"Let's not. I've decided to start with feet. Man's foundation. Planted firmly on Mother Earth. Yep, I'll definitely start with feet."
"Hey, if you don't want to talk about lips, it's fine with me."
She closed her eyes. Thank you, Lord.
"We can talk about eyes." His soft murmur, so close, was her only warning.
She felt his lips touch each of her closed lids and wondered why she felt tears forming. Opening her eyes, she blinked frantically to keep the tears from running down her face. Why the heck was she crying? PMS? A full moon? High tide?
A memory? He'd kissed her lids fourteen years ago, before he'd… It'd been the only tender gesture he'd made. After that kiss, it had been hot bodies tangled in a basic act ending with his muffled groan and… nothing.
She'd never cried over it. What was there to cry about? She knew the score. Even then, Matt wasn't into relationships. The fact that they'd been friends didn't change the male-female equation. She'd gotten over it a long time ago. So why the tears?
He was so close, she could see the concern in his gaze even through her tear-blurred eyes. "Don't cry, sweetheart."
"Damn." He backed away, then raked his fingers through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry. You can start anywhere you want."
Depressed, he watched her turn away and fumble for a tissue from her pocket. What had he said? Reducing her to tears hadn't been the reaction he'd hoped for. Forcing his hands to his sides, he clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her, pulling her to him, and burying his face in her hair, burying himself in…
She dabbed at her eyes. "Sorry. I don't know what that was about."
No. He wouldn't go there right now. Maybe he'd never go there, because next time she'd have to come to him. He'd made the decision the first time and botched it. Now he'd just driven her to tears. He didn't want either to happen again.
"I… I'll work on the head for a while."
"Great." He'd moved too quickly. Sure, Davis. You learned a lot in fourteen years. Ann was the only woman who'd ever made him lose control. Over the years, he'd thought he'd forgotten that night, forgotten the hot need that had him unzipping his jeans the moment they'd crawled into the backseat. He could still feel the rock-hard pressure of his body against the smooth softness between her legs.
He'd been a jerk. Talk about faster than the speed of light. Sex. She hadn't known how to, and he hadn't known how not to. That was a bad combination.
"Turn your head a little to the right, Matt."
"Sure, sure." A failure. He'd wanted her too much. You still do. He'd been a stupid kid, afraid to ask her out again after he'd seen the disappointment in her eyes. Then she'd gone to college, married some jerk….
"Try to smile a little, Davis."
"Smiling on cue." Three years ago they'd met again, a long way from the backseat of his old Ford. She would laugh him all the way to Amarillo if she knew he still had that junker in his garage.
"Much better. You have a great smile, Matt. I hope I'm getting the proportions right."
"As long as I don't have a pointed head." He'd waited three years, afraid to ruin their newfound friendship, but he couldn't wait any longer.
"I probably should've taken some measurements first. Heck, this is a big piece of chocolate, and I can fix it if I have to."
"There's not much that can't be fixed, sweetheart." This time he'd show her he'd built up a little stamina. But the thought of climbing into a backseat with Ann Hawkins still made him so hot he wondered if he'd last long enough to prove he'd matured. Maybe his hormones would always be young and crazy where she was concerned.
"This should be a snap to finish in two weeks. What do you think?"
"A snap." The bottom line? He wanted another chance, another night with Ann Hawkins. These two weeks would be his best shot. Then maybe he could get her out of his mind, out of his memory.
"I thought something this big would—"
He'd never know what she thought, because suddenly the door opened, letting in a blast of warm air and trouble.
"Glory be, Franny, it's a sign! I've been given a sign!" The large red-haired woman standing in the doorway looked like Moses must've looked as he parted the Red Sea.
Ann turned in midsentence. Matt watched as the woman ignored them, sweeping past in a cloud of perfume to engulf the chunk of chocolate in a billowy embrace.
"I prefer Francois, cream puff." The small man left standing in the doorway studied the situation calmly. "My public would never trust a truffle prepared by a French chef named Franny."
Matt strode over to the chocolate. "Okay, Jolene. What're you doing back here, and why're you hugging the chocolate?"
Jolene ignored Matt. "Stuff it, lovepot. Your public thinks truffles are froufrous that ballet dancers wear. They expect chili from you that's so hot it'll make strong men cry."
Matt raised his voice. "It's late, Jolene. Why're you here?"
Jolene blinked at him. "Franny and me were making a Wal-Mart run when we saw the lights on. We figured we'd better check to see that everything was okay. Hey, we have a stake in this place. After you guys, who's more important than your head chef and his chief coordinator?"
She returned her attention to the chocolate, giving it another enthusiastic hug guaranteed to break it into two useless pieces. "And what do we find? A sign."
Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw Ann move up beside him. The brush of her sleeve against his bare arm drew his attention from Jolene.
"Go easy on the chocolate, Jo. We have big plans for it." Ann's voice was just a little husky, her eyes just a little red. Matt's heart beat just a little faster.
"Ah, you were doing a little late-night cooking, mais oui?" Francois walked over to the massive piece of chocolate. He frowned. "You were creating a large sweet and you weren't going to allow the master of French sweets, moi, to guide you? I am devastated."
Matt knew when the game was up. "Carlson offered us all his catering business if we'd do a chocolate-man sculpture for his daughter. She's giving a party for a friend who's getting married. We have two weeks to finish this baby."
"We?" Jolene didn't miss a pronoun. "Ann's doing the carving, so what'll you be doing, hotshot?"
"He'll be posing." Ann's glance had payback written all over it. "Naked." Her eyes, voice, and intention were clear. She smiled. "Carlson wants a naked chocolate man. Matt agreed to it." She shrugged. "So we'll be here every night for the next couple of weeks." She cast Matt a pointed stare. "Working."
"But this is wonderful." Francois had the gleam of the zealot in his gaze as he grinned at Ann. "I can be here each night to offer a master's guidance—"
"No!" Matt had never meant no more in his life. "This isn't going to be carving-by-committee. I won't stand in front of a mob while everyone argues over the size of—"
"Big. Very big," Jolene offered.
"Proportionate," Francois corrected.
"Forget it," Ann decided. "Matt's right. This is hard enough for him without an ogling audience."
Surprise warred with gratitude in Matt's heart. Surprise that Ann hadn't jumped at the chance to drag in two friends to diffuse any sexual tension hanging around. Gratitude that she understood at least part of what he felt.
Francois gave a Gallic shrug. "If you will not take advantage of my expertise, I can at least examine your work each morning, correct any mistakes in proportion before they become a disaster." He seemed to brighten at the prospect.
Matt decided to compromise. "Sounds good to me. How about you, Ann?"
Ann shrugged. "I guess it's okay, but I know a lot about proportion, Francois."
Jolene seemed puzzled. "What's to understand? You're making this for a bunch of women, right? So you'll have to carve a man with a big Twinkie. Women like big Twinkies." She cast Matt a sly glance. "I bet you won't have to do any exaggerating, Ann."
Francois looked horrified. "Éclair, amour. A big éclair. Twinkie is so… bourgeois."
Ann had a desperate look.
"You were talking about a sign when you came in. What sign?"
Jolene allowed herself to be sidetracked. "Franny asked me to marry him yesterday. I love him, but marriage is a big step for a single woman with lots of things going on." She moved over beside Francois. "This chocolate is a sign that Franny and me should tie the knot."
Matt watched, fascinated, as Francois hugged Jolene, or as much of her as he could reach. "Ah, my Jolene is the main course. All other women?" He stopped hugging long enough to snap his fingers. "They are merely appetizers."
"I think I missed something. Run this past me again. Why was the chocolate a sign?"
Jolene glanced at Matt with an amazed expression. "You don't know about this chocolate?" She pointed to a symbol cut into the block.
Matt took a closer look. It was a heart with a big S superimposed over the top of it. He shrugged. "So what's it mean?"
Jolene cast him a pitying glance. "You look good, hotshot, but you don't know much about the important things in life."
Got that right. Matt felt Ann's hand on his arm, and he knew she sensed his impatience. "Okay, so what's so all-fired important about this chocolate?"
"This is Sweet Sin chocolate." Jolene gave Francois an affectionate hug. Francois winced. "It's a brand. When Franny and me first got together, he bought me a box of Sweet Sin chocolate-covered cherries, Born to Sin. Never forgot those chocolates or the time we had eating them together. So when I walked in and saw that big, beautiful hunka chocolate, it made me think of long nights and hot sex. Of course that made me think of my Franny." She clasped Francois's hand and squeezed. He bore the pain with only a small grimace. "It was a sign."
Jolene turned her attention to Ann. "I sure don't know how you're gonna stand eyeballing all that bare, beautiful manhood without jumping his bones." She winked. "You watch yourself. Sweet Sin chocolate's like a potion. It brings lovers together. You're not careful, it'll do its magic on you."
Ann walked over to pick up a large piece of plastic. "I guess I'm not as hot-blooded as you, Jo." She threw the plastic over the chocolate. "Would you roll this into the cooler for me, Matt?"
Matt fumed all the way to the storage cooler. She didn't care. She really didn't care. Her expression had been as cold as the air in this fridge. Okay, think. So Ann was a hard sell. He was a salesman. He sold their catering business to customers every day. Maybe it was time to get down and dirty about selling himself.
Ann watched Matt emerge from the cooler and wondered why the alarms signaling a temperature rise hadn't sounded. She sure felt the heat. Next time it'd be shorts and a tank top for her.
She'd gotten rid of Jo and Francois with a promise to be one of the bridesmaids in their "authentic Southern wedding." Knowing Jo, that could get awfully scary. But she would've promised anything to escape from Jo's pointed suggestions about what a real woman would do with a real man like Matt Davis.
Well, the real man was striding in her direction and he looked mighty grim. She tried to remember that she wanted a strictly business relationship. So grim was good, right? Grim meant he wasn't having the kinds of thoughts she was having.
"I have to get my shoes. I left them up in your apartment." He didn't smile as he headed toward the stairs.
Don't follow him. Only a fool would follow him. She followed him. "I'm sorry we didn't get too much done tonight. Maybe it's best they found out now. It would've been embarrassing if they'd walked in when I was carving—"
"They wouldn't have. Remember, that part will only take an hour." He didn't sound friendly as he slipped on his sneakers. "So what're the chances?"
Even as her mouth refused to stay closed, her gaze noted the incongruity of this large man in her small living room. Light and airy versus dark and glowering. What the heck was he so mad about?
She wasn't dumb enough to ask. But she'd better say something before he remembered he hadn't finished the sensual tour of the head he'd been conducting earlier. "By tomorrow night I'll be ready to get a feel for the torso. Sound okay?" She looked away to pick a dead leaf from one of her many hanging plants.
"What kinds of things will we be getting the feel for?" His husky murmur was right next to her ear, and she shivered as his warm breath fanned the side of her neck.
"Oh, this and that." She didn't dare take her gaze from her plant. Wimp.
She caught his warm chuckle, then the sound of him walking toward the door. "Sweet dreams, Ann." She heard the click of the door closing.
She felt like a limp noodle as she slumped onto her wicker chair. "Yeah, right." She addressed the dumbcane guarding her door. "Sweet dreams of Sweet Sin."
Chapter Three
"Hey, almost done. And it only took two days." Ann studied the head. "Feel free to applaud, throw confetti."
"Hmmph. That was the easy part. You've been looking at my face since you were six years old." Matt rubbed the back of his neck. "Cripes, I have a stiff neck from holding my head still."
She glanced at her reluctant model slouched on the edge of the counter. "Okay, so your face is familiar. Where did you get that little scar above your eye? I never noticed it before."
"A bad pitch, sweetheart. Remember?"
"Oh." That bad pitch. "I was only eleven years old."
She glanced critically at the chocolate head. "Everything's perfect except for that one cheek." Intent on getting the curve just right, she didn't think as she walked over to Matt and ran her hand lightly along the side of his face.
Her concentration shattered at the instant sensation of beard-roughened skin and clenched jaw. She attempted to jerk her hand away, but he prevented it by placing his hand firmly over hers.
"Don't touch me unless you mean it, sweetheart." He released her hand, then smiled. But there was no smile in his eyes, just a hot challenge she had no business considering.
"It was the only way for me to get the cheek right." She rubbed her hand against her thigh as though she could erase the feel of his warm skin, the knowledge in his taunting smile.
"Boy, what a grouch." How had she worked with Matt Davis for three years and not seen what simmered beneath the surface, not felt the tension thrumming through him? Felt the same tension in herself?
She'd be a fool to accept his challenge. "Let's get one thing straight, Matt. Sometimes looking isn't enough. Sometimes I have to touch to get a body part right." She'd be a fool not to accept his challenge. "Take off your shirt so I can start the torso."
He smiled, a lazy, relaxed-tiger smile. "I love a woman who knows her own mind." He pulled his T-shirt over his head in one smooth motion.
It was so simple. "You know, I do know my own mind." About things not involving Matt Davis. "But I just realized something about us. For three years I've felt like a candle on one of my deluxe birthday cakes when you're around, ready to go poof if you lit the match."
"Poof, huh? Poof is good."
"Right. So I tried to ignore the feeling, made excuses. But ever since we started this chocolate man I've felt you weren't the Mr. Cool-and-Detached I thought you were."
"I don't have a detached bone in my body, sweetheart."
Wonderful! Shared feelings. "And I'm ready to admit there's a physical-attraction thing working here, but we don't have to act on it. So, how do you feel about that?" Hmm. Maybe she'd carried this true-confession minute a bit far.
"Good."
She frowned. "Good that we have a physical-attraction thing, or good that we don't have to act on it?"
He shrugged. "Whatever you want it to be." He rubbed his shirt across the broad expanse of his bare chest, then dropped it on the counter.
"Great. I'll leave the riddle solving for another day." She intended to enjoy the moment. Only a few days ago, she'd believed she couldn't do this, but now? Whether it was because of the sudden explosion of sexual tension since she decided to make the man, or even the mysterious power of Sweet Sin, she was ready to sail, raging insecurities and all, into uncharted waters.
Matt stretched. "It's a rush, isn't
it, when you say or do something unexpected, something dangerous?"
His stretch. The pull of muscle across his chest, the tightening of his stomach. The tightening of her stomach. "I've never done anything dangerous in my life." Until now.
Finished with his stretch, he eased off the counter and walked over to her. "You climbed into the backseat with me fourteen years ago."
She took a deep breath to counter the lack of oxygen when he was near. "Am I supposed to react to that? Laugh and say something banal about foolish teens? Sorry, nothing banal comes to mind." In fact, her mind wasn't working at all. It had shut down at the first wave of sensory overload.
"Oh, I don't know about the foolish part. Do you remember our trips to the beach?"
"Vaguely." Sun and sand. Her fingers smoothing sun-screen on his warm, tanned skin. She'd felt the heat, hot and thick, when she was too young to look past physical attraction. So what was her excuse now, when she considered herself old and wise?
"God, those were the good old days."
"They were okay." How could she have forgotten that stomach? A narrow strip of fine hair that arrowed down until it disappeared under the top of his jeans. The road to ruin, her mother would've said. She remembered the slide of her fingers over his stomach as she slathered the oil onto his hot skin. The arrow of hair had turned darkly slick as it lay against his stomach. A well-traveled road, Mom would've said.
A well-marked road. There were danger signs every few inches. And she knew she was about to ignore one of the most basic warnings. Don't touch.
"We traveled a lot of roads together." She didn't even blink as she drew her finger down the middle of his chest, following the line of hair until his jeans stopped her.
The sluggish remnant of her common sense groaned in despair. "I… I had to get a feel for where your solar plexus was. Uh, like"—she made a vague motion with one hand—"finding your center of gravity." She emphasized her statement with another meaningless gesture. "So I could get both sides of you even."Brilliant, Hawkins. Rodin just flopped over in his grave.
He took a deep breath. There must be a general lack of oxygen in this room.
Seduction By Chocolate Page 3
