For a little after five on a Friday night, the sidewalks were more crowded than she would have expected. People went in and out of shops and cafes.
“Quaint,” she decided.
“You should see this place at Christmastime. I was here in December a couple of years ago. The town knows how to do up the holidays.”
“Must be nice. I’m not a big Christmas fan.”
“Why not?”
Not trusting her voice, she shrugged.
“Hard with your mom gone?” he asked.
Chantelle nodded. “My dad’s dead, too.”
“Oh, man.” York put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Any other family around?”
“In France. I didn’t know them until a few years ago. We’re slowly reconnecting.”
He dropped his arm but stayed close by her side. “That’s a long way from Boston, but it’s great you have them. Family is important. We are spread out and don’t always spend the holidays together, but last Christmas, we opened gifts while all on Skype. It was more fun than I thought it would be.”
“I’ll remember that.” At least Chantelle hoped she would. She was still thinking about his arm around her.
A couple ahead of them held hands. The blond woman had a leash strap around her wrist of a Yorkshire Terrier dressed in a hot pink sweater and bows on its ears. The little dog glanced back and barked. A sharp, squeaky kind of sound.
“Clementine,” the woman said with a firm but loving tone. “No barking.”
The dog didn’t seem to care. She looked forward and pranced away as if she were the queen of Marietta. She could be. The bling on her collar and leash could fill a crown.
“I think that’s one of the dogs adopted through the rescue where Dakota works,” York said. “The name sounds like one she mentioned to me.”
“You and your sisters are close.”
He nodded. “We tease each other unmercifully, but yeah, I’d call us close. We don’t spend a lot of time together, but the three of us were army brats and we moved a lot. Sometimes we only had each other until we made new friends.”
“You’re lucky to have each other.”
“Very,” he said. “Your family in France. Is there anyone your age?”
“A cousin. His name is Philippe, and we text almost every day. He’s different from me. All business. A workaholic.”
“Tell him to stop and taste the chocolate.”
She laughed. York had no idea how apt that phrase was in this situation. “I have, but he thinks he knows better.”
“Guys always do.”
“You?”
“Sometimes. Well, most of the time. But I get why your cousin is like that.” He looked around. “The one thing I’ve noticed about Marietta is how the pace is slower here. No one’s in a rush like on the East Coast. People not only stop to smell the roses, but they also pick the flowers to give to others.”
“That’s nice. Maybe we should slow down.”
A grin spread across his face. “Too late. We’re almost there. But when I leave Marietta, I’m going to remember not to be in such a hurry all the time.”
“Where will you live?”
“All over. I’ll be a computer consultant and travel to clients. Dakota is storing my stuff until I figure out another place to live.”
“Just you and a suitcase.”
The smile on his face told he was happy about this. “I’ve been wanting to travel like this for a while. I can’t wait.”
They were so different, and any desire to see if something could develop from her crush disappeared. York Parker wasn’t looking for anything beyond right now when all she could think about was the future.
“I was like you three years ago,” she admitted. “I had fun at first, but now I’m tired of traveling and staying in hotels. I’m ready to settle down and create a home.”
“In Boston.”
“France. My mother was French. Some petition or something gave me dual citizenship.”
“Ah, so that’s where the name Chantelle comes from.”
She nodded. “My father was American.”
“Excuse me.” A man in a cowboy hat pushed a stroller toward them. Every passerby greeted the smiling man by name, which was Nate.
She stepped away from York to let the man and child pass between them, but continued walking. Seeing the grinning, drooling toddler in the stroller made her think of Portia.
Chantelle glanced back at the father and child. “I hope Portia is going to be okay. Not just with the early labor, but long term.”
York moved closer to Chantelle again. “Nevada said Portia’s thinking about giving the baby up for adoption.”
“I don’t think I could do that myself, but everybody’s situation is different. Being a single parent is hard.” Chantelle thought about her dad. “I was twelve when my mom died, and my dad had a tough time with her death. They were so in love, and she did everything for him. I tried to help with the laundry, house, cooking, and the garden, but she was just so good at everything and I was—”
“A kid.”
An unexpected smile tugged at her lips. “When you put it that way, I guess I did okay.”
“I’m sure you did.” He opened the door for her. Country music played. “Welcome to Grey’s Saloon.”
She entered to the smell of beer, the sound of conversations, and the sight of cowboys—men in worn jeans and scuffed boots, with cowboy hats sitting nearby.
York motioned to an empty booth.
As she slid across the bench seat, he remained standing. “What would you like?”
She usually enjoyed a glass of wine, but this seemed more like a beer, whiskey, or shot kind of place. “A beer. Lager or IPA, if they have either.”
“I’d have taken you more for a Chardonnay drinker.”
“Pinot Gris, but when in Marietta…”
He smiled. “Be right back.”
The place was like something out of a movie, complete with a pool table and more good-looking men than she’d seen in one place in a long time. But none of them were as handsome as York.
He placed two pints of beer on the table, and that was when she realized he’d paid. She would have to get the next round. Well, if there was one.
“They had a lager,” he said. “I decided to try it, too.”
“Thanks.” She took a sip. “Good.”
He drank. “It is.”
Someone cheered. Must be the people at the pool table.
“Come here often?” she asked.
“I’m never in town long enough to come here that much. There’s also Flint Works, which is a brewery at the Depot or the bar at the Graff, but I like Grey’s the best. It’s comfortable and safe, if no cowboys are fighting, and reasonably priced.”
“Let’s hope the cowboys remain under control.”
“I’ve never seen a fight myself, but Dustin—he’s my sister Nevada’s boyfriend—warned me.”
“Is he the one who won the vacation and gave it to you?”
“Yeah, he and Nevada had done much of the quest together, but it turned out Nevada was ineligible to win since Dakota worked at Copper Mountain Chocolates, which was a sponsor. That didn’t matter in the end. Dustin said meeting my sister was the best prize.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Especially since he seems to mean it.”
“Protective big brother.”
“Always.” York wiped a bead of condensation from his glass. “I brought Dustin a few gifts from Fiji to say thanks, but I wish I could find out who donated the trip.”
“That’s some donation.”
“An anonymous one. The first thing I did when I arrived at Dakota’s house was send a thank-you to the law firm that represents the donor. I was hoping I might get a name, but I never received a reply from the office.”
“You haven’t been here that long.”
“True.”
“This is important to you.”
He nodded. “I’d
like to say thank you.”
“They might have a reason for wanting to remain anonymous.”
“That’s what Dakota said. Someone made a big donation to the animal rescue where she volunteers, and she thinks it’s the same person.” York pulled out his cell phone and showed her a list of names. “This is who I think could be the unsub.”
“Unsub.”
“Unknown subject aka the anonymous donor.”
He was hot and geeky. An appealing combination. “You do watch a lot of crime shows.”
“Now it’s time to solve my own mystery.”
She read over the list:
Josiah Whittaker
Troy Sheehan
Jasper Flint
Nate Vaughn
Walt Grayson
“Wait a minute.” She put York’s phone on the table. “You have Walt Grayson listed?”
He shrugged. “Dakota and Bryce swear it isn’t him.”
“You asked them?”
“Yes. They said Walt has money from selling his house and business back in Pennsylvania, but not that much to give away. Dakota also thinks Walt is so good-natured and social that he would have let it slip if he were doing that. He’s not good at keeping secrets.”
Chantelle stared over the lip of her glass. “Yet, you’re keeping him on this list.”
“They’re just names. I don’t have much evidence to go on.”
“But you’re looking for clues.”
“Yes, but it’s an effort in futility.” He drank. “There’s not much else I can do until I hear back from the law office.”
“Give it a week or two.”
“You’re more patient than I am.”
She thought about the past three years. All the effort she’d put in. “Sometimes you have to be to get what you want.”
“I’ll have to try it.” He raised his glass. “To patience.”
Staring into her eyes, he tapped his glass against hers and then drank. He licked his lips, and she wanted a taste of him.
“Hungry?” he asked.
His question caught her off guard. “For food?”
“Yes, but if you have something else in mind?”
His tone was sexy and playful. Heat scorched her cheeks.
She drank. That didn’t cool her down. “Food would be good.”
“The food is good here, but want to go somewhere else that isn’t so noisy?
“Um, sure.” Drinks, now dinner. This was feeling more like a date. Would kissing be next?
Chantelle wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
*
An hour later, York’s stomach was full after a delicious Italian dinner at Rocco’s on First Street, but the best part was sitting at the table with Chantelle. He hadn’t had such a nice evening with a woman in months. Maybe years.
He walked toward the door with Chantelle at his side. “I’m glad we’re walking.”
She nodded. “I don’t think I’ll need to eat breakfast.”
He opened the door, and she stepped outside.
The temperature was in the mid-fifties. Comfortable with no breeze. He would have expected Montana to be colder in early May, but he’d never been here this time of year. If it were cooler, he’d have a reason to put his arm around Chantelle to keep her warm.
Not a date.
Except tonight felt like one.
“This has been fun,” he said.
“I’ve had a wonderful time.” She walked at a leisurely pace. She didn’t seem to be in any kind of rush to get back to the hotel. That was fine by him.
“Thanks for dinner.” The street lamps cast shadows on her face, but he could still see her flushed cheeks. “The food was incredible.”
“And you got your wine.”
“I did, but the beer at Grey’s wasn’t bad.”
“The wine was better.”
“I agree.” She looked around. “I can’t wait to explore Marietta tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you working?”
“From ten to one. I’ll have time after that.”
As they walked, the space between them narrowed. He liked being near her. “If you want company, let me know. I haven’t had a chance to play tourist yet.”
“I will.”
He hoped she would.
York stopped at the intersection of First and Front. The Graff Hotel was across the street, but he didn’t want to say goodnight. Not yet.
“Want to keep walking?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s a beautiful night.”
The distance between them closed even more until his arm bumped hers. Finally. He laced his fingers with hers. “This okay?”
Another nod.
Good. York been dying to touch her for hours. He wasn’t disappointed. Her hand with its soft skin fit nicely in his.
They passed the pizza parlor on the corner. The place looked packed inside. Customers carried out pizza boxes. Others waited by the door to get a table.
“I had dinner there a couple of nights ago,” he said.
“I took a couple of slices home for dinner last night.” She squeezed his hand. “But I think you’ve spoiled me after tonight.”
He wanted to spoil her more.
Wheels against asphalt sounded. Two boarders were speeding toward them.
York pulled Chantelle out of the way and against a building.
As the boarders raced by, neither glanced their way or muttered an apology.
“Punks,” he called after them.
The boys didn’t look back.
His arm was still around Chantelle. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
He was, too, because he was standing so close to her. She fit nicely against him. Her head came to his chin. Her vanilla scent made him feel like he’d drank more than he had.
She licked her lips, just a quick swipe of her tongue, nothing really, but a burst of need rushed through him. He lowered his arms so he wasn’t touching her. It didn’t help.
He still wanted to kiss her. “Chantelle—”
Her mouth was on his before he could say another word.
Chantelle’s surprising, eager kiss was exactly what he needed. Moving his lips against hers, he wrapped his arms around her to bring her closer. This was no tentative get-to-know-you kiss. They’d passed that stage two seconds in. Maybe one. She hadn’t hesitated, and he liked her initiative.
He really liked how she kissed.
Her hands were in his hair. She kept devouring his lips. Or maybe it was the other way. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t care.
Nothing mattered right now except this moment. This kiss. This woman.
He’d never tasted anything better. Sweet with a hint of cabernet, the wine they’d shared over dinner.
The fact she’d kissed him first and kept on kissing him with no sign of slowing down was a total turn-on.
Forget having the chocolate touch.
Chantelle’s lips were going to drive him crazy.
Her chest pressed up to his, and the rapid beat of her heart thumped against his. The need for a kiss he’d felt moments ago erupted into a blazing heat…for more.
Slow down.
Good advice, but instead, York deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She wiggled her hips against him.
His control slipped.
An ache inside increased.
Be careful.
He hadn’t lost his entire brain function, but if she kept moving her hips like that, all bets were off. Except he wasn’t ready to go all in. Not tonight.
York loosened his arms and took half a step back. That put space between their bodies, but not enough. He kissed her one last time before stepping back more.
Gorgeous and sexy.
Those two words described Chantelle. Her eyes were wide and full of the same desire running through him. Her swollen lips were puckered, as if to say she wanted more kisses. Her breathing was uneven and heavy like his.
A slow, sassy grin curved her li
ps. “Dessert with no calories. I could go for seconds.”
Being in control had to be overrated. He kissed her again.
Chapter Eight
Kissing York was even better the second time. She hadn’t ever felt this crazy need to have her lips against another person’s—as if his kisses were as vital to her as oxygen or chocolate—but she did with him.
They just seemed to…fit.
Perfectly.
His lips moved over hers, tasting and teasing. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses or of him.
Oh, she knew kissing probably wasn’t the best idea, but she didn’t want to stop, even if common sense and logic told her the only things she’d leave Marietta with were a few good memories and possibly a broken heart.
She would focus on the memories.
Particularly the ones from this kiss.
A moan escaped her lips. York deepened the kiss. He made her feel special, as if only her kiss would do.
With her hands on his shoulders, she clung to him, not caring if that made her look needy or desperate.
She was.
For more kisses.
And for him.
Thank goodness his mouth continued to press against hers. That was all she wanted.
Little squeaks and noises sounded.
From her?
Most likely.
How long had it been since a man had kissed her so thoroughly?
Um, never.
She ran her tongue around York’s mouth. He tasted warm and salty and like something pure male. This—he—was her new favorite dessert.
She wanted to be closer, but something held her back. His effect on her had been so unexpected she’d gotten carried away with that first kiss, awash in feelings and responses.
The same things could easily happen this time, except she was trying to be more careful. Keeping her guard up. Well, halfway up.
She feared her efforts were failing because every touch of his lips and his hands made her feel so good, as if she’d found a piece of herself that had been missing for far too long.
She lowered a hand to his back. Her fingers ran over the muscles beneath. So strong. Giving into the feelings would be so easy, but she couldn’t. She had to keep herself from letting go completely, if only a sliver of control remained.
She wanted his kisses, but anything more would be stupid.
The Chocolate Touch (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 8) Page 10
