York made his way to the right-hand side of the table. The author didn’t glance his way. She was preoccupied signing a book. He would wait for the right time to refill her plate.
He glanced at the book’s cover.
Chantelle. That was the name he’d forgotten.
A photograph of two chocolates on a plain white plate was on the front. He would have rather seen a woman holding a piece of chocolate, or, better yet, putting a piece into her mouth. Chantelle Cummings had nice, full lips.
As the older woman walked away, he picked up one of the chocolates with his gloved hand and placed the piece on Chantelle’s plate.
She jumped. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you more chocolate.”
Eyes wide, she looked at him as if he’d grown horns and smelled like Big Foot. Then she relaxed. “Oh, it’s you.”
He took her remembering him as a good sign. Maybe she didn’t make a habit of splaying herself over strangers.
“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said. “But it was my turn.”
She laughed. “That’s true, and you were nicer than me.”
He raised a brow. “How’s that?”
“You didn’t make me catch you.”
Okay, she had a sense of humor. That was good, too.
“What do you have for me?” she asked.
Ten lines ran through his mind. He could come up with many more. Not one he could use on her now, though.
“You won’t find better chocolate in Montana.” He might as well sell the product because that was what Dakota would do, and this was what he’d be expected to do when he filled in at the shop. “What other pieces would you like?”
Chantelle’s gaze traveled from him to the three chocolates on the platter. “What’s your favorite?”
York heard a challenge in her question. For someone who seemed a bit of a klutz and out of sort a few minutes ago, she seemed to pull herself together quickly.
His smile didn’t waver, even though he didn’t know the names of the pieces. “All are good.”
That sounded like a safe answer that wouldn’t get him or Dakota into trouble.
“What kind of truffles are those?” Chantelle asked.
Truffles? He glanced at the platter. Two pieces were rounded. Those must be the truffles, but he had no idea of the flavors. The square one had salt on top so it might be a caramel.
He’d try a logical answer. “Chocolate.”
Chantelle eyed him as if she knew his secret. Her mouth quirked. “You don’t know what they’re called, do you?”
“No.” He’d gotten out of more than one tight spot by keeping his cool and a smile on his face. “I’m helping out my sister tonight. But even if I don’t know the names, my tastes buds don’t care. Everything Sage makes is delicious.”
A beat passed. And another. She gazed into his eyes. Hers were questioning. Curious.
Time seemed to stop. He felt as if he were floating in the pools of blue. The feeling didn’t suck.
She looked away. “You’ve convinced me.”
That was easy, but Chantelle’s matter of fact tone didn’t tell him whether she was amused or annoyed with him. Given the way her gaze flickered from him to the line of autograph seekers, he’d say the latter.
“I’ll take all three, please,” she added.
York placed the remaining pieces on her plate. He liked that she didn’t hold back on the chocolates. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants.”
The wariness returned to her eyes, but she wouldn’t look at him. She seemed more interested in everything else in the store besides him, and he wished she’d go back to being a ‘ball of nerves’ as she’d put it.
“When it comes to chocolate, yes,” she said.
“That’s because you have the chocolate touch.”
Chantelle pressed her lips together. She looked like a completely different person from the one who had bumped into him.
“Heard that line before?” he asked.
“Many times.”
Too many based on the hard set of her jaw. Probably too late for damage control, but he’d try. “Then I won’t ask you about chocolate kisses or anything else.”
“Good. Otherwise, I’d have to invoke the chocolate curse.”
“Curse? You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“Sorry. Top secret.”
He had a security clearance. Or did and would again once he started his new consulting job. But that wasn’t something he’d tell a stranger, even a beautiful one who probably wore fancy, lacy lingerie.
Whoa.
Where did that come from?
He’d better get out of there before he said something inappropriate.
“Your plate’s full. My job is done.” He didn’t want to embarrass Dakota or himself. “I’ll let you get back to signing books.”
“Champagne and mocha.” The words rushed out of Chantelle’s mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“Those are the two flavors of truffles you gave me. There’s also a dark chocolate salted caramel, and the first thing you put on my plate is a toffee.”
She spoke fast. That breathy tone was back. Confidence in a woman was a sexy trait, but he liked seeing her less in control.
“One out of four isn’t bad.” He half-laughed. “I guessed one was caramel due to the salt.”
His gaze met hers.
Something passed between them. A look, but not like before. This was more of a…connection.
Forget acting like a big brother with this one.
A spark raced up his arm even though they hadn’t touched. The flash of hunger in her eyes made York think she’d like a taste of him, too.
He wouldn’t mind a nibble. “Enjoy them.”
“I will. And thanks for catching me.”
“Anytime.”
“I’m not a klutz.”
“Did I say you were?”
“No, but…” She bit her lip.
He was tempted to put his mouth there. Really tempted.
But people were waiting to speak with her and get their books signed. He was out of chocolate and needed a new platter. Still, his feet didn’t want to move.
There’d been energy—chemistry—in that look. Heat, too. Enough to intrigue him and send his temperature rising, both before and now. He had gotten enough of a feel of her body to want to touch her again. The only thing he risked was rejection, and he’d never let that stop him before.
Until he remembered his reason for being in Marietta.
Two reasons.
Dakota and Nevada.
He wasn’t in Fiji anymore.
A vacation romance wasn’t on his radar.
He had a month before his computer consultant job started, and then he’d have to travel to wherever clients needed him. He’d be living out of a suitcase with no vacation time. He wanted to make the most of his time in Marietta.
Family time.
Holding onto the empty platter, he walked away, forcing himself not to look back at the beautiful author with the chocolate touch.
His sisters were the priority this month.
No one else.
Chapter Two
After the book signing, Chantelle returned to her room at the Graff Hotel. Being in the suite soothed her. She hadn’t expected a small town to offer such luxurious accommodations, and she loved the combination of Old World and modern décor.
The king-sized bed called to her—so did her pajamas—but first things first.
Her feet hurt from a combination of swelling from her flight and her shoes. She kicked off her heels.
Relief.
She wiggled her toes in the plush carpet.
Now it was time to relax.
Her tight muscles needed to loosen, and her insides…
She needed to stop feeling so unsettled. A feeling that had nothing to do with traveling all day, or being at the book signing, or finding herself in a new place.
Then I won’t ask you about c
hocolate kisses or anything else.
He’d unsettled her. The nameless guy whose fit, hard body had nearly sent her tumbling to the ground. His gaze had been full of interest, but he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation. No groping when he’d helped her straighten. His touch had been a strange combination—gentle yet firm—and set off an explosion of tingles and twitches from her nerve endings. She’d like the way that felt even if her brain short-circuited from the contact. He might be clueless about chocolate, but he was a tasty piece of eye candy.
Attractive.
Okay, hot.
His wide shoulders emphasized his athletic build. Not muscle bound—though she’d felt the ridges and firmness beneath his shirt—but enough definition to make her mouth water as if the perfect piece of eighty-five percent dark chocolate had fallen from the sky. His tan face and sun-streaked hair suggested he spent time outdoors—for fun, work, or both? The scruff of whiskers made her wonder if they’d scratch or tickle against her skin. Add in smoldering hazel eyes, and she hadn’t been so attracted to someone at first glance in… well, she couldn’t remember when.
Her reaction wasn’t typical. She’d met good-looking men during her travels. Some had bought her drinks and others had taken her out to dinner, but none had affected her quite this way. Chantelle had wanted him to come back and talk to her more, not ignore her for the rest of the evening.
But ignore her, he did.
She blew out a breath.
She’d kept hoping he’d return to refill her plate, but he stayed busy passing out the to-die-for chocolates and cups of delicious hot chocolate to everyone else.
Talk about frustrating, even if she wasn’t sure why she felt that way.
The woman wearing a similar apron as the guy had refilled Chantelle’s plate the next time. After the event, she’d looked for him. Her excuse was to thank him for catching her earlier so she could find out his name, but he was nowhere around.
She knew he hadn’t just vanished. Her only info on him was that he was someone’s brother. Was his sister the woman working the chocolate table who had introduced herself when Chantelle first arrived at the bookstore?
Decker or Dakota. Something like that.
Chantelle had been nervous about the event and forgotten the woman’s name. She didn’t feel right asking her about the guy. She hadn’t been sure what to say.
Who was the guy in the matching apron?
What’s the name of the guy who refilled my plate?
Is that cute guy giving out chocolates single?
Not one question was appropriate.
And neither were her thoughts now.
He was a total stranger. One she couldn’t stop thinking about, but so what if she liked his looks and the way he touched her? She needed to stop. Finding a date wasn’t on her list of things to do in Marietta.
Besides, she wanted a forever kind of love, not a fling while passing through a town in the middle of nowhere Montana. That guy had trouble written all over him. She didn’t know if he was a player or not, but she needed to stop thinking about him and sleep.
A few minutes later, she’d brushed her teeth and slipped into pajamas. She wasn’t going to set her alarm. No reason to when her body was on East Coast time, three hours ahead. She pulled back the bedcovers.
Her cell phone rang. Odd, this late.
She checked her phone. The name Philippe Delacroix glowed on the screen.
Why was her cousin calling from France at this hour?
Her muscles bunched tighter.
Had she done something wrong? Made a mistake?
Chantelle bit her lower lip and plopped onto the bed.
The phone rang again.
She didn’t know Philippe that well—she’d only met him once in person—but patience didn’t seem to be one of his virtues based on his calls and texts. He kept in touch almost daily, which she appreciated, but the last thing she needed was for him to complain about her to his father.
Her uncle Laurent was not only the head of the family, but he also held the key to her working at Delacroix Chocolates, the award-winning luxurious chocolate company founded by her late grandfather, Pacôme Delacroix. That was her dream job.
Her goal.
And the main reason she was in Marietta.
She’d better take the call. “Hello?”
“Already in bed?” Philippe asked. It wasn’t yet seven AM in France, but Philippe was always on the go.
“Not yet, but soon.”
She couldn’t afford to mess up with the Delacroix family.
Not like her late mother had when she’d married Chantelle’s father—an American backpacking around Europe after graduating college—without permission and then been disowned, even though she’d been the one trained by her father to be the company’s next chocolatier. Chantelle’s mother had died when she was twelve, and she’d never met her mother’s side of the family until after her father died while she was in college. He hadn’t liked the way the Delacroix family treated her mother, and they hadn’t cared enough to stay in touch.
Although she managed to graduate on time thanks to a surprise scholarship she’d been awarded, her grief and tears wouldn’t stop. Chantelle didn’t like being alone and having no one to call family. She’d gotten in touch with her uncle, who’d then invited her to visit them in Bayonne, France.
The time there had been slightly awkward given they were strangers and no one had reached out to her before, but she’d toured the factory, gone sightseeing, and met her long-lost relatives. She’d even made one of her mother’s chocolate recipes for them. The day she left, her uncle suggested she learn as much as she could about the chocolate industry so she could take her rightful place at Delacroix Chocolates. He’d given her a list of steps she needed to do as part of an unofficial apprenticeship and offered to pay her tuition to her choice of any culinary programs.
She’d attended a well-known chocolate academy, and then expanded a blog called Chocolate with Chantelle that she’d started in college. Soon, she was selling articles to food and travel magazines, visiting chocolate shops, writing reviews, and being invited to speak. She’d been working hard since then, while trying to complete all the steps.
All as Chantelle Cummings.
No one knew her connection to one of the most famous chocolate brands in the world. She’d done that on purpose so people, especially her uncle, wouldn’t think she was trying to cash in on the family name. It was why any bio, including the one in her book, didn’t mention Delacroix Chocolate or the family at all, even though that might have helped her.
Her mother had shared stories about working in the chocolate laboratory and about the luxurious chateau where she’d grown up. It was a fairy-tale worthy life, which was why her mother’s family had thought Royce Cummings was after Marie Delacroix’s fortune, not in love with her, but that hadn’t been the case. True love had conquered all, but caused a decades-long family rift.
Chantelle didn’t want her uncle to think she was a fortune hunter. She wasn’t in this for money or prestige. She just wanted to belong and be a part of the family. But accomplishing that meant being professional and competent, not getting flustered when she couldn’t find a bathroom or bumped into a hot guy like she had earlier.
“Are you still there?” Philippe’s English had only a slight French accent. He’d attended school in the United States.
“Yes, I am.”
“How did the book signing go?” he asked.
“Sold out.”
“Excellent. I’ll let Father know.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t know if book sales would sway Uncle Laurent’s opinion of her, but she hoped he was proud. Writing a book hadn’t been one of the steps on his list, but she figured extra credit wouldn’t hurt. “I didn’t expect such a large turnout, but the bookstore was packed with customers. Oh, and Copper Mountain Chocolates provided refreshments.”
“And?”
The anticipation in Philippe’s voice made Cha
ntelle smile. She was tempted to make a joke, but her cousin seemed to be all business and might not appreciate the humor.
“How was it?” Philippe asked.
It.
As if two letters could ever describe the wonderfulness of chocolate.
“The truffles were melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Mind you, the flavor choices were basic, but the quality was impeccable. I can see why their hot chocolate is a top seller. Rich and creamy, yet simple with only a few ingredients. Pure deliciousness in a cup.”
“That’s what I hoped to hear,” Philippe admitted. “Is there anything you didn’t like?”
“Too much sea salt on the dark chocolate caramel, but that’s an easy fix. Otherwise, nothing glaring stood out.”
“Does this mean your first impression is favorable?” His inflection rose at the end.
She preferred to submit a report rather than provide details over the phone as she didn’t want anything passed on that she hadn’t exactly meant. That had happened the first time she researched a small-batch chocolate producer in Vermont for her uncle.
“First impression is a bit of a misnomer since I haven’t been in the shop,” she said. “But the chocolates looked and tasted better than I expected.”
“Let’s hope everything at the shop is even better, because Father is eager to acquire more recipes. He’d like to offer a new collection of chocolates—perhaps call it Americana, although a trendier name might appeal more to a younger demographic.”
Good plan. Delacroix Chocolates, though famous, was relying on their long-held reputation and traditional recipes. Delicious yes, but the company needed new products to complement their classic collections to stay fresh and compete with the other high-end chocolate makers. According to Philippe, expanding the US market share was key to their strategic plans. Though she didn’t understand why their chocolatier, an older man named Claude, couldn’t come up with them instead of having Uncle Laurent purchase recipes.
“That means we need to find them fast,” Philippe added.
We.
Her spine went ramrod straight as she let the word sink in. Her hope was to be living and working in France by summertime, but a delay of a few months didn’t matter as long as she ended up there eventually.
The Chocolate Touch (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 8) Page 2
