by Violet Duke
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, you ass!”
“I wasn’t laughing. I was smiling.” The glare she shot him could’ve leveled a city.
His hand halted an inch from sliding into her hair again, or rather, an inch from her now fully visible teeth. “Why do I get the feeling biting a hunk of flesh out of me wouldn’t be beneath you”—he blinked, fascinated—“Did you just growl at me?”
While he was now showing her the same caution one would a feral cat, his heated gaze said he found her ferocity inexplicably sexy. “Yes, I was smiling about your drought; so sue me. I like the thought of you not remembering any kisses but mine.” His eyes roamed her face. “To hell with it, I don’t need all ten fingers…” He caressed her cheek and she felt her eyelids drift closed at the touch.
“Dani, you in there?” bellowed Javier, one of her cooks from the kitchen. “Can you bring out the—” His severed request morphed into a muffled howl, a high octave just below soprano. “Never mind,” he reneged in a squeaking gasp of male agony shortly after.
Dani winced, recognizing the audible footprint of Xoey’s handiwork. The mental image of Xoey de-balling poor Javier threw Dani back to the here and now. As reality rushed in, she could once again hear the bar noises sifting in under the door, smell the savory aromas from the grill, and see—even in the semi-darkness—that she’d been minutes from rounding a few of the bases with a perfect stranger.
Avoiding his eyes, she fiddled with her bar apron. “I should probably get back to work.”
“Right, of course.” He stood and helped her up. “Sorry, I never lose my head like that. Not sure what’s up with me...huh, that sounded a lot dirtier than I intended—” He stopped and grinned when a ripple of amusement tinkled past her lips.
She couldn’t help but chuckle. This was fun; he was fun.
As she rolled the liquor cart to the door, Dani racked her brain for a sexy comeback to keep the banter going. Not exactly her forte.
Luckily, she was saved from making a conversational ass out of herself when he abruptly stepped in front of the cart and said, “I know you have to get back out to the bar but I’ll never forgive myself if I let you walk out this door without getting you to agree to have dinner with me.”
He cringed in sheepish male hindsight. “Though I’d probably settle for at least getting your name.”
Right, names. Or the lack there of, in their case. The whole reason she’d stopped kissing him to begin with. She stuck an awkward hand out in belated greeting. “My name’s Danica. But everyone calls me Dani.”
He intertwined his fingers with hers and drew her in close, turning an awkward moment into an insanely sexy one in a few seconds flat. Lowering his head slowly as if to give her a chance to say no, he laid a soft, barely there kiss on her lips when she didn’t.
“Nice to meet you, Dani.” His two dimples flashed as he said her name. “I’m Luke.”
Their magical, movie soundtrack moment was interrupted, however, by a dread-filled, hushed voice on the other side of the door. “Dani?” Javier’s whisper was tinted with panic. “I’m really sorry but we need to get more coriander.” A low murmur joined his. “And cooking tequila too.”
Dani screwed her eyes closed in embarrassment and called out, “I’ll bring them out, guys.”
She was barely through her sentence when she heard the two of them scrambling away from the door. There was definite cursing in Spanish. Along with some praying.
The sound of lethal pointy-toe boots stomping after them was the obvious reason why.
“I really ought to get out there,” she groan-laughed. “Cooking with one hand while protecting their crotch from Xoey’s wrath probably isn’t all that safe. Or sanitary.”
“As a protective guardian of the same anatomy, and an avid non-fan of any variety of jockstrap cuisine, you have my sincere appreciation.” His earnest look caused another round of mirth to unwind through her. “Just so we’re clear,” he added quickly, “you do know a kiss after a dinner invite is a universal ironclad yes, right?” His tone was matter-of-fact, his eyes adorably optimistic.
“That so?” She let loose a grin and tossed out, “Did I agree to anything else?”
“Just a few other things I won’t be able to stop thinking about until our date,” he teased right back.
She stared at him for exactly one missed heartbeat before that whole bout of temporary insanity she’d been worrying about earlier flared up and caused her to do the most un-Dani thing ever.
She tackled him.
Well, she sort of just pushed him back into the storage room but in her mind it had been far more primitive. Hands on the ridges of his torso, she tugged him in for one final kiss.
And released him a long minute later with a whispered, “I’ll be thinking about those things too,” as she basically floated to the door.
“Jesus Christ.” Luke’s tortured breath trailed close behind her.
By the feel of the rustling at the small of her back, he was attempting to adjust the fit of his jeans. When that resulted in apparent failure, he muttered in her ear, “You had to wait till after I finally got my soldiers to stand down from earlier, didn’t you?”
If there was a complaint in there somewhere, it was altogether undetectable.
And Dani was entirely unrepentant.
She did, however, manage to keep her giggle contained to a tickled grin when a quick glance at his ‘problem’ revealed that yes, his southern post was indeed at full attention…in a very impressive call to arms.
After one gentle, but nerve-firing farewell slide of his hand down her back, she made her way to the kitchen to deliver the items she retrieved for the cooks before grabbing the liquor cart and heading back out front as well.
Thankfully, her bartenders appeared too busy to even notice how long she’d taken to return with the liquor bottles. So far, so good.
With ninja stealth, she slinked warily past them on the way to—
Bam. A shiny black designer boot clacked on the floor before her to block her escape.
Busted.
Stretched sideways like Gumby, and apparently with eyes on the back of her head, Xoey topped off the triple sec on the kamikaze she was pouring before tossing the customer a wink and twisting around to throw an arm over Dani’s shoulders. “I’m impressed. And frankly, a little jealous, boss. Even I’ve never ‘passed the earth’s stratosphere’ during Seven Minutes in Heaven at work.” Her thoughtfully up-raised eyes showed her adding it to her things-to-do list.
Oh geez. Dani sighed. Xoey was nothing if not goal-oriented.
“So, spill,” pressed Xoey. “Was he good?”
“At what?” Dani’s liquor bottle restocking took on a new, extravagantly deep focus.
“At whatever’s telling everyone you know what Victoria's secret is.”
Dani swore and spun around to button her top back up. Luckily, it’d only been a fairly chaste peek, but the disappointment echoed by two guys awaiting drinks—and a gleefully smug Xoey—still served to mortify her. She cast Xoey a blistering glare. “We didn’t ‘travel’ that far in there,” she hissed. “By the by, since we’re on the subject, remind me to fire you later.”
Xoey pranced back to her ‘tending spot to salt the rim of a mug for an agave citrus lager. “Okie dokie. My drought-ending skills are far more vital to the human race anyway. Yours will be the Cinderella story to launch my career.”
Dani hurled a bar towel at Xoey’s peek-a-boo midriff, laughing despite herself. She never could stay mad at her crazy friend for long. The reason why that was escaped her, however, when not a moment later, Xoey cheerfully threatened, “From you or from him, either way, I’m getting the sordid details, Dani.”
The pest.
Relenting with a fierce blush, Dani admitted, “I didn’t learn much more than his name.”
But of course that just made Xoey put a dramatic hand to her heart. “I am so proud.”
Dani rolled her eyes. “You measure these th
ings with a very short, very strange yardstick.”
“Quite proudly, yes. Because it’s the only yardstick that measures what truly matters in life.” She raised an eyebrow wisely. “Feel free to borrow it anytime.”
It was a dare.
Profoundly grounded, but a dare nonetheless. Dani snuck another peek over at Luke. Could she really do it? Risk her heart the way Xoey did so often? So fearlessly?
Just then, the target of her rapt attention glanced up and caught her looking at him. He and his buddies looked to be getting ready to leave and as if he could hear her silent question from where he stood, an encouraging little smile brought out one of his two dimples.
He was out the door before the whispered ‘no’ to her question quietly passed her lips.
CHAPTER TWO
LUKE WAS LOOKING to score a multiple tastegasm today.
After finally tearing himself away from Dani last night, the first thing he’d felt impelled to do—well, after the cold shower of course—was head to his apartment kitchen to work on a new chocolate. But not just any new chocolate. The new chocolate he’d been struggling with all week.
His muse, clearly, had nothing on his feisty little bartender.
With pure inspiration hitting him from every angle, his mind pinballing between woman and chocolate, he’d ended up working straight through the night.
Come morning, it was faith, not cockiness that had him calling his shot like the legendary Babe Ruth. Revving on a no-sleep high and an entire pot of coffee, he pushed through the storefront door of Desert Confections—past the never-disappearing renovation clutter that was two weeks behind schedule and the granite guys finishing up the counter that was supposed to be installed a week ago—and beelined it to the back in search of his shop manager, Quinn, the self-named Wicked Witch of the West herself.
Though most days, she prided herself on upgrading one of those W’s to a B.
Finding her in the office, buried in paperwork as always, Luke edged over to her desk and held his newest chocolate creation out about an inch from her mouth.
Then, he waited.
As he knew she would, Quinn didn't ask or even look before opening up for a taste. It was practically in her job description. Plus, though gorgeous, the woman had so many ‘does not play well with others’ and ‘may attack if provoked’ signs around her like a force field that she likely never had to watch out for a man waving anything else in front of her lips
Eyes still glued to the shop's post-relocation spreadsheets she’d been analyzing, Quinn chewed the chocolate carefully, almost scientifically. So slow it drove him bonkers.
Then finally, he heard it.
A thoughtful murmur twirled around an intrigued throat hum. And then one tiny sigh. All the quiet reactive noises Quinn made when a chocolate was good. But of course it was good. After once getting a face full of what she called constructive feedback ‘back’ from her, he’d never given her anything less than good since.
The question today was if it was great. Change-the-game great.
He backed up a step and crossed his arms. “Well?”
“Definitely a home run.”
He pumped his fist in triumph. No tastegasm this time but that was okay. At least she didn’t fake it. He hated when women did that.
“Our first home run of the year.” Grinning like a champ, Luke strode over to their whiteboard to log the new homer in on their chocolate chart, which was cross-referenced with ‘base numbers’ from the Quinn tasting scale.
Generally speaking, the bulk of the chocolate confections that made it from Luke’s test kitchen to his shop’s display cases took at least third base on the Quinn tasting scale. Aside from the customer-requested bridge mix by the scoop, Luke refused to sell anything that only got to Quinn’s second base, and it’d been years since he’d created any single-basers.
Then there was his gold display case chocolates. His pride and joy.
The elite line of specialty creations made up of all his homers to date...and the one multiple tastegasm on record.
Not a myth. He’d seen it with his own eyes.
And just as he never uttered the words that would evoke baseball’s no-hitter jinx, Luke never talked about the ‘multiple tastegasm.’ But his particular avoidance wasn’t for superstitious reasons. It was far more sinister. He didn’t even dare say the phrase aloud for fear it would clue Quinn in on the fact that the system he used to gauge her ratings wasn’t even based on baseball. It was based on her. Or rather, the sounds she made during tastings...which happened to be the same ones she made in bed.
She had no idea.
Though he’d really only started the whole thing as a joke that had been all the funnier because she never got it, the system ended up being too perfect to get rid of. Of course, when their very brief ‘benefits’ in that area ultimately expired right before they agreed to start the shop together way back in college, so did his window to let her in on the joke. And breaking the news all these years later sure as hell wasn’t an option, not with her being his best friend and the closest thing he had to a sister now.
No, the only way he’d tell her that the homers they discussed all the time were...errr, another kind of home run would be through a ‘Dear Quinn’ letter. A lovely posthumous one by certified mail.
In the meantime, Luke was just going to have to keep his reflexive chuckles at bay. Silent though they may be, each one was inching him up the will-call list for the bus to hell for sure.
Ignoring one such chuckle right now, he found himself humming MLB’s seventh inning tune instead. That is…until he turned around and saw Quinn frowning. For cryin’ out loud, the woman used to analyze things to death after sex too. He rolled his eyes. “Oh, just tell me.”
“Don’t get me wrong, the bonbon is fantastic—unique flavor, great texture. But...” She made another face. “White chocolate, Luke? Really? The lil’ white wallflower of the chocolate family? Isn’t this against your religion or something?”
She knew him so well.
“I’m reborn.” Despite the marked improvements in the purity and quality of white chocolate over the years following the added FDA regulations back in ‘04, Luke still generally never worked with the stuff. Until now. “Honestly, I’ve just never been a huge fan of the flavor before I tasted this particular white chocolate.”
His eyes drifted innocently to the ceiling as he slid a rather large file of papers onto her desk. “Remember that chocolate festival I was at last week?” He flashed all his teeth and one of his dimples at her. “Well, I met a new chocolate maker from Japan who makes this insane couverture white chocolate recipe—”
As soon as Quinn snatched the file from him, Luke jumped out of her kicking range. “Hear me out before you knee me in the nuts. I had to move fast to sign him. This guy uses only the best of the best: Venezuelan criollo beans, a mind-blowing Kamahi and Rata honey blend from New Zealand—remind me to order some for our fudge by the way—and gold-label Tahitian vanilla. Quinn, you know how picky I am about vanilla.”
Oh lord, if her scowl was anything to go by, it was obvious she’d gotten to the money portion of the contract. To cut off her fit of objections, which promised to be way more voice than reason, he slipped a second bonbon in her mouth.
“You have to admit, it’s pretty darn incredible, right?” It was. And the rich filling he’d made using a cloudberry liqueur from Finland was both an intense and sublime match. He didn’t have to wait long for her besieged taste buds to start overruling her bullheaded sensibilities.
Another purr. “Hey, is that...” Her brows arched in surprise. “Is there coffee in this?”
Damn, she’s getting good. Hiding the proud big brother grin he knew she hated, Luke marveled at how far Quinn had come since they’d first opened up his tiny, hole-in-the-wall chocolate shop in Mesa years ago—light years from the delicate daisy she’d been in college a decade back.
“That coffee note is in the chocolate itself,” he explained. “Probabl
y one of the secret ingredients in the flavor profile. Aside from a special Korean pine nut this guy’s known to use, we’ll never know for sure though, considering how heavily guarded chocolate recipes are these days.”
Quinn looked up skeptically. “Wait, that’s the big new idea you wanted to run by me today? White chocolate?”
So saying, she did reach over to steal another morsel. “Honestly, Luke, unless you’re seeing a wave of folks flooding in to buy these for their dogs, this isn’t ‘revolutionary’ enough to help us with all the overhead costs we’re racking up leasing out this whole building. I mean I’ve managed to keep the hype going with our old customers via social media but I still think we need to worry about exposure and access since you’ve moved us out to the boonies.” She jabbed her fingers into her temples. “How in the world did you talk me into this relocation again?”
Hell if he knew.
To Luke, the town of Cactus Creek was just plain special. Offbeat. Indelible. Fun. Kissing cousin to Scottsdale but separated by Black Mountain Summit, the one great divide between city and country, Cactus Creek was a quirky little world of its own, close enough for city folk to escape to and far enough in lifestyle to make the trip worth it. He’d wanted to move Desert Confections here the second he’d stepped foot into town.
Quinn? Not so much. Getting her on board had been a friggin’ miracle, what with moving having been not just a gamble, but utterly unjustifiable. Of course, that little factoid, and all the rational sense he’d been taught in business school, had ceased to be relevant the moment Luke had felt it—the instant, blinding, finding-your-soul mate connection to the town of Cactus Creek.
Had he not been so bowled over by it, there was no way he would’ve pushed the issue; God knew Quinn had enough weighing on her shoulders being a single mom with inhumane medical bills from her son’s terrifying first year of life spent in and out of surgeries. As such, suggesting the move had been a gut-roiling experience for Luke. He’d gone in ready to reluctantly give it all up following the anticipated hell-no response from her…to instead finding himself profoundly humbled when she’d shocked him with a nervously trusting ‘yes.’ Yes to follow him, despite all the reservations she had regarding the town.
