"You know, sweetheart, I've been wrestling with my conscience about acting or not acting on this physical-attraction thing. Guess what?"
"What?"
"My conscience lost."
The last thing she saw was his wicked grin before he lowered his head and kissed her.
It was homecoming, and she was the homecoming queen. The never-forgotten pressure of his lips, the familiar taste of Colgate and hungry male.
And yet everything was different. The hot sweetness as she opened her mouth to him and his tongue tangled with hers. His husky moan as he deepened the kiss. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her. Her overwhelming need to rub the aching part of her against his rigid length, knowing that only when he was deep inside her would the ache lessen. More intense, more everything than she remembered.
Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he slid his hands down her back, then gripped her buttocks and lifted her. Slowly, deliciously, he slid her up and down against his erection. Instinctively, she spread her legs to the rough scrape of his jeans against her almost painfully sensitized flesh. With a low moan she pressed harder, deeper, while the slide of his bare chest over her nipples made her want to rip off her blouse and absorb his hot need. Gripping his shoulders, she tried to draw him closer, to the something opening and flowering within her.
His muscles bunched beneath her grip as he deepened the kiss, and her heart pounded out the same message she'd heard fourteen years before.
No, not her heart— the door. She felt his hesitation, his muttered curse as he raised his head to stare past her.
A door. The slamming of the door on his Ford as she'd left him that night. His murmured explanations, vague apologies. But she'd known the dissatisfaction had been only on her side. He'd gotten his release, so everything was all right for him.
It was her; that was the problem. She'd wanted him, but the night had gone flat when the big moment came. It had to be her, because her husband had left her cold in the end, too, and God knew he'd spent more than four minutes trying.
Anyway, she wouldn't do it again with Matt. Wouldn't go through the want, the need, then feel the shattering disappointment, the sense that she was lacking in some way.
Wouldn't do it again? Then why the throbbing need between her legs? Why the feeling that if he slid his finger under the edge of her panties and touched her there she'd scream at the exquisite pleasure, the unbearable sensitivity?
Business. She'd forgotten for a moment. She couldn't let this situation deteriorate any further or else she'd never get the chocolate man done. But she couldn't back down, either. She'd said she'd have to touch him at times, and that much was true. Not often, and not with desire. She'd remain cool and professional when the time came.
Cool and professional. Then why was her whole body shaking?
"Company, sweetheart." The harsh rasp of his voice vibrated through her; the deep exhalation of his breath touched the side of her neck with hot promises.
His murmured warning came just in time for her to drop her hands from him before Jo and Francois breezed into the room.
Jo stood studying them while Francois walked over to the statue. "Hey, Franny, I think Sweet Sin's working."
Ann tried for casualness as she walked over to Francois, dragging sexual tension behind her like a vapor trail. "That's ridiculous, Jo. Sweet Sin's just chocolate, and I was just trying to get the curve of the jaw right." She stared at the chocolate head as though it held the secrets of the universe.
"All the way to his belly button? Matt doesn't need his shirt off for you to do his jaw." Jo sounded gleeful. "Come off it, Ann." She moved over to Francois and slipped her arm though his. "Did you hear me, Franny? Sweet Sin's working."
"Francois, my turtle soup." He sounded distracted.
"I was hot." Matt felt the need to support Ann in some way. Hot, hard, and ready. Ready to fling Ann across his shoulder and carry her up the steps to her apartment. Ready to kick open the door of her bedroom, drop her on her bed, strip off their clothes, and spend the rest of the night making love to her. All night, not three minutes.
"Gotcha, hotshot." Jo grinned at him, then turned her attention to the statue. "Hey, the head looks great, doesn't it, Franny?"
"Francois," he corrected automatically. "You have captured Matt's soul in this head." He glanced at Ann with an awe usually reserved for his own cooking.
"Thanks, Francois. I still have the rest of the body to do, but I'm pretty happy with the head." She ran her fingers across the chocolate cheek that had triggered Matt's latest loss of control.
Matt stepped closer to get a better look at what Ann had done. The last few days he'd spent most of his time studying Ann, not the head, imagining how he'd pull that little blue shirt over her head, watch the lift of her breasts as she raised her arms. Then he'd unsnap her white bra. He drew in his breath on the thought of the bra parting, revealing the smooth perfection of her back. He'd run his finger the length of her spine, feel her shudder run through him. Then he'd turn her to face him.
"There is a soul inside that head." Francois kissed the tips of his fingers. "It is magnifique."
Yeah, a white bra. White against warm, creamy skin, cupping full breasts that would fill his palm, and the outline of nipples pressed against the fabric. The bra would slide from his fingers and he'd—
"What do you think, Matt?" Ann's voice ended any further speculation about the white bra.
"Huh?" He blinked. Ann looked a little anxious, and he realized she was waiting to hear his opinion on the head. "Oh. It's…"
He looked, really looked. Damn, how'd she do that? The head wasn't just anyone; it was him. Unbelievably, he recognized the expression, the remembered feeling. Prom night. Her house. Her mom had answered the door, then stepped aside and he'd seen her. She'd been gorgeous in a light green gown that fit like Velcro. His eighteen-year-old hormones were bench-pressing six hundred pounds by the time he stepped into the living room, and he knew she couldn't mistake the raw hunger in his eyes. And he hadn't given a damn.
That was the expression she'd captured. "It's… incredible."
"Thanks." Her eyes shone with happiness before she turned from him to talk to Jolene.
He glanced at the chocolate again. No, he wasn't imagining it. Just looking at the statue's expression caused his groin to tighten, his breath to quicken at the remembered feeling.
Suddenly, an intriguing thought intruded. She must have carried that memory with her all these years, taken it out and thought about it once in a while. How else could she get it so right? And you didn't remember a person's expression for fourteen years if that person meant squat to you. Hey, things were looking up. He smiled.
"You're smiling. You must like the idea." Ann's voice sounded strangely tight, jerking him back to the here and now.
"Great idea." What the hell had he missed?
"Didn't I tell you, Ann? Matt loves my wedding plans." Jolene slapped him on the back.
Matt staggered. Damn, and here he'd thought playing football in college and getting smashed by three-hundred-pound linemen had been tough.
Ann smiled at him. A deadly smile.
"Yep." Jolene glowed. "Everyone'll have big red dresses. Hoops and everything. And hats. Big hats with real wide brims. Oh, and big parasols. White. I'm still thinking on the rest of the wedding, but we'll have the ceremony on Valentine's Day. Can't get more romantic than that." She paused. "Hmm. After Sweet Sin does its job, maybe we can make it a double wedding. What do you think?"
Ann's smile wavered. "This'll be your day, Jo, and I think you and Francois should be the center of attention. But I wouldn't count on Sweet Sin doing anything. It's just a hunk of chocolate."
Jolene's smile was sly. "Soon to be a hunka man. Don't underestimate the power of Sweet Sin." She grabbed Francois's arm. "Let's get us a burger, Franny."
Francois nodded, then turned an intense stare on Matt and Ann. "The chocolate man comes from the heart. I am French, and the French know mu
ch about the heart." He offered them a knowing smile, then squeezed Jolene's arm. "Come, my little soufflé; let's eat."
Matt heard Jolene close the door, but his attention was fixed on Ann. She'd busied herself with the sculpture, smoothing the jaw that had bothered her. He caught his breath on the remembered sensation of her hand warm against his skin, her fingers lightly playing over his cheek, and the desire to know how those fingers would feel skimming the flesh on his stomach, his inner thigh, his…
He'd grown hard at the thought, so hard he hurt. And when he'd kissed her with the flow of her hair running through his fingers, the sweet heat of her mouth opening to him, and the eager press of her body against his, he'd known she felt his need. Had returned the need. He hadn't imagined her small moan, the hot searching of her lips, her tongue.
So what was he going to do besides run upstairs for a cold shower? He had to take the battle to her, seduce her as he'd done fourteen years ago, and not because he simply wanted closure. It was now a need that ran deeper than that. He hungered to have her naked beneath him, hungered to run his tongue over her sweet, hard nipples, then draw each into his mouth, hungered to slide between her parted thighs and bury himself in her heat, feel her tighten around him…. Damn, he was sweating. Calm down.
Amazingly, more than that, he needed to talk to her about what had happened all those years ago, what had happened a few minutes ago. He'd felt her instant want like the sizzle of a firecracker on the Fourth, all sparkle and promise, but he'd also felt her withdrawal at the end, her resistance to what they both needed. Why?
He'd find out. One way or another, he'd find out.
"The head's perfect. I wouldn't do another thing to it." Moving over beside her, he made sure his arm touched hers. He didn't imagine the slight trembling of her hand as she dropped it away from the chocolate head.
Trembling was good, right? Trembling meant she wasn't thinking about how much profit they made on the Knight deal, wasn't thinking about how many pounds of shrimp she'd need for the Sinclair dinner.
"I guess you're right. Time to move on to the next part. You really like it, huh?"
"It's incredible." You're incredible. He was trembling, too, but it was for the right reasons— sex, excitement, and God-I-can't-wait anticipation. "So why don't you keep going for another couple of hours? I'm not tired."
She looked up at him with huge eyes that screamed how much she wanted to say no.
She nodded, sighed, then turned back to the statue. "I have to get a few measurements; then I can begin."
Measurements? Hmm. Sounded promising. She'd have to touch him to get measurements, and anything that brought her body in contact with his needed to be encouraged. He watched as she pulled a tape measure from her pocket. "Okay, stand still."
"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."
She pulled the tape tight across his chest with an I-can-do-this-even-if-it-kills-me expression. He felt the need to close his eyes against the hurt. It shouldn't be hard for her to touch him. Hey, he was easy to touch.
The scrape of the tape across his nipples made him swallow a groan. Maybe this measuring thing wasn't such a good idea after all. Get your mind off it, Davis. "Do you ever think of us, together, in the backseat of that car, Ann?" Great. A question guaranteed to send her screaming into the night.
"No." The word was a little too firm, a little too certain. She whipped the tape from across his chest, then put it at the base of his throat and stretched it to where the zipper on his jeans began.
He sucked in his breath at the unexpectedness of the move. She frowned as she lost her hold on the tape, then had to reposition it below his navel. The pressure of her thumb on that spot was like an instant bicycle pump. He didn't think zippers were meant to withstand this kind of internal pressure.
He wondered…"Will you have to measure everything before you start?"
She lifted her gaze to his, but he couldn't separate the roiling emotions he saw there. What he could read was a glimmer of amusement, and the tempting twitch of those soft lips in the beginning of a smile.
"Forget it, Davis. When I get there, I'll just make it twice as big as it really is." She was openly laughing now. "You heard Jo. Women like really big Twinkies."
"…clairs," he corrected. Shoot. Twice as big? She sure knew how to wound a guy. "Okay, why don't you want to talk about that night?" If he kept the conversation moving it might take his attention off where she was putting her tape measure. Right.
She finally stuffed the tape measure into her pocket, and he squelched a stab of disappointment.
"What's to talk about?" She avoided his gaze as she returned to the chocolate. "Three minutes? If it were thirty minutes or even an hour, maybe we'd have a lot to talk about."
He frowned. "Three minutes? Are you sure? Okay, even if it was only three minutes, are you telling me you never think of them?"
"Yep." Her fingers were trembling again. "Darn, look what you made me do." Wetting her finger in a bowl of warm water she'd set out for the purpose, she rubbed to smooth out a cut she'd made in the chocolate. As she studied her quick fix, she slid her finger into her mouth and sucked at the chocolate.
His imagination needed no encouragement. Her lips slipping around him. The softness, the heat, the friction. He almost groaned out loud. Desperately, he reached for a paper towel and shoved it at her. "Here."
Surprised, she wiped her hands, then met his gaze directly. "Okay, let's get this over with. What's with the stroll down Memory Lane ? It was over a long time ago."
But the wide-eyed uncertainty on her face said something else. He wasn't quite sure of her message, but he felt encouraged. "You're saying you didn't feel anything when we kissed? There's no way you can make me believe that, sweetheart."
She twisted the paper towel in her hand. "Of course I felt something. I've always felt physical attraction around you. I've already admitted it. But that's as far as it goes."
"Just like that?" Angry, puzzled, he thought about his hunger for her, a hunger that had grown over the past three years, a need he couldn't keep under wraps anymore. And she could coolly dismiss her interest, as if it were nothing; he was an annoying mosquito she could swat and forget. "You're a better man than me, Charlie Brown," he muttered.
"What did you say?" She returned to his side.
"Nothing." He deserved an explanation. She damn well owed him for all the hell she'd put him through. "Just tell me one thing. Why can't we give it another try?"
Deliberately, she studied the chocolate, never glancing at him. "We've been friends for a lot of years, Matt. Let's just say I can get the burner going, smell the food cooking, but when I go to taste it…" She shrugged. "Nothing."
He didn't know what to say, how to respond in the face of her admission. An admission he knew must've been incredibly difficult in spite of her glib delivery. He couldn't be glib in return, couldn't give her the old line about him making it good for her. He hadn't the first time, so what proof did he have he'd be successful the second? Because you want it for her this time.
She must've taken his silence for understanding. "I thought everything would be okay with my husband. He had it all going for him, so why couldn't I respond? I couldn't pretend either, so he found someone who would." She turned her head to glance at him, and he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes.
"Your husband was a jerk." He wanted to find her butthead of an ex-husband and rearrange his face. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and make everything better for her. But she wouldn't let him. He knew that instinctively.
Just as he'd decided in the beginning, she'd have to come to him. She'd have to want him badly enough to give him another chance, give herself another chance.
His smile was slow and easy. Ann had become more than just unfinished business; she'd become… he didn't know. But he did know he was going to hell and back to seduce her.
Reaching over, he broke off a small chip from the block of chocolate right underneath where she was working and bit
into it. "Damn, this is hard. I almost broke a tooth. Let's soften this baby up." He dipped the chocolate into the bowl of warm water.
"Hey, be careful. No eating the profit." He had her full attention now.
Popping it into his mouth, he slitted his eyes at the rich chocolate flavor. "God, that's good. Sweet Sin is the right name." Lingeringly, he drew his tongue over his bottom lip and watched her gaze follow the motion. He was cheating, but he didn't give a damn.
Carelessly, he rubbed his palm across his chest, leaving a smear of chocolate behind. "Sorta reminds me of second grade, when you gave me a Snickers bar to eat while we walked home from school. By the time I was finished, I had chocolate all over you and me. You swore you'd walk home with Billy Lane after that." He narrowed his eyes in thought. "But I accidentally dumped my whole tray on Billy the next day in the cafeteria. You didn't want to walk home with Billy either that day. The smell of pickles was a bit strong."
He laughed and shook his head. "Would you do me a favor and give me your paper towel?"
He expected her simply to hand him the bunched-up towel she still held in her hand. Instead she rubbed the stowel across his chest, and it was like turning the ignition on that old Ford. The hesitation, the spark, then the roar of the engine. Did she understand what her touch did to him? He hoped she did.
Silence stretched between them. Then as though drawn by a need she couldn't resist, she leaned forward and flicked her tongue across his chocolate-covered nipple. He was sure his shudder would splinter him into hundreds of pieces. She'd be sweeping up bits of him along with chips of chocolate. It was like the white-hot streak of lightning that had struck his father's old oak tree last year. The crack, the sizzle, the smell of close-up danger.
Before his baser instincts could work up a head of steam, she looked at him with a shy smile. "The burner's red-hot, and I can smell the cooking, Davis , but I don't think it's dinnertime yet." Moving away, she calmly began working on the chocolate. "Yum. Sweet Sin is powerful stuff."
Talk about a hard-hearted woman. His erection was so rigid, so hot, it hurt. And she coolly went back to work. He didn't think so.
Seduction By Chocolate Page 4
