Edible
Copyright © 2013 by Ella Frank
Edited by Jovana Shirley
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except
for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Also by Ella Frank
The Exquisite Series
Exquisite
Entice
Edible
Erotica
Blind Obsession
This book is for every person that stepped inside a little place I call Exquisite and asked to know more about a purple-haired pastry chef named Rachel Langley.
You think you know her? So did I...
Xx, Ella
“Let go!” Rachel demanded, trying to free herself from Ben’s punishing grip around her upper arm.
“I told you to stop,” he shouted as his fingers dug tight into her tender flesh.
That’s going to leave a mark
, she thought with a grimace.
Spinning around to face him, Rachel glared up into her boyfriend’s irate eyes. “And I told you not to touch me when you’re angry.”
Ben hauled her in close, and Rachel knew whatever was about to happen wouldn’t be good.
Twenty minutes earlier, he’d come home in a foul mood. That usually equaled a painful evening in the bedroom for her but not tonight. Tonight, she was done.
“I’ll touch you whenever I want to touch you. You got that?” he sneered down at her.
Rachel narrowed her eyes and yanked on her arm again. Instead of letting go, he reached up, gripped the other one, and pushed her back against the living room wall. She hit it so hard that her teeth clattered, and she could have sworn the bookcase beside her shook.
“You’re mine, remember? You do what
I
say.”
Staring up at him, Rachel knew she was risking his wrath, but she could no longer stay silent.
“Not anymore. You’re leaving. Pack up your shit, Ben, and get out of my place! I’m sick of being your punching bag.”
What happened after that blurred into slow motion.
Rachel saw him raise his hand, and before she could move her face, his large palm connected with her cheek, the brutal force of it resounding in a loud crack. Her face felt like someone had lit it up with a blowtorch.
As she reached up to grip her cheek, a throbbing ache ricocheted in her skull. When she heard the front door crash open, Rachel turned her head against the wall, squinting because of the light shining in from behind the person now standing in the doorway.
“Take your hands off of her.”
Rachel recognized her father’s voice, but it was filled with a cold anger that she had never heard before. Ben took one step away from her, and her father was instantly on him.
Sliding back against the wall, she crumpled to the floor. Through a rapidly swelling eye, she watched while her father punched Ben in the face before he repeatedly landed blows to his gut. When her father finally let up, Ben pulled himself up to his feet and ran from the house, yelling about what a bitch she was and how she had to have “her daddy” save her.
Crouching down in front of her, her father reached out to gently cup her cheek. “What are you doing, baby girl? This is not love.”
Looking up at him, Rachel saw the grim line of his mouth and noticed his hair falling forward. She absentmindedly thought about how Mason had inherited their father’s dark looks. “No man should ever hit you, Rach. Ever.”
He reached down and helped her to her feet. Wrapping a solid arm around her waist, he guided her as she staggered to the sink. He wet a paper towel and then dabbed at the cut on her cheek.
With a quivering lip, Rachel blinked up at him as tears pooled in her eyes. “Please don’t tell Mase or Mom.”
Her father held her in his arms and softly spoke into her ear. “I won’t as long as you don’t tell them I beat the shit out of him.”
Chuckling a little, she kissed his cheek. “I promise,” she whispered.
Rachel stood in the far corner of Precious Petals, leaning on the handle of the broom she’d been using only minutes before.
Sighing, she reached up to run a hand through her thick black hair—hair that had been tipped electric blue for the moment.
Lately, memories of her father had become harder and more difficult to bear. She knew it had a lot to do with the fact that she and Mason had recently lost their mother, but the pain of losing both parents before she’d even accomplished…
well, anything
was almost too much to take.
Rachel knew that Mason would have killed her if he ever heard her talk that way. He would’ve been the first to point out the acclaim she now had as a pastry chef, largely due to her famous and good-looking brother and his restaurant.
Oh, sorry,
our
restaurant.
Not to mention, she had also taken over the flower shop.
During those first few months after their mother had passed, every time Mason had tried to come into Precious Petals, he hadn’t been able to do it. Because of her connection with their mom, Lena had been the next person they had all thought of to take over the shop, but that had been impossible since she was a pediatrician down at University Hospital.
So, the task had fallen to Rachel. While she loved the store, she couldn’t help but feel the loss of her parents more and more every day.
Glancing up at the clock, she noticed she was running late.
Shit
, she thought, moving over to the bench where Tulip was stretched out on her side. With her paw hanging down lazily like a panther in a tree, the lethargic kitty opened her eyes at the sudden movement.
“Oh, don’t you move a single piece of fur, okay? I’ve got this.”
Untying the apron strings from around her waist, she smiled as the cat sat up, dramatically yawning as though she had been working all day. Placing the apron down on the bench, Rachel reached out to scratch the watchful feline’s furry head.
After her mother had passed, Rachel would arrive at the shop to find Tulip waiting at the back door. The furball would sit behind the store and meow, almost like a mournful cry, until one day, Rachel had relented and opened the door. From that day on, Rachel had owned a white cat with mottled brown ears—or maybe she should say that they owned each other.
Rushing around the counter, Rachel grabbed the burlap bag she’d thrown under there earlier this morning, and then she made her way to the front door, the bells jingling overhead as she passed through.
Turning to lock up, she reminded herself of how much her mother had loved this place. Lately, it had felt like the memory was becoming too much to handle, and she wasn’t sure she could continue burning both ends of the candle—spending days at the shop and nights at Exquisite. She was tired and starting to feel burned-out.
Recently, she’d been running the scenario through her head to hire some help, but she’d yet to mention it to her brother. He was busy enough these days with the restaurant and his recent marriage. He didn’t need her whining in his ear.
No, this is something I can work out on my own
, she thought as she turned and started a brisk walk to the station to catch the L downtown.