His words extinguished the ridiculous, fragile flame of hope and she forced herself to nod. “What do you have in mind?”
His lips quirked upward and his dimples flashed, but the smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “I’m thinking you. Me. Chocolate. Naked. And not necessarily in that order. For starters.”
“Sounds…great.” Except for the fact that when the him, her, chocolate, naked thing was finished, she knew there’d be no more Daniel.
9
AT NOON ON the day after Valentine’s Day—five hours after she’d awakened to find herself alone—Carlie sat on her sofa and listlessly clicked the remote, watching talk shows and game shows flash by. Dressed in her rattiest, faded sweatpants, thickest wool socks and a faded green sweatshirt that warned Give Me the Damn Chocolate and No One Gets Hurt, she felt as frumpy and dumpy as she looked. Her normally bright den seemed dismal and dark from the lack of sunlight, the gray, overcast sky outside perfectly matching her mood.
Good grief, had only five hours passed since she’d awakened alone? It felt more like five years. She’d been crushed to find him already gone, but her common sense told it was for the best. He’d saved her the embarrassment of what undoubtedly would have turned into a messy, tearful goodbye on her part.
She’d spent the first two hours clutching the pillow that still bore traces of Daniel’s clean scent, re-reading the one-line note he’d left on the pillowcase. Thanks for a beautiful night. And it had, indeed, been beautiful. She’d tortured herself reliving the magic while tears had tracked silently down her cheeks. Their frantic mating in the car. Their leisurely lovemaking in the shower with warm water cascading over them. Then Daniel carrying her to bed and making tender, exquisite love to her that said “goodbye” more clearly than any words. Falling asleep nestled in his strong arms.
Then she’d spent the last three hours here on the couch, sipping coffee that had long turned cold, and further tortured herself by replaying in her head the highlights of the entire past two weeks. More tears had soaked her cheeks, and all she had to show for the time was a stuffy nose, a wad of used-up tissues and a nagging headache. Even P.B. and J. had eventually tired of listening to her sniffles and were now sleeping on their favorite blanket in the corner.
With a sigh she turned off the TV and forced herself finally to admit the reason for her abject misery, because there could only be one explanation for why her heart felt as if it had been surgically removed.
She’d fallen in love.
“Argh!” Closing her eyes, she thumped her head against the back of the sofa. Fabulous, Carlie. If falling in love at the wrong time with the wrong guy were an Olympic event, she’d win the freakin’ gold medal. Her only hope was that this bout of love would fade quickly. Maybe it hadn’t had time to really grab hold of her and, like a bad cold, she could shake it loose with some TLC. Like a hot bath and a piece of chocolate.
Oh, yeah—that would help her get over him. Not. An image of them together in the bathtub materialized in her mind’s eye, and she groaned. And probably for the next fifty years or so she’d think of Daniel whenever she ate chocolate. Okay, so maybe her TLC would have to be something more along the lines of a glass of orange juice and a vitamin pill.
Heaving a sigh, she rose and shuffled toward the bathroom, determined to splash some cold water on her face and get her butt in gear. She had a chapter to read before her class tonight. And having class tonight was good. Nothing like a couple of intense hours of organic chemistry to take her mind off Daniel and her battered heart. She’d concentrate on school and forget all about him. Yes, that was an excellent plan.
Walking into the bathroom, she slapped on the light and grimaced when the bright glare hit her in the eye. Then she looked in the mirror. And recoiled in horror.
Gack! She looked like something that the puppies wouldn’t even want to bury in the back yard. Her hair was a rat’s nest of frizz that stuck up from her head at all angles. Her eyes were swollen and sported half moons of mascara beneath them. Blotchy skin, pale, tear-stained cheeks, red nose—yikes. She was eyeballing her lipstick on the counter, tempted to write out of order across the mirror, when the doorbell rang. The puppies began furiously barking, and she heard the skidding sounds of them hitting the wood floor as they raced toward the front door.
“Easy, guys,” she said, entering the small foyer. As was her habit, she looked out one of the slender windows flanking the door. And froze. For about three seconds. Then she yanked open the door and stared at Daniel in stunned amazement.
While the puppies offered their ecstatic tail-wagging, tongue-lolling, yip-yapping greeting, she managed to say, “Hi.”
“Hi.” He pushed up his glasses then blinked. “Were you watching a scary movie?”
“Scary movie?”
“You sort of have that ‘hair standing up on end’ look.” His gaze flicked over her ratty sweats and he smiled. “You look—”
“Don’t say it—”
“—Amazing.”
Before she could tell him she was very well aware that she looked like Godzilla’s ugly sister, he stepped over the threshold, adroitly maneuvered around the prancing puppies, pulled her into his arms and laid a kiss on her that left her reeling as if she’d been clocked upside the head with a brick.
“Amazing,” he repeated, nipping kisses along her jawline.
“Your glasses must be fogged over,” she felt compelled to point out, clinging to his shoulders so she didn’t slither to the floor.
“No. They must have been before, but not now. Everything’s perfectly clear now.”
She leaned back in the circle of his arms. “What are you doing here?” She’d been a whole three minutes into her plan to forget all about him. How was she supposed to forget him if he kept coming back?
For an answer, he closed the door, clasped her hand, then led her into the den. The puppies clamored after them, then gamboled off to the kitchen, no doubt to raid their kibble bowl.
He sat on the sofa, tugging her down next to him. Once she was seated, he said, “We have to talk.”
Oh, God. We have to talk. The four scariest words in the English language. “What about?”
“Us.”
That single word echoed through her head and warning tingles prickled along her spine. She searched his eyes and noted with alarm their serious expression. The only way there could be an “us” would be if she gave up everything here: her job, her schooling. Was that why he was here? To ask her to do that? A scary thought. But not nearly as terrifying as the knowledge that she might actually want him to ask.
“Us?” she repeated. “There is no more ‘us.’”
“What if I told you I wanted there to be?”
Her heart performed a crazy dance. “How could that happen? Are you thinking in terms of a long-distance relationship?”
He shook his head. “No. That’s not what I want.”
Not sure if his answer left her more relieved or terrified, she asked, “What do you want?”
Reaching out, he clasped her hands. “Lately I’ve felt…unsettled. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what was wrong, so I put it down to moving-related stress. But over the past two weeks, since we’ve been together, this unsettled feeling has gotten a lot worse.”
That didn’t exactly sound promising. Not sure how to respond, she murmured, “Oh.”
“I was bombarded with all these feelings I hadn’t anticipated and it took me a while to get it all straightened out. But I finally figured it out, finally realized what was wrong. It hit me this morning. Which is why I left. But now I’m back.”
“And I’m confused. What was wrong?”
“I wasn’t happy. And the reason I wasn’t happy was because I was leaving here. Turns out, deep down, I wasn’t overjoyed about moving even before you entered the picture. Once you came on the scene, I grew even more miserable.”
“Uh, thanks.”
He shook his head and blew out a breath. “I didn’t mean that the
way it sounded. You didn’t make me miserable, but the thought of moving away from you, of losing what we’ve started here, made me realize that I didn’t want to go. I never wanted to go. Not really. I guess I saw my thirtieth birthday as a good time to reassess my life, my choices, and that, combined with pressure from my ex-girlfriend, had me momentarily convinced that I needed to change things, shake things up. So I did that, by finding a corporate job and making plans to get out of this small town.”
He looked down at their joined hands, then lifted his head. When their gazes met, he continued, “Problem was, I love having my own business, making my own schedule. And I love this little town. And then came you. And as it turns out, I love you, too.”
Everything inside Carlie stilled. “You do?”
“I do. As is. With no desire for you to change a thing or be anything other than the extraordinary woman you already are.” A bemused smile flashed across his features and he shook his head. “Falling in love—one of those unforeseen circumstances predicted by our matching messages about passion. Unforeseen…but really great.”
“In love with me,” she repeated in a stunned whisper. “Since when?”
“Sweetheart, you had me at the chocogasm.”
Emotions swamped her, but before she could open her mouth to speak, he rushed on, “You don’t have to say anything, Especially if what you’d say isn’t something good. I just…wanted you to know. And to tell you that I’ve spent the entire morning on the phone and at the Realtor’s office. My house is off the market, Allied Computers is out a manager, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Oh, God. She needed to breathe, but it seemed she’d forgotten how. In with the good air, out with the bad air. “Not going anywhere?” she managed to say.
“Nope. Well, except out to the porch. I left something there. I’ll be right back.”
Utterly dazed, Carlie watched him go. As soon as he was out of sight, she pinched her arm. Ouch! Okay, yes this was real. He returned seconds later, carrying a huge box bearing the Sinfully Sweet logo, which he set on the coffee table in front of her.
Carlie stared at the box, which covered more than half the table, then turned to him. “I can only guess that the contents of that box represent a dietary disaster. A caloric catastrophe. And based on its size, a financial fiasco. What did you buy?”
“What you said you wanted.”
“What’s that?”
“The day of Sinfully Sweet’s grand opening, you told Ellie Fairbanks you wanted two of everything.” He nodded toward the box. “That’s two of everything.”
Her jaw dropped. “Two of everything in the store?”
“Yup. It’s all for you, but I’m hoping you’ll share.”
“With you.”
“That’s the plan.”
“It would take us a very long time to eat all that chocolate.”
“That’s also the plan.” With his gaze steady on hers, he said, “The night you showed up at my house wearing that towel, I’d been anxiously waiting for you to arrive. I remember thinking that everything was ready—the only thing missing was Carlie. Turned out those were very prophetic words.”
She stared at the huge box and a sense of pure wonder and amazed happiness washed through her. Turning back to him, she asked, “And what if my feelings aren’t the same as yours?”
“Then I’d just have to pull out all the stops to convince you that what we have together is really good. And that it will only get better. That we belong together. That you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And that I could make you very happy.”
“I…see. So I guess that means if I were to tell you right now that I’m in love with you, I’d forfeit those ‘pulling out all the stops’ perks.”
“Hell, no. God, no. Are you saying…? Do you mean…?” He looked so worried and so serious and so hopeful, she felt ashamed for teasing him for even a second. Framing his face between her hands, she said, “I love you, Daniel. Very much. And you don’t have to convince me that what we have together is really good. Or that it will only get better. Or that we belong together. I already know. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And I’m going to make you very happy.”
With a groan, he dragged her onto his lap and kissed her until her head spun. Then he abruptly leaned back. “You’re not just saying that because I bought you two of everything from Sinfully Sweet, are you?
“No.” She waggled her brows. “But that definitely helped seal the deal.”
He smiled. “I should have known I didn’t need to look any further than my own backyard for happiness. Quite literally in my case.”
“You sound like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.”
“Huh. Not a very masculine comparison.”
She leaned forward and ran her tongue over his bottom lip. “Oh, honey. I’d be delighted to tell you—and show you—all the fabulous ways you’re masculine.”
“Oh? What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking you. Me. Chocolate. Naked.” She shot him a wicked grin. “And not necessarily in that order.”
SIMPLY SCRUMPTIOUS
Kate Hoffmann
1
DARCY SCOTT FINGERED the delicately stitched hem of the French cotton sheet. The fabric felt like silk and she closed her eyes and imagined those same sheets on her naked skin, the impossibly high thread count turning an ordinary night in bed into a positively sensual experience.
A handsome man suddenly appeared in the vision, a familiar face that had haunted her dreams over the years. His nude body was curled up against hers, his long leg thrown over her hips. He watched her with sleepy blue eyes, his sun-streaked hair mussed and a satisfied grin curling the corners of his mouth. And when he drew her nearer, his lips parted, ready to cover hers.
Darcy sucked in a sharp breath, then cursed silently, snapping herself out of the daydream. Once it had been real, but not for a very long time. She glanced over the restaurant table to find her assistant, Amanda Taylor, staring at her with a bemused smile.
“They’re just sheets,” Amanda said.
Darcy cleared her throat, trying to banish the image from her head. “According to you, they’re the finest sheets in the world. How much?”
“Ah, Madame,” Amanda teased in a heavy French accent. “But who can put a price on zee comfort of your guests? Imagine yourself between zeez sheets. Would you have anything else touch your naked body?” Amanda sighed as she tucked the neatly-folded sheet back into her tote. “I mean, besides a man with sensitive hands and deep blue eyes and gorgeous hair and a really big—”
“How much?” Darcy repeated, her voice cracking slightly. From now on, no more daytime fantasies! They were beginning to interfere with business and Darcy had already decided to put her profession ahead of anything else in her life. It made things so much simpler.
She hadn’t always been prone to thoughts of a sexual nature. But since she’d broken her engagement over a year ago, Darcy hadn’t enjoyed the pleasures of a man’s body. In truth, she hadn’t been touched by a man in exactly 435 days. She’d never meant to keep a precise count except that last week, she’d become curious and decided to figure it out. Now, with every day that passed, she felt compelled to add to the tally, unable to get the ever-growing figure out of her head.
“Your father has given you carte blanche,” Amanda said, drawing Darcy back to their conversation. “My French is a bit rusty, but loosely translated, I believe that means big wallet…or blank check or…well, it means spend a lot of money.”
“I just don’t want to make any mistakes. Daddy can take this job away from me just as easily as he gave it to me, especially if I don’t control the budget.”
Darcy had been manager of The Delaford for over two years, the youngest person to hold a manager’s position in Sam Scott’s string of hotels—and the only woman. The job had been temporary at first, a way for Darcy to gain more experience while her father searched for the right person to take over. But Darcy had been good at the job and her fa
ther had delayed finding a replacement.
The Delaford Spa and Resort was small and very exclusive. Set on a stunning piece of property just ninety miles from downtown San Francisco, it was a popular destination for West Coast celebrities. It boasted a luxurious hotel, a championship golf course, tennis courts, stables and a full-service spa and health club. Located on the shores of Crystal Lake, the hotel had 180 guestrooms that averaged 95% occupancy year-round. For the past three years, the gourmet restaurant had earned a five-star rating and regularly drew evening dinner guests from the city.
“I can get the sheets for five hundred a bed as long as we sell them in our gift shop,” Amanda said. “That’s well below wholesale. And they’ll hold up much better than the sheets we use now. The more you wash them, the better they feel.” Amanda reached for her water and took a sip. “I’ve had housekeeping put a set on your bed. Sleep with them for a few nights and you’ll think they’re a bargain at twice the price.”
Oh, that was just what she needed, Darcy mused. Another reminder that the only thing she’d been sleeping with for exactly 435 days was her bed linen. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ll give them a try.”
Amanda motioned for the waitress, then asked for the dessert tray. “Since we aren’t eating lunch at The Delaford, I want to see what kinds of goodies they serve here. Would you like to join me?”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Darcy said. “We’re doing a Valentine’s Day promo with the new chocolate shop in town. We’re giving away a dinner at The Winery to the winners. In exchange, they’re doing a new monogram chocolate for our pillows.”
“Nice trade,” Amanda said.
Darcy nodded. “Ellie Fairbanks should have some samples ready for us.” She dropped cash on top of the bill, then pushed back from the table. “While we’re there, I’ll buy us both a half-pound of truffles and we’ll indulge together.”
Sinfully Sweet: Wickedly DeliciousConstant CravingSimply Scrumptious Page 16
