Sugar Rush Quotes

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“I want you, Leilani. I'm so hard it hurts. But your scent entices me, lures me." He drew the sheet farther down, past her navel, along the soft swell of her stomach. "I want to taste, to savor. Here." He kissed his way to the tender flesh high inside her inner thigh. "And here." He traced a similar path to the other side. "But I want to feast... here." He drew his tongue along the center of her, and groaned at the sweet taste of her.
Lani's hips started to pump harder, and he could feel a fine quivering begin along her skin. She rocked and keened, and when he plunged his tongue deeply into her, she cried out, reached down and buried her fingers in his hair. Guiding him, urging him, demanding him, release broke over her in wracking, wrenching waves.
"Baxter, please... please." Her hips slowed, but her body continued to gather and jerk as the aftershocks kept twitching through her. "Now," she demanded. "I'm- I'm safe, protected, we don't need-" She broke off as he kissed his way back up the center of her torso while she continued to writhe beneath him.
The way she responded to him, making herself vulnerable to him, moved him in unpredictable ways. He shifted so he was directly on top of her and pressed himself between her thighs, which she parted, wrapping them around his hips, digging her heels into his lower back as she lifted for him, and took him in.
Take her, he did, sliding all the way in, groaning as she gripped him fully, so tightly, so wetly, so perfectly, it was the fulfillment of every fantasy he'd ever had. Even though his heart was drumming inside his chest, and his body was priming itself for a ferocious release, climaxing wasn't the only thing dominating his thoughts. He met her every hip thrust, echoed every groan, every growl, as they worked their every frenzied way to completion, together.
He could feel her climb again as she rolled her hips beneath him, and reality continued to eclipse fantasy. "Come with me, yes," he said, claiming her mouth even as she was nodding in agreement.
He pulled her into his arms and moved more deeply, as she instinctively shifted to take him more tightly inside her. They moved with a rhythm that was as old as man's creation, and uniquely and utterly their own.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“Lights went on in the cottage, lending it an undeniably warm glow. He smiled, amused as he recalled his Snow White references where Leilani was concerned. "Of course she lives in a cottage," he murmured. "All she needs now are the dwarves." With all the comings and goings at the shop, which he'd spotted through the trailer blinds as he'd labored through his various meetings with Rosemary and the crew, Leilani did indeed seem to be recruiting her own miniature army.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“All I know is that my family, my foundation, is you. And I want to build on that. I want to see what we can do together. I already know I don't do well without you.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“She turned to find Alva standing just inside the swinging kitchen door, carrying two large paper plates loaded down with Laura Jo's golden fried chicken, steaming mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, and oversized buttermilk biscuits.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“Lani couldn't respond. She was too busy reveling in just how amazing they felt, joined. She'd thought maybe it was the delirium of the first time that had her thinking rosy thoughts. Well, and the second time. And the third.
"How is it even better this time? How?" she panted, moving on top of him.
She squealed an instant later when she found herself neatly on her back once again. He pushed deeper, and growled a little. "Am I hurtin' you?"
"No. Don't stop," she panted, then growled a little herself as he thrust into her, again and again. She knew now, when he was fully beyond controlling himself, bits and pieces of his childhood accent resurfaced. For whatever reason, that was just hot as hell to her. It was earthy, primal.
"Oh," she said, then, "Oh!" when he pulled her thighs up higher along his waist, tilting her so she was just at the right angle to-
"How do you- do that?" she managed. That was it as the crescendo of sensation washed up and over, taking her on a hard, fast ride in to shore.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“Lani and Alva had decided on molten upside-down cakes. If there were laws on the amount of chocolate one cupcake could have, molten cakes would break every one of them. The cake was her take on devil's food, the filling was was a melted, gooey blend of dark and Dutched chocolates with a spicy kick thrown in, and the glaze was a thick, glossy chocolate ganache. Alva declared them heavenly.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“It was the cupcakes that saved her.
Leilani Trusdale thought about that as she carefully extracted the center from the final black forest cupcake, then set the corer aside up the pastry bag of raspberry truffle filling. She breathed in the mingled scents of dark chocolate and sweet berries. It was inspiring, really, how much power a single, sweet cup of baked deliciousness could wield. Cupcake salvation.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“Even after baking that afternoon while Dre covered the counter, she'd been left with very few cupcakes to refrigerate overnight, as she routinely did, selling them as day olds the next day, for a reduced price. She still had fresh frozen extra batches of unfrosted cupcakes, her base vanilla bean cake and semi-sweet chocolate, which she'd thaw, then pipe fresh frosting on in the morning. Even with those she'd still be behind with her freshly baked trademark flavors, no matter how early a start she got. She'd whipped up some of those frostings this evening, but everything else would have to be made fresh from scratch in the morning.
She should be in bed, sleeping. Not standing in the shop kitchen, experimenting with a pavlova roulade she didn't need and couldn't sell. But therapy was therapy, and she needed that, too.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“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.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“Gone was the cream and rose complexion he'd remembered. She was tan, which changed everything. What with the loose, wild hair, it lent an almost... heathenish edge, giving her normally pretty blue gaze a somewhat piercing, laser-like quality. Conversely, though she'd always been a sturdy thing, lithe, but strong and solid, at the moment, she looked... enveloped by the chef coat she wore, as if it were a size too big, or she'd suddenly grown smaller.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“He was very tall, with long arms and legs that would be gawky and awkward on anyone else, but were graceful and elegant on his lean, muscular form. He had a wild thatch of wheat blond hair that was forever sticking out in all directions, brown eyes so rich and warm they rivaled even the most decadent melted chocolate, and a ridiculously charming, crooked grin that always made her secretly wonder what trouble he was about to get into... and wish, desperately, that she could join him.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“She thought about all the baking therapy she and Char had done together during that time. Usually in the wee, wee hours. Those sessions never had anything to do with their respective jobs.
And everything to do with salvation.
Their worlds might be uncontrolled chaos, but baking always made sense. Flour, butter, and sugar were as integral a part of her as breathing.
Lani had long since lost count of the number of nights she and Charlotte had crammed themselves into her tiny kitchen, or Charlotte's even tinier one, whipping up this creation or that, all the while hashing and rehashing whatever the problems du jour happened to be. It was the one thing she truly missed about being in New York.
No one on Sugarberry understood how baking helped take the edge off. Some folks liked a dry martini. Lani and Char, on the other hand, had routinely talked themselves down from the emotional ledge with rich vanilla queen cake and some black velvet frosting. It might take a little longer to assemble than the perfect adult beverage... but it was the very solace found in the dependable process of measuring and leavening that had made it their own personal martini. Not to mention the payoff was way, way better.
Those nights hadn't been about culinary experience, either. The more basic, the more elemental the recipe, the better. Maybe Lani should have seen it all along. Her destiny wasn't to be found in New York, or even Paris, or Prague, making the richest, most intricate cakes, or the most delicate French pastries. No, culinary fulfillment- for her, the same as life fulfillment- was going to be experienced on a tiny spit of land off the coast of Georgia, where she could happily populate the world with gloriously unpretentious, rustic, and rudimentary little cupcakes.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“We've been making solidarity cakes this morning in support of you, ma chere," Franco said. "We're featuring your to-die-for black walnut spice cakes with cream cheese and cardamom frosting as today's special."
"Thanks, you guys," Lani said sincerely.
"Every detail! Call me!" Charlotte ordered before clicking off.
Lani stood there, pastry bag still at the ready, and looked at the racks in front of her. And thought about her friends in New York. Solidarity cakes. Salvation cakes. "Healing the disgruntled, displaced, and just plain dissed," she said, smiling briefly. "One cake at a time.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush