good as Willie’s was last night.”

  Marvin eyed Liz and scowled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Forgot you didn’t want to know about your daddy’s woody.”

  “Good Lord, Liz.” Willie shook his head.

  Both were used to Liz Carter’s tawdry outbursts. But neither ever stopped being shocked and amazed.

  “What?” Liz innocently asked. “Everybody knows you’ve got one of the best logs—”

  “Hello!”

  “Anybody home?”

  Saved by the doorbell and two of Marvin’s brothers. Byron and Douglas came through the unlocked door without waiting to be let in.

  Douglas walked over to Marvin, now seated on the couch. “What’s that?”

  “A pecan log roll,” Liz answered, with the type of authority where one would think she’d made it.

  “Pecan log cake,” Marvin corrected.

  “A Southern pecan log cake,” Willie added, his Mississippi drawl an obvious reason why he approved of the geographic nod.

  “Got any more?” Byron asked.

  Marvin nodded. “In the kitchen.”

  Byron and Douglas made a beeline for the kitchen island.

  “You ever had a pecan log roll, Daddy?”

  Willie nodded. “Come to think of it, I believe so. Years ago, when we visited relatives in Arkansas. There was a roadside store that was known for their candy—sweet, sticky white stuff and caramel rolled in pecans. Everything you’ve got in here.” He forked the small bite remaining on the plate. “Only this is better.”

  Byron and Doug came around the corner stuffing their faces. “You did your thing with this one, Marv,” Byron said. “Can I take some home with me? I want Cynthia to try it.”

  “Make a move for that door with my cake and I’ll cut you,” Liz warned.

  “It’s worth the risk,” Doug quickly countered. “I definitely want Jan to try a piece.”

  They joined Marvin on the couch.

  “You heard about that cooking contest?” Byron asked. “You should enter it.”

  “Through the Food and Cooking Network?”

  Byron shrugged. “I don’t know who’s doing it. Just heard some women talking on the bus.”

  “Probably Food Network. I’m not interested. Been there, done that with several of their contests over the years. Sent in audition tapes. Never heard back. So I’m good.”

  “You sure? One of the women said that this was the chance she’d been waiting for and declared that the fifty-thousand-dollar prize might as well already be in her pocket. That there was no way anyone else would win.”

  “Fifty thousand dollars!”

  A choir couldn’t have exclaimed more harmoniously than Liz, Willie, and Marvin.

  “That’s what she said. Look it up online. It’s happening here in LA, and from what she said, sounds like it’s happening soon.”

  “I’ll check it out.” Marvin stood and headed to the kitchen, empty saucer in hand.

  Liz scooped up the last crumbs of her second helping off the saucer and placed it on a side table. She looked at Byron and Doug. “What are y’all up to?”

  “I came over to borrow Daddy’s power tools,” Doug said. “Building a mini-studio for Jan. She thinks I’m building a man cave, but it’s her birthday surprise.”

  Jan was Doug’s wife, a former postal worker who was now a Grammy-nominated singer.

  “I was just in the neighborhood,” Byron said. “Saw Doug when I was coming down Slauson Avenue. Called him up and learned he was headed over here.”

  “What brought you out of your rich-folk neighborhood?”

  “Get out of here with that,” Byron said with a grin.

  Ever since he’d given in to his wife’s pleading and moved to the upscale home she’d been offered as her parents’ wedding gift, he’d endured his family’s ribbing, often accompanied by someone humming a 1970s TV-show theme song, “Movin’ On Up.”

  “You know I’ve been volunteering over at the Boys and Girls Club, right?”

  “No, didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, a friend of mine asked me to help coach the basketball team. Said they needed more positive role models.”

  “That’s a good move, son,” Willie said, with a slow nod. “Proud of you for that.”

  Marvin returned carrying two containers, a large one for Byron and a smaller one for Doug.

  “Here’s some cake for your families.”

  “Why’d he get a bigger one?” Doug asked, annoyed.

  “Because he gave me the tip that’s going to net me fifty grand. Once I take that first-place prize, I’ll bake each one of y’all a cake.”

  * * *

  Naomi Carson was a thick chick with a well-proportioned body and a pretty face. Until she scowled. Like now, when a ringing doorbell interfered with her cooking. She turned off the burner and headed toward the door, just as the bell rang again.

  “Coming!”

  She looked through the peephole and smirked. “I knew it was you.” She opened the door, then turned back around and sashayed into the kitchen without awaiting a reply.

  “Hello to you too, grouch.” Naomi’s cousin and best friend Kristy stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She followed Naomi into the kitchen. “Is that any way to treat a dinner guest?”

  “It is when said guest arrives early and jeopardizes my beurre blanc.”

  “Burr who?”

  “Beurre blanc. A white butter sauce.”

  “Then why didn’t you call it that?”

  “I did,” Naomi deadpanned before returning her focus to the saucepan.

  Kristy was nonplussed. She and Naomi had been friends almost from the womb. They were next-door neighbors growing up, until Naomi’s world got flipped and she moved in with her grandma. They bonded while sharing secrets, making pinky promises, and assuaging their mutual love for food. She probably knew Naomi’s moods better than anyone but Naomi’s grandmother Nana, and knew that when it came to cooking, no one better stood in front of a stove.

  “Is that what smells so good?” Kristy walked over and placed her nose near the pot.

  “Get your nose out of there. Might have a loose booger drop in my sauce and get mistaken for a caper.” She elbowed Kristy out of the way and reached for a jar on the counter. Unscrewing the lid, she gave her friend a cautionary glance and made a point of examining the creamy concoction before shaking a few capers from the jar into the pot.

  “I do not have a cold and even if I did, there would be no loose boogers or anything else hanging out in my nostrils. That’s just plain nasty and not the best visual to put
out there right before a meal.”

  “As if a distasteful comment would ruin your appetite. Girl, if that was the case growing up around your mama, you would have been passing up every other meal and be skinny as a rail.”

  “It would take more than passing up a couple meals for me to drop all this weight.” Kristy sighed as she eased onto a bar chair opposite the counter where Naomi worked. “I need to, though. On my last visit to the doctor, he told me my blood pressure was higher than Mommy’s. If it doesn’t go down, he wants to put me on medication. But I don’t want to have to take pills the rest of my life. I think that’s part of what makes Mommy so hard to live with sometimes. Talking foul and cursing like a sailor. Because on most days she just doesn’t feel good.”

  Naomi nodded as she pulled on a mitt and removed a glass baking dish from the oven. She placed it on the stove, poured the sauce over the baked fish fillets, and put the dish back inside the oven. She pulled a covered cast-iron skillet from the bottom oven rack, set it on top of the stove, and turned off the oven. When she lifted the lid a symphony of aromas wafted up and over the counter and teased Kristy’s nose.

  “Oh my gosh! That is what I smelled when I walked in here.” She slid off the stool and headed toward the stove. “What—”

  “Back!” Naomi demanded. Holding a cooking fork like a sword, she danced on the balls of her feet and made stabbing motions. “Away from my laboratory lest you ruin my concoctions with your boogery nose.”

  “Ew, Nay, shut up with that!” Kristy backed up with a frown-filled face. “What is up with you today and this fixation? I think you might need to go and blow your nose.”

  Naomi laughed. “I have no idea what started that, but agree that I need to give it a rest. Want you to sit back down though, because the food is ready. No, actually I can put you to work. Get two plates out of the cabinets. Silverware is in there.” She nodded toward a drawer on the opposite counter.