Dark Chocolate Murder

by Anisa Claire West

  “Calm down. I’ll stay here and help you,” Pierre offered.

  “But you can’t. It’s Saturday. Isn’t that the busiest day for your restaurant?” Belinda argued.

  “It is. But I’m the owner. I don’t need to be there every night, although sometimes I choose to be. But tonight I’m going to stay right here and help you open your shop. It’s a good thing you gave me a chocolate making lesson, or else I would have been completely lost!” Pierre winked humorously, hoping to ease Belinda’s tension.

  Ordinarily, Belinda would have refused the help of a man, especially one with whom she hoped to become romantically linked. But there was nothing ordinary about this predicament. True, she had already fashioned most of the chocolates that would be sold the next day, but there were other details that required attention. Pierre would make an ideal shop assistant, she decided.

  “Thank you so much! Most of the chocolates are made, but they need to be arranged in the glass display cases,” Belinda explained. “Oh, but I also have to prepare the drinks!” She suddenly remembered, another wave of panic flooding her nervous system. Noting Pierre’s baffled expression, she explained, “I had the idea to set up a chocolate bar. But instead of alcoholic beverages, I’ll be serving milkshakes, sodas, and hot cocoa.”

  “That’s a very creative idea, Belinda. I’m impressed. Did you strategize this business on your own?” Pierre asked, his brown eyes twinkling with unconcealed admiration.

  “Yes, actually I did. I thought the chocolate bar could help expand my market to children and teenagers who want a little treat after school,” Belinda said proudly, reflecting on the tireless hours she had devoted to creating a business model for the boutique.

  “I am very impressed,” Pierre emphasized. “But I do hope that kiss has a sequel. You can’t just leave me hanging like that. Too cruel.” Pierre edged closer to her again and caressed her full bottom lip with his thumb.

  Pulse racing instantly, Belinda whispered, “There will be a sequel. Definitely.”

  “Good,” Pierre said firmly. “Now let’s get to work!”

  All through the night, Pierre and Belinda made trips from the refrigerator to the display cases, setting up every morsel of chocolate as though it were a nugget of gold. And for Belinda, her chocolates were equivalent to gold. She had invested her entire savings in this boutique, and she needed that investment to produce fruitful returns.

  Envisioning a spacious home in the French countryside, Belinda lugged three gallons of milk to the chocolate bar. Bottles of syrup, sprinkles, and whipped cream filled Pierre’s capable arms as he helped her set up the bar. Belinda glanced over at him shyly, instantly branded by the overconfident, brooding look he gave her. Pierre was a charmer for sure; she just hoped he wasn’t a snake charmer. But after what she had learned about how he was raising his little boy alone, Belinda didn’t fear his rakish behavior as much. Pierre Cédaire was simply a strong, self-assured man who enjoyed women. Maybe she could be the only woman he enjoyed some day…

  What am I thinking? Why am I falling so fast? Belinda asked herself silently. I have to get in touch with Lenore and see what she says. After the birthday poem, Belinda had corresponded a few times with Lenore by email, but her friend didn’t know anything about Pierre. That would change soon, Belinda decided, because she desperately needed the counsel of a friend.

  By dawn, the shop was ready to open to the public. Sweeping aside a wisp of chocolate-stained hair, Belinda exhaled heavily. She was exhausted but knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep before the grand opening. The best she could do would be to go home, shower, and put on a fresh outfit and apron. Then she would be ready to face the world.

  “Look at this place. We make good partners.” Pierre slid his arm around Belinda’s waist and pulled her to his side.

  She looked up into those smoldering eyes and watched a vein pulsate in his jaw as he availed himself of the sloping lusciousness from her waist to hip. The man clearly appreciated her curves, and she wondered how he had ever ended up with that skinny twit, Juliette Fontaine.

  “You have the body of Marilyn Monroe. Or Sophia Loren,” he said huskily, evoking the glamorous beauties of Hollywood’s golden years. “Or Brigitte Bardot,” Pierre continued. “But actually, you’re shaped the most like Marilyn. A perfect hourglass. And with a sharp business mind. You’re almost irresistible.”

  “Almost irresistible?” Belinda demanded with mock effrontery.

  “Almost irresistible because I’m resisting you right now when all I want to do is put you back on that counter and finish what we started,” Pierre said boldly. “Does that clarify your question?”

  “Yes,” Belinda whispered, wishing they could do the same thing.

  Impulsively, she reached up to twine her arms around his neck and hug him. He held his breath as her breasts brushed across his solid chest. Knowing she had power over him, Belinda leaned in closer and fanned his ear with her sweet breath.

  “I just wanted to thank you for staying overnight and helping me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here. Well, actually, I do know. I would have had to call my sister and her husband to ask for their help! And I’m so glad I didn’t have to do that.” Belinda shook her head comically as Pierre laughed.

  “Mon plaisir,” He breathed into her ear.

  His pleasure. She would have a delightful time seeing to Pierre’s pleasure, but not today. “I better get home to shower and dress. But thank you again.” Belinda broke the contact between their bodies and instantly felt a loss. Was it possible that she would already miss him when he got into his Peugeot and drove away? She felt certain it was.

  “Are you sure you’re set for today’s opening? I’ll stay if you need anything at all,” Pierre offered, not wanting to leave either.

  “I’m sure. You go ahead and and get on with your day. I’m ready to take on a stadium full of customers!” Belinda assured him.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday, right?” Pierre asked rhetorically. “I’m losing track of time after last night’s dinner…and all the dessert. Is your shop open on Sunday?”

  “No, that’s the one day each week my shop will be closed. Why?” Belinda asked, her heart already thudding in anticipation that he would ask her out again.

  “Because I would love to see you. I could pick you up, and we could cross the border into France. I’d love to show you where I live and maybe take a drive around the countryside.”

  An image of her rustic dream home in the south of France drifted through her mind as she replied, “That sounds really lovely. Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up in the early afternoon, maybe around one o’clock?”

  “Sounds perfect!”

  “Bonne chance, Belinda,” Pierre wished her good luck for her grand opening before pulling her into a tight, breathless embrace.

  His mouth still tasted of wine and dark chocolate, a potent contrast to the saltiness of his skin. Sharp stubble grazed her cheek, sending prickles of sensation through her as they reluctantly broke off the kiss.

  Without another word, Pierre exited the shop, leaving the bells ringing above the door as he walked into the crisp morning. In a hurry, Belinda grabbed her apartment keys and ran down the street in stocking feet. Just five more hours until grand opening...

  *****

  Belinda stood at the cash register, listlessly tapping a pen on the counter. Grand opening had fizzled out three hours ago without a single patron. Now, at three o’clock in the afternoon, she looked regretfully at the gallons of perishable milk and truffles that would have to be restocked for Monday. Could her business already be in the red?

  Sulkily, she picked up one of her All-American truffles filled with peanut butter and grape jelly. She bit into it and washed it down with a tall glass of milk. At least she had a good reason for indulging now; she couldn’t let all this food go to waste, right? As Belinda was stuffing a Lavender Essence truffle into her mouth, the door to the shop swung open. Belinda nearly
choked on the chocolate as her brain processed how many customers were filing into the store. Approximately two dozen children rushed into the shop, tossing their backpacks onto the floor and clamoring to the chocolate counter.

  One of the older children, around age twelve, addressed Belinda, “Bonjour, Madame. We’ve been waiting for your shop to open! Everyone at school is so excited about your chocolate bar and the candies. I hope you have enough for us!” The freckled boy rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the treats he would receive.

  “Do I ever!” Belinda squeaked giddily. “All you children will have tummies full of chocolate by the time you leave my boutique!”

  Belinda tried to keep track of the orders flying at her: three classic milkshakes, four hot cocoas, five strawberry chocolate sodas. Suddenly, she wondered if her inventory would actually run out. In any case, the food certainly would not rot in the refrigerator! As Belinda served the children, she admired their voracious appetites and the charming way the chocolate smeared their innocent faces. It brought tears to her eyes that her very first customers were a rambunctious, happy group of schoolchildren.

  After finishing their drinks, the children lingered, some purchasing truffles to bring as gifts to their mothers. Others were still not sated and ordered second rounds of the sweet beverages. By the time the last of the children had gone home for dinner, the shop settled into a lull. As Belinda stood by the cash register, she felt a resurgence of ambition for her business. With renewed certainty, she knew that coming to Monaco and opening this store had been the right thing to do. She would just have to endure the bumps and bruises that came along with it.

  In the early evening, just before closing time, the shop was again abuzz. This time, families strolled in, their bellies full from dinner but with room enough for a little dessert. Elatedly, Belinda filled their orders and ate up their compliments on her ingenuity in creating flavors.

  “Ooh, I’ve never had a Pink Champagne truffle before,” a woman murmured, sharing a bite with her husband. “Félicitations,” she congratulated Belinda, “Your shop is a slice of heaven!”

  By the time Belinda closed the doors to the shop at eight o’clock, she was more than a little tired. As she folded her apron up and walked outside in the gathering dusk, she thought how the day had started so disappointingly. But by closing time, sales had far exceeded her expectations.

  Content with her grand opening success, Belinda shifted her thoughts to tomorrow’s date with Pierre. She needed to get a queen’s amount of sleep tonight in order to be refreshed for him. As she settled onto her mountain of blankets on the carpet, she completely forgot about the lack of possessions around her. No bed? No sofa? No problem. She had accomplished a pivotal goal, one that just a few months ago had seemed thoroughly impossible. That knowledge sent her into the most peaceful sleep she had enjoyed in years.

  *****

  On Sunday morning, Belinda was scrambling around her apartment choosing an outfit for her rendez-vous with Pierre. The shoes would be an easy choice. There was no way she was going to suffer in high heels again. Those high heels had screamed ‘high maintenance’ just as the open-toed sandals she wore today whispered ‘breezy.’ After trying on nearly a dozen outfits, Belinda finally decided on her uniform of snug denims and curve-hugging cotton tee-shirt.

  Pierre was prompt, and Belinda was ready when he arrived. But this time she did not wait for him outside on the curb. Instead, she made him climb the stairs and come for her. When he knocked on the door, she waited a few beats before answering, catching her breath as she did so.

  As the door swung open, Pierre surprised her by immediately encircling her in a breath-stealing embrace and kissing her demandingly on the lips. Eagerly, she parted her lips and melted against his body, feeling a rousing stiffness press against her hips. Unabashedly rubbing herself against that stiffness, Belinda deliberately enflamed Pierre as he mingled their tongues and squeezed her bottom between his fingers.

  Abruptly, he pulled back and groaned, “Good sequel?”

  “Yes, but we need more sequels,” Belinda said breathlessly.

  He chuckled low in his throat, “Believe me, there will be many more.”

  Inside Pierre’s car, he cracked the sunroof open, welcoming inside a lush spring breeze. Belinda stared dreamily out the window, thinking how mush more relaxing it was to ride as Pierre’s passenger rather than Jean-Jacques and Crystal’s prisoner. She hadn’t spoken to the couple since before she met Pierre, and she silently reminded herself to call them and again to write to Lenore.

  When they sailed over the border into France, Belinda remarked, “I can’t believe how close these two countries are.”

  “Yes, only eight miles separates France and Monaco. Italy is an easy drive too. I’ll have to take you there some weekend.” Pierre smiled, placing a possessive hand on Belinda’s thigh.

  She lay her hand on top of his and did not stop him when he intimately rubbed her thigh. The chemistry between them was irrepressible, and Belinda did not think they would be able to make it through the day without being fully physical. The kisses and caresses were sublime but just a prelude to a much more gratifying union. She shuddered as the wind whipped her hair, thinking how long it had been since she had been intimate with a man. The real prospect that it could be happening later that day sent shock waves of excitement through her.

  “I can’t remember the last time I was so distracted while driving. You’re dangerous, Belinda. A real femme fatale.” Pierre reluctantly moved his hand from her thigh to the steering wheel.

  “Maybe I am a little dangerous,” she said spontaneously, grabbing his hand and placing it higher on her thigh.

  “I love your combination of shyness and aggression. I never know which I’m going to see next.” Pierre slid his hand inside her thigh.

  The suggestive banter came to a halt when Pierre pulled up alongside a large home framed with flowering bushes and a water garden. Belinda assumed this was his house and that he was about to give her the grand tour, but instead he ripped off his seatbelt so he could get closer to her. Now with both hands free, Pierre took a leisurely tour of Belinda’s body, fondling her breasts inside the tight tee-shirt and caressing her neck and collarbone.

  “Let’s go inside,” he urged. “We’re not a couple of teenagers.”

  “You can say that again!” Belinda laughed.

  “I know,” Pierre grinned. “Did you know I just turned 40?”

  “You look much younger,” Belinda said honestly. “A full decade I would say. I’m 39, by the way. Yikes.”

  “I hope you don’t think you’re old, femme fatale. Because that would make me old too. You’re more luscious and radiant than any twenty-something, believe me. Now unbuckle that seatbelt and come with me inside,” Pierre commanded, not inclined to speak anymore.

  Slightly off-kilter from Pierre’s kisses and caresses, Belinda stepped out of the car as he came to slide an arm around her waist. He led her up a path to a wraparound porch furnished with two wicker chairs and a table.

  Inside the house, Pierre slammed Belinda into the door, pressing his lips firmly against hers and kissing her wildly, all inhibitions gone. They were not in her shop; they were not in his car. They were inside his house where no one could see or hear them, and Pierre intended to reap the sensual benefits this privacy allowed.

  Belinda wanted to explore Pierre’s house, but wanted more to explore Pierre, so when he ripped off his shirt to reveal a hard-muscled torso with a thicket of dark hair trailing down the middle, she did not protest. She followed his lead by pulling the tee-shirt over her head and throwing it carelessly across the room. In an instant, he removed her red satin bra, breaking one of the snaps in his urgency. Skin to skin, they rubbed heatedly against one another, his hands tangled in her long, wavy hair, made even wilder from the wind that had blown through the sunroof.

  Their lips fused hungrily, and Belinda moaned softly into his mouth. Then, without warning, she pulled back and
issued a desperate plea: “Wait!”