Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate)

by Alexis Lusonne Montgomery

  Sam wrapped his arm around the woman’s waist when they stopped at the table’s edge. The tall blond goddess smiled warmly and extended her hand when Sam said, “Glenna, this is Bebe Waterston. This is my sister.”

  For seconds, Bebe could only stare at the woman while she processed the information. His sister.

  “Are you sure?” popped out of her mouth before she realized she’d spoken the thought aloud. She felt the heat flare up her cheeks. “I mean—how nice to meet you, Glenna. Sam didn’t mention he had a sister.” She half rose from her seat and clasped her outstretched hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. My family has enjoyed Waterston chocolates for as long as I can remember. In fact, Sam and I may both have your chocolates to thank for life itself, if my father is to be believed.” Glenna smiled at Sam. “Are you and Bebe straightening out the problem Mrs. T. was so concerned about?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  Bebe watched the meaningful looks between the two and envied the sibling shorthand in play. She’d always wanted a sister, but Maman had said she’d waited so long for her gift of a daughter, she didn’t want to be greedy by asking God for more. Papa said she wasn’t a “change of life” baby, but a changeling, and only one to a couple was allowed. Her parents had doted on her and spent time with her, encouraging her in anything she wanted to try, but they wouldn’t budge on the request for a sister.

  “He’s been wonderful,” Bebe interjected. “We’ll be ready for the chocolate gala benefit thanks to him.”

  Glenna raised her eyebrow in just the same way her brother did. “Really? Mother will be so pleased to hear that.” She looked back at Sam. “I can’t wait to tell her.” She kissed him on the cheek and winked at Bebe as though they, too, shared a secret. “I better get back to my date before Margot sees he’s unprotected. He’s taking me tomorrow night. She can get her own date. Nice meeting you. See ya, little brother.” She sauntered across the room, and every male eye in the room watched her, including her brother, though he had a frown on his face.

  “Does she have to wear her dress that tight? Didn’t they have one in her size?” he muttered as he sat down.

  Bebe broke out in giggles.

  “Something funny?” He cocked one eyebrow in inquiry.

  “I always wanted a sister, but now I think having a brother might be good, too.”

  He reached for her hand and held it, their hands a bridge across the table. “I don’t want you to ever think of me as a brother. Believe me, I have no brotherly thoughts where you’re concerned.”

  His slow smile sent a sizzle through anatomy not mentioned at the dinner table, and she did her best to repress it. She eased her hand out of his much bigger one. Her growing attraction for him could never be defined as sisterly, but admitting it wouldn’t be the smart thing to do now, if ever. She wasn’t tall. She wasn’t blond. And she wasn’t on the list.

  “I thought we agreed to keep things on a business level.” She patted his hand in what she thought was a sisterly manner,

  “You may have decided. I never agreed. Was I even there for that discussion?”

  “Oh. Well…”

  “Yes, oh,” he said softly. He picked up the wine bottle and poured a touch more into both their glasses. “Will all the chocolate vendors be at the gala tomorrow night?”

  Bebe appreciated the change in topic, but she really didn’t want to think about her business troubles. Whatever happened to nice discussions about the weather? “All the specialty chocolate makers will be there. No one would miss the opportunity if they’re lucky enough to be invited.”

  “Do you think it could be someone who resents not being included?”

  “Perhaps, but anyone who has a serious reputation in specialty chocolates in the San Francisco area is included. The whole point is to raise as much money as possible, so the committee encourages everyone to participate. It’s not that big a market.”

  “And that should work to our advantage.” Sam sipped his wine, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “Okay. What does that leave us for motive? It has to be someone who thinks they would benefit directly from driving you out of business. Or someone who resents being second, third, or fourth to your number one in the illustrious world of gourmet chocolate. Who’s on the list?”

  The list? Every woman in San Francisco except me, that’s who. Not that list, idiot.

  “Finnerman’s are considered excellent, but they’re nearly family, so it couldn’t be them. I guess we could ask Freddy if he’s having any difficulties with his shipments.”

  “You seemed reluctant to discuss business when he asked you how things were going. Do you think he would have mentioned it if he were having similar problems?”

  “Probably not.” Bebe shrugged. “Besides, I wouldn’t tell him anything. He’s a big fat tattletale.”

  Sam burst into laughter.

  He had the sexiest laugh. Everything about him turned her on. Her physical response to Sam made him as dangerous as her hacker. Maybe more…

  Chapter Nine

  Sam enjoyed watching Bebe eat. She delighted in each bite, trying to distinguish the flavors and praising the genius of the chef. Although he appreciated good food, he’d never given a lot of thought to how it was actually prepared, but he realized his own food tasted better than he’d ever remembered. He considered the number of truly great restaurants San Francisco had to offer and smiled in anticipation. Seeing and tasting the world through her eyes would be an adventure, and he planned to savor it to the fullest.

  He relished watching the strain ease from her features. The worry lines turn to rapt enjoyment, as she tasted each new dish.

  He hated to insist on questioning her about who could possibly be causing the shipping schedule screwups, but his instincts told him the bastard didn’t intend to quit until he’d ruined her business. The question became how far would the hacker go to reach his goal?

  It was obvious from the computer printouts he’d checked that the interference was escalating. Right now the vandalism only reached her through the computer, but what would happen when that didn’t stop her? Sam knew her well enough by now to know she’d never give up. How soon before this guy realized it, too? How soon before he made it personal? Or physical?

  “Don’t you like your sea bass?” Bebe’s concern was evident in her voice and expression. “Would you like some of my pasta? It’s delicious.”

  “No, the bass is perfect and more than enough.”

  “Then why are you frowning?”

  “Was I?”

  “Yes, you were. What were you thinking about?”

  “Nothing we can’t deal with later. Enjoy your meal, but don’t forget dessert.”

  “Mmmm…crème brûlée with caramelized peach sauce.” She closed her eyes as though already enjoying the famed dish. Sam tried not to imagine how she’d look if she were pushed to the brink of sexual satisfaction, her eyes closed in anticipation, head thrown back…

  “What are you having for dessert?”

  You, on silk sheets, if prayers are answered.

  “You choose one for me, and then we can share.”

  “What a good idea,” she said.

  “I’m full of good ideas.”

  Bebe hesitated, her pasta-filled fork halfway to her mouth. Sam scooped spinach-laced potatoes onto his fork. He watched her expression go from suspicious to unconcerned, and then she took the pasta into her mouth. He breathed deeply in relief and vowed to keep his fantasies on a tight leash.

  …

  By the time dessert arrived, Bebe’s energy was spiraling down. Like the little ballerina on a music box, she’d been wound tight all day and now she’d finally slowed, then stopped. She relaxed in boneless comfort back into the cushioned booth. The gusto she’d shown her pasta dish wound down to desultorily alternating bites of her peach-drizzled crème brûlée and the brandy apple cannoli with cream she’d ordered for him.

  Watching her lick the whipped cream off the end of
the spoon with the tip of her delicate pink tongue sent a shaft of searing heat straight to his groin. Watching that same pink tip make a slow foray across her lush lower lip made him grateful a tablecloth covered what could otherwise be an embarrassing condition.

  For the sake of his own physical well-being and any relationship he intended to pursue with Bebe, he decided he’d best escort her safely home before he became, in her mind, a bigger threat than the jerk lurking in her computer.

  He reminded himself to go slowly with her. Whatever devils haunted her, like the one who’d sent her flailing out of his embrace, needed to be dealt with first. But not until the computer wizard scrambled his last schedule. Bebe had too much on her plate right now; she didn’t need his libido added to it.

  She laid down her fork, casting a wistful glance at the remaining dessert. “It’s so good, but I’m so full—there’s no way I could swallow one more bite.” She looked mournfully at the half-eaten cannoli. “Absolutely not another bite.”

  Sam motioned to the waiter, who appeared instantly, as though he’d been beamed. “Yes, Mr. Sugarman?”

  “We’d like the same two desserts to go and the check, please. And could you tell them to bring my car up?”

  Moments later, they were on their way out of the restaurant. He’d picked Aventine because he knew he could get seated immediately, and on a Friday night at dinner hour that was no mean feat without a reservation. But if he’d given it a second thought, he definitely would have gone elsewhere. He’d just wanted to pamper Bebe with good food and excellent service, not introduce her to half the people he knew. As they’d crossed the room, he’d had to nod and smile and mouth hellos, trying not to be rude, but not encouraging conversation, either. Standing in the foyer, waiting for the valet to announce his car, he thought he’d run the gauntlet fairly unscathed.

  Bebe reached for the sack packed with dessert in his hand. “I’ll just hold that for you.” The gleam in her eyes let him know how much she appreciated his gesture. “You must come here often.”

  “The company entertains clients here. They seem to like the ambience, and there’s always the chance they’ll see someone famous. We run a tab, and the service is impeccable. Besides, I like the food.”

  “Ah, now we have the real reason.”

  Sam felt the gust of cold air and looked up just in time to see Toni, the head valet, usher a blond Amazon in a thigh-high slinky blue minidress through the door. He wanted to snatch Bebe up and make an end run for the rear exit. So much for unscathed.

  “Your car’s ready.” Toni held the door. Sam hoped he could escape without much fuss.

  Angelique Brown, eyes the exact color of the dress she wore, smiled like she’d just rifled Tiffany’s.

  “Sam, how nice to see you. I was thinking about you today. I finished the very last piece of my chocolates. They didn’t help my hips any,” she said, smoothing her hand waist to thigh, “but I thought of you with every bite.”

  Bebe went rigid under the hand Sam held at her waist. He tightened his grip and urged her forward. “I’m glad you enjoyed them. All our clients love them. I’ll have Mrs. T. send you another box.” They were almost through the door.

  “Clients?”

  He thought both women had uttered the word at the same time, but he only had to deal with the woman he’d come with. Toni had had sense enough to shut the door on any exclamation Angelique might have made.

  Sam urged Bebe into the idling Jag, tipped the valet, and slid into the driver’s seat. Seat belt secured, he forged into traffic.

  The silence in the sedan held no comfort, but he was determined not to utter the first word. Perhaps if she thought about the situation for a few moments, she’d realize anything that happened before they met had no bearing on their relationship. She was a reasonable adult, a businesswoman. She’d think this through.

  “That woman is a client of Sugarman Financial?” The raised brows and asperity of tone didn’t support his hopes. “If memory serves, and I have an excellent memory, there’s an Angelique Brown on your list of chocolate recipients. Would that have been Ms. Brown?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ahh.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just an indication of understanding.”

  She didn’t sound very understanding to him. She sounded formal, as though she’d begin calling him Mr. Sugarman any minute, and offering him cab fare to drive her home.

  When he pulled up in front of her Victorian apartment building, he got out of the car before she could tell him not to bother. She sat still in her seat until he opened the door, offering her a hand out. She accepted graciously, letting him accompany her to the front step, where she stopped and turned.

  “Thank you for dinner,” she said, looking determined. “Good night.”

  Well, at least she hadn’t called him Mr. Sugarman. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

  “This is the door.”

  “Your apartment door.”

  “That isn’t necessary. I’m perfectly safe here.”

  “Humor me.”

  She rolled her big brown eyes at him, but turned to lead the way up the steps and into the building. The hall lights had been left on, and Sam followed her tempting backside up the stairs. He tried not to stare. He deliberately put his fists in his pockets to keep from reaching for her, but his desire for her was an almost tangible thing, and the pull in his groin was a force to be reckoned with.

  When she reached her door, she fished the key out of her purse and inserted it into the lock. The thunk of the dead bolt sliding back roused sounds from the protective budgie. Bebe opened the door and flipped on a small lamp on the table just inside the door. “It’s me, Tweety. I’ll cover you in a minute. Go back to sleep.”

  Sam stopped on the threshold, knowing he dared go no farther.

  She turned to face him. A soft smile slowly suffused her face. “Thank you for everything.”

  “You’re welcome for everything.”

  She stood still, gazing up into his eyes as though she could see to the depths of his soul. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. In an almost-whisper she asked, “Are you going to kiss me good night?”

  “I believe I am,” he answered in a husky voice, unable and unwilling to do anything other than stare back.

  “Um, in that case, could you wait one second?” She didn’t even pause for his reply; she had to know he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead she hurried across the room, grabbed the footstool from in front of the overstuffed chair, and hurried back to the door. “There,” she said, setting the stool at his feet with a small curtsy worthy of any high-born princess. Climbing up onto the stool, laying her hands on his shoulders, intending to look him straight in the eyes. “Now we’re just right.”

  They weren’t eye to eye, but close enough that tilting his head and her lifting her chin got the job done.

  “We’re absolutely perfect,” he murmured, stepping closer. He eased his arms ever so gently around her and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Oh, God, she was so sweet.

  Mouth to mouth. And it could almost be resuscitation because all the while she’d been retrieving the stool, he’d been holding his breath…would she really let him kiss her? Really kiss her?

  He had no intentions of bungling this. Keeping his hands still at her back with a Herculean act of willpower, he resisted the overwhelming urge to grab what he wanted more than his next breath.

  This had to be her idea. All of it…and how far it went.

  As she stretched to slide her hands around his neck, he leaned closer. Her mouth pillowed his. He hesitated to suck her soft lower lip, but finally gave in to the temptation to pull softly and slide his tongue slowly across it.

  So soft, so sweet.

  His hands found her waist. Just to feel the shape of her. She breathed deeply and arched to tiptoes; his hands tightened.

  She tasted like the most delicious honey. Did he imagine the flavor? Add the barest taste of cho
colate?

  Ah, God, kill me now before I do something to screw this up…

  The small humming sound of satisfaction, of desire, reassured him, and unless she punched him again, he wasn’t about to be the one who drew back. He’d stand right here in this doorway until the second coming if he could, until she’d had enough of him—he’d sure as hell never have enough of her.

  Her delicate tongue traced his lips and ventured inside his mouth. He’d never been this close to passing out—men absolutely did not faint—but he felt damn close. He had to remember to breathe.

  Her small hands sifting through the hair at his nape sent erotic shivers down his back. Imagining her touching him in places where it could really count for something was a seriously bad idea—but impossible not to do. One body part in particular was ready for the “Hallelujah Chorus”…

  When Bebe slid her right inner thigh up his pant leg as though she intended to climb him like a stripper up a velvet pole, his libido was leading the charge; his rational mind—what was left of it—was shrieking warnings like an air-raid siren with a tsunami in sight.

  Her idea—her limits—he was going to die.

  He eased his hands back to Bebe’s waist. What were they doing on her rib cage, his thumbs tucked up under her breasts?

  But this kiss couldn’t be over. His mouth clung to hers.

  He stroked her tongue, listening for more of those breathy sighs as she exhaled.

  Her sudden nail-sinking grip on his shoulders warned him he’d better take command of the situation. Easing back, he had to smile at the glazed look of surprise on her face, and the raging blush infusing her cheeks as she slid her leg down to stand on the stool with both feet.

  He lifted her only enough to set her on the floor, then bent to retrieve the footstool.

  He placed the little velvet-covered stool in her waiting hands and brushed his mouth across her slightly open lips.

  “We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” he said. “Get a good night’s sleep, princess.”

  He made it down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door. He hadn’t been this uncomfortable since he got his first real hard-on and didn’t know how to get rid of it. He knew how now, but that only made the discomfort worse. Well, damn.