Sweets to the Sweet
By Jennifer Greene
When single mom Laura Anderson rear-ends a vintage Austin-Healey while taking her baby to the doctor, the last thing she expects is to find her Prince Charming behind the wheel. There’s nothing quite as sexy to a new mother as a man who has a way with babies and comes bearing gifts of gourmet chocolate! Especially when his kisses inspire feelings she thought were lost forever…
Chocolate baron Owen Reesling knows he should stay away from Laura, a woman still obviously wounded by the breakup of her marriage. But he can’t help but fall for the beauty—and her baby. He won’t push her into a relationship, but he’s determined to do whatever it takes to break down the wall she’s built around her heart and convince her to take another chance on love.
Previously published.
42,000 words
Dear Reader,
This was the first book where I used chocolate in a story. It was really tough research, but what can I say? I’m devoted to the subject. (And I’m more than willing to gain a few pounds for my readers. You’re all worth it!)
Still, even though I had great fun with the chocolate touches, my need to write this story came from another place. My heroine had the heart kicked out of her. She has a brand-new baby, a brand-new divorce, and she just moved to a completely new place. She has a secret. The kind of secret you can’t tell. The kind of secret she’ll do anything to keep buried.
The hero isn’t looking for a woman with problems. But once he meets her…well. He’s knocked off his feet. He comes bearing kisses, flowers, and, of course, chocolates. Nothing seems to scare him off…but getting that secret out of her will take everything he has.
This was one of those books “they” told me I couldn’t write. At the time, those forbidden subjects always tempted me the most…. I was delighted when Carina Press gave this story another chance to find new (and familiar) readers! The forbidden stuff is always best shared. (Starting with chocolate, of course.)
I hope you enjoy the story…and don’t hesitate to contact me. I’m easily reachable, either through my author page on Facebook or through my website (www.jennifergreene.com).
All my best,
Jennifer Greene
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About the Author
Chapter 1
A tear dribbled down Laura’s cheek. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she brushed it away impatiently.
Of all the ridiculous… If she’d wanted to fall apart, she’d had plenty of chances over the past year. When she was two months pregnant and filing for divorce from Peter, she hadn’t cried. When she was eight months pregnant and simultaneously trying to move, buy a house and set up her business, she hadn’t cried. When Mari had arrived two weeks early, she admitted to a few indelicate screams, but no blubbering. When, weak as a kitten, she’d brought the baby home, only to remember that no fairy godmother had stocked the house with food or unpacked the rest of her furniture, she hadn’t cried.
At least on those occasions, she’d had good excuses. She certainly didn’t have time to fall apart now. To make things worse, the welling tears were blinding her on a day already marked by poor visibility. Rain was too mild a description of the conditions outside. Deluge was more appropriate. Noah’s ark time.
A sleek Austin-Healey pulled into the road in front of her, old, elegant, and in mint condition. Laura had nothing specifically against vintage Austins, but the driver was obviously determined to crawl along at a snail’s pace. She cast a frantic glance at the baby.
The infant car seat was cushioned in pink angora. Mari was dressed in a spotless white bunny suit and covered with a hand-embroidered blanket in pink and white. From the soft fluff of blond hair to the perfect miniature fingers and toes, the baby was still a source of wonder for Laura. Mari was a little red-faced. She was always a little red-faced when she screamed bloody murder. The piercing wails shattered somewhere near Laura’s eardrums like the sound of despair.
The louder the baby cried, the more tears sneaked down Laura’s cheeks.
She had to get the baby to a doctor. She’d taken Mari’s temperature four times that morning. The baby didn’t have a fever; she was fed, warm, dry and, God knew, loved. There was nothing in the baby books about an infant who ate like a lumberjack, slept like a stone and screamed the rest of the time. Something had to be terribly wrong.
While trying to soothe the infant with one hand, Laura jammed a foot on the accelerator. Water spit behind the tires of her ancient Chevy. White oaks bordered both sides of the rolling country road, their bark shining, their leaves glistening like emeralds. Connecticut was…wonderful. Especially in early summer. Woods and hills and history—it was the kind of place in which Laura had always wanted to live, the kind of home she wanted for Mari. The ravine behind her house was blanketed with wood hyacinths and wild lilacs, and at night the stars nestled down close to the treetops, almost touchable.
Last year had been hell, but at least it was over. Laura had everything she wanted and needed to put her life back together—Mari, a home and her work. Now, if the baby would stop crying…
The green light in the distance turned amber, then red. Laura automatically started to brake, and then Mari let out a frantic muffled yell. Her tiny fists had been flailing; she’d managed to cover her face. When Laura leaned back to grab the blanket, her foot slipped from the brake to the accelerator. She caught less than a second’s glimpse of the Austin looming in front of her.
Her first and only instinct was to protect the baby. The taste of tin flooded her mouth as a spine-jarring jolt shuddered up her vertebrae, followed by the sound of shattering glass and metal climbing on metal. Brakes screamed in the distance.
The silence was more sudden than the crash.
Violently trembling, Laura yanked off the safety belt and leaned over the back seat, her attention focused only on the baby. Mari’s big blue eyes stared at her peaceably. A hiccup followed. Straightening, Laura smoothed the baby’s blanket with shaky hands and inhaled huge gulping breaths. Her throat was clogged with a gigantic lump of mixed guilt, horror and relief. Mari wasn’t hurt—no thanks to her mother.
Grabbing her purse, Laura pushed at the door. Either it was jammed or she didn’t have the strength of a marshmallow. She tried again, and the door flew open. Big, fat drops of rain immediately saturated her white lace blouse and dampened her disheveled hair. A streak of lightning darted into the treetops; thunder bellowed in the distance. Her legs didn’t want to support her. She made them.
Her Chevy’s front end was crushed like used tinfoil. The back of the Austin-Healey had fared better, but it was no longer in mint condition. She ignored the cars the way she ignored the rain, jogging toward the driver’s door of the other vehicle.
She wrenched it open, her heart nearly stopping when she saw the dark-haired man slumped over the steering wheel. “Oh, God…” He moved, and she breathed again. “You’re all right? I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I…oh, you’ve got a little cut on your forehead.” She pulled a clean folded diaper out of her purse and began dabbing at the tiny streak of red.
“Lady.”
He didn’t exactly knock her hand away, but it was a definite push. Her first glimpse of his face was of dark gray eyes, as friendly and volatile as black fire. A slash of jet brows hooded the fury in those eyes. Barely.
She had only seconds to form an impression. He was a dark, striking man with a thick pelt of short ha
ir, wearing an expensive gray suit that strained to fit his shoulders. Thirty-five? A blade of a nose set off chiseled cheekbones and a stubborn jaw. Control joined with intelligence and lines of authority in his features. His mouth was compressed in an uncompromising line.
Maybe sometime in the far future she would be fascinated by the way those features were put together, but not now. Now, the only impression that registered was his anger, and nobody that mad could be hurt too badly.
“I’ll be right back,” she said swiftly, and darted off to her own car. Mari had started crying again. Laura reached in to soothe the infant. Her hands were badly trembling as they gently caressed her daughter’s cheek. The pulse hammered in her throat, refusing to slow down. “Don’t cry,” she said desperately. “Please, darling, please…”
Her head jerked up for another crash of thunder. There was no way she would expose Mari to the storm. Taking one last glance at the baby, she raced back to the stranger’s car. Two long legs were gingerly climbing out of the driver’s seat. Standing, the stranger was an imposing head taller than she was, and at a rough guess, carried two hundred pounds of irritation to back up that height.
“You are all right,” she said in a rush. “Look, this is all my fault and I’m terribly sorry, but if your car’s still running, could I possibly borrow the keys?”
“What?”
She dragged a hand through her hair. “I don’t blame you for being irritated, but you don’t understand—”
“Lady. You just plowed into my car.”
“Yes. I know that. And if I were alone, I wouldn’t be asking you, but Mar—never mind.” She cast another frantic glance at her car, then abruptly shoved her purse in his stomach. “Look, I just don’t have time to explain. In there. You can have it all. There’s some money, the keys to my house. Credit cards…” Again, she shoved the dripping light brown mane away from her face. “You can have everything. Really. And I just need your car for a few minutes; I swear I’ll have it back to you—”
“You’re crazy!”
“I need your car.”
“You’ll drive this car when hell freezes over.” He immediately added, “Maybe.”
“Look. I can’t just stand here arguing with you…”
She darted off again, the wind tossing her skirt around her bare legs. Owen shook his head, trying to clear it. He was used to solving tough business problems, and as if by reflex his heart was already pumping adrenaline, his mind consolidating options…but this situation was a little different from the ones he usually faced. Even in the worst crisis between New York and Brazil, he could at least count on his adversaries’ being rational.
And his forehead hurt. In the crash, his temple had connected with the reading glasses he’d stuck behind the visor. As he rubbed the growing welt above his left brow, his eyes narrowed on the woman’s slim form as she bent into her car.
He guessed her age at twenty-five, and she was wearing some kind of high-necked lace blouse that reminded him of a cameo. Earlier, when she’d tried to smother him—she’d clearly never had a course in first aid—he’d caught the smell of hyacinths. And rain. Her oval face had been a pale blur, but he still carried the image of incredible turquoise eyes, framed by a dark spray of lashes and delicately arched brows.
At the moment, all he could see was the feminine curve of her hip and slim white legs jutting out of the car. A frown pleated his forehead. The woman was clearly irrational, and that bothered him. Absently, he catalogued the delicate features, the long, rich hair curled to her shoulders, the determined chin, and—from somewhere—had an impression of intelligence and pride. In the business world, Owen had learned to do a quick read on people. This woman just didn’t strike him as someone who was habitually irrational.
In the three long strides it took him to reach the back of his car, he decided she might be one of those people who simply overreacted in a tense situation. Inspecting the damage to his Austin-Healey, he was tempted to do the same.
The beautiful antique car was the first toy he’d allowed himself in a very long time, and he’d just finished his first drive. The gleaming chrome didn’t even have a fingerprint. The sleek beauty hugged curves the way silk clung to a woman’s body, soared responsively at his slightest touch, and purred when pushed to the limit. His darling was now crumpled chrome and glass, and though the dent could be fixed, the once-perfect suspension system would never be the same.
The woman rushing toward him was treated to the dangerous silence that regularly terrorized his boardroom.
“My car won’t run,” Laura said helplessly.
“No kidding?”
“Look—”
“Did you even consider slowing down for the red light?”
“You’re angry. Believe me, I don’t blame you, but I have to get my baby to the doctor!” Huge turquoise eyes tilted up to his, far too distraught to see his sudden change in expression.
“Wait a minute. You didn’t say anything about a baby before.”
“I’ve been trying to. You were so angry—”
“She was hurt in the accident?”
“No, it has nothing to do with that. All day she’s been crying, and I…she’s ill; I know she’s terribly ill. I’ve been so frightened, and—” Her head jerked up when she heard the wail of a police siren, and she gave the stranger a frantic glance. “Please…”
Again she was shakily trying to push back the mat of damp hair from her forehead; Owen found himself doing it for her, mesmerized by the luminous softness in her eyes. His touch was soothing, gentling. Suddenly, neither of them was aware of the rain. “We’ll get your baby to a doctor,” he promised quietly.
The look of haunted tension faded from her expression; she almost smiled. “I wouldn’t ask you, but my car won’t run—”
Owen glanced at the growing confusion around them. Other cars were backing up, people clustering close, the police approaching. He turned back to her. “First things first—let’s get you out of the rain. You can use my car.”
“I’m not leaving Mari.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you leave your Mari. I’ll bring you the baby.”
“Wait. I’ll get her myself. I don’t want her to get wet in this rain.”
“I’ll see that she doesn’t get wet.”
“She’s crying…”
“And you’re getting soaked. Now, in.” He held the car door open with one hand, propelled her forward with the other and then hesitated. “What’s your name?”
“Laura. Laura Anderson.”
“Well, Laura Anderson, there are some clean shirts in back. Get yourself dry.”
The door closed before Laura could say anything else. His car had the smell of expensive leather and the faint lingering scent of the man, both alien to the female and baby scents she’d been surrounded by in recent weeks. Feeling disoriented, she reached for one of his freshly laundered shirts to dry her face and hair, then twisted her head to see out the back window.
Outside, a man in a bright yellow slicker was routing traffic, around their cars. A charcoal sky was still dumping buckets of rain as a patrol car pulled up behind her crumpled Chevy. She saw it all in fleeting images; her eyes were fixed on the tall, dark-haired man bending over the front seat of her car.
Wrapping her arms around her chest, she closed her eyes and fought to regain emotional control. She’d never felt quite so close to hysteria before. However minor the accident, the crash was the last straw after months filled with crises. Admit it, Laura. For once, it feels darn good to let someone else take charge, just for a few minutes…
Her eyes flicked open. He was striding toward her, looking rather amusing, actually, with a diaper bag slung over his impeccably tailored suit. Except that she didn’t see Mari. Alarmed, Laura reached for the door handle just as he opened the other side. Seeing the fluff of Mari’s blond hair nestled between his shirt and suit coat, she breathed a quick sigh.
“What on earth did you do to make her stop crying?” She
instantly extended her arms to the little one, only by accident letting her eyes travel up to his. Humor was glinting in his dark silver eyes, and his mouth was twisted in a peculiar expression.
“When I looked inside the car, I was half expecting to find an infant in desperate need of a hospital.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I’m doubting your judgment, but are you sure she needs a doctor?”
Laura’s arms folded protectively around the baby. “I know she looks healthy—”
“Thriving, healthy, pink-cheeked and sassy.”
“But she cries. If you’d heard her this morning…”
“Yes.” He added politely, “Do you always dress her for arctic conditions?”
Laura’s jaw dropped. “It was raining outside!”
“It’s still sixty-five degrees. You had a thick blanket under her, another one over her, this thing completely covering her—”
“She’s only three weeks old,” Laura protested. “And the infant seat is too hard without a blanket. And this thing is a bunny suit that covers her head; you’re supposed to keep a newborn’s ears covered. They get ear infections. You have to be very careful—”
“Spock from Star Trek never worried about ear infections, and think of his ears,” Owen murmured.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. She’s your first baby, isn’t she?” He sighed. “Which suddenly explains a great deal.”
“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” But her voice softened. Mari was trying to jam a tiny fist into her mouth, but she wasn’t crying. Laura forgot the accident; she forgot the argument. The weight of the baby felt perfect in her arms, making up for just about everything that ever had or ever could happen to her.
When she glanced up again, the man was studying her with a faint smile. How amazing that at first she’d thought his mouth was rigid, his features uncompromisingly stern. His smile didn’t erase the lines of authority and control, but there was definitely a kind man behind the threatening mask. Never one to trust a stranger, Laura abruptly realized that she already had, in allowing him to touch Mari. The thought was unsettling.
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