Without thinking, she leaned close and closed her eyes in anticipated bliss. Slowly she licked the still-wet chocolate from each dimple. All she needed was a contented purr and a soft— no, make that hard— male lap to sleep in and she'd be a perfect house kitty.
"What the hell're you doing?" His voice was harsh, strained, beyond control.
Uh-oh. End of strange fantasy. "Knocking down walls?" Weak, Hawkins. Very weak.
"Come here, woman." He turned, grabbed her hand, then pulled her erect. She slid the length of his body, feeling his hard want from her breasts to between her thighs. "You've driven me crazy since I was six years old. It stops now."
"Crazy? I've driven you crazy? I'm not the one who put peanut butter in someone's hair in second grade. I'm not the one—"
"Shush." He touched her lips with his finger and left a smear of chocolate there. "You are the one. I was crazy for not seeing it sooner."
What? She was the one for what? She had to know. But she didn't get a chance to ask. She watched as his gaze focused on her mouth. Knew what he intended.
Tipping her chin up with gentle fingers, he lowered his head and slid his tongue across her chocolate-covered lips. Her lips parted at the sweetness of his touch, and he took advantage. His lips, his tongue promised that this time would be different.
She met the thrust of his tongue with her own. Revelation. Yes, this time would be different, because she was different. Fourteen years ago, he'd kissed her. Now? Now she was a full participant, her lips hungry for him, her body yearning to touch his, not merely waiting for him to touch her.
He broke the kiss with a groan, threw back his head, and breathed deeply. "Upstairs."
She nodded. If he had breath for only one word, she had none. Climbing the stairs, she felt him close behind her, the heat from his bare body touching her, his hunger reaching for her.
At the top of the stairs, he put his hand on her shoulder and she turned. "I sure did make a mess of that outfit, sweetheart. How about I take it off for you?" He touched her chocolate-smeared blouse above her right nipple. Tantalizingly, he circled the nipple with the tip of his finger, then bent down to touch it with his tongue.
The shock wave of sensation spread, rose, and crested, making her clutch him for support. Only her hold on him kept her from being washed away in the sensual undertow. "No. Not yet."
He moved away from her, and she was surprised he'd even heard her faint whisper.
She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. "I want it to last more than fifteen seconds this time."
"Fifteen seconds?" He slanted her a wicked grin. "Oh, it'll last a whole lot longer this time, sweetheart." He glanced down at his body. "Think I'll take a shower. Want to join me?"
She shook her head. "Can't. Three won't fit in the stall."
"Three?" He bent down to pick up several pieces of chocolate that had dropped from him onto her carpet. "Damn. I'm shedding like a dry Christmas tree."
"Yep." She reached out and pulled off several large pieces of hardened chocolate from his hip. Then she dropped her hand, forcing herself not to go chocolate picking on more interesting body parts. "You, me, and your ghost." Oh, what the heck. Eagerly she reached for a loose flake of chocolate right on his—
"Uh-uh." Matt grasped her hand and returned it gently to her side. "Don't touch or else you'll get my ten-second special. Now, what about this ghost in your shower?"
She shrugged. "Your ghost has been there ever since you started using the shower every night."
His smile softened, and she felt the heart-tug, the… love? The word shimmered, not quite real, just out of reach. Maybe.
"Here's hoping he becomes a permanent resident." Matt frowned, and she resisted the urge to trace the line between his eyes. "He'll have to take a hike, though, when you and I…" His comment trailed off as though he'd said more than he'd intended. He turned toward the bathroom. "Let me take care of this shower, and I'll be right out."
Matt let the water pour over him, rinsing away the remainder of the chocolate. Cold water. He'd promised he'd let Ann make the decisions this time around, and he needed to be cool and calm. At least at the beginning. He grinned. Well, at least for the first five seconds.
Turning off the faucet, he stepped from the shower and toweled himself dry. Hmm. Should he pull on his jeans to give her some breathing room, try for the I'm-a-sensitive-kinda-guy image? Or should he wrap a towel around his hips and show his true colors? Matt Davis, the I-want-you-so-much-I-can-taste-it sort of man.
Now that the shower was off, he could hear her rummaging around in her bedroom. What was she looking for?
He'd just about opted for the towel when he heard an enormous crash. What the hell…? He dragged on his jeans, then yanked open the bathroom door and charged into the bedroom. He stopped dead.
She'd thrown open her window and was leaning out to stare down at the street. Some sheer red nothing of a nightgown stretched tightly across her incredible behind. It was enough to bring a strong man to his knees. And God knew, where Ann was concerned he was Popeye without his spinach, a Jedi without the Force, Samson without…
Before he could dredge up any more examples of strong men brought low, she straightened and turned to him. "I don't believe it. Francois just hit your car." She worried her bottom lip with straight white teeth.
He imagined those teeth nibbling on him, on very sensitive parts of him. "My car?" What car? He had a car?
"Maybe you shouldn't look. It's not pretty." She made shooing motions as he strode to the window. "Francois and Jo are okay. I'm sure they have insurance. I mean, maybe it's not too bad."
He stared down at his beloved Mustang. Not too bad? Godzilla had made a direct hit on it. It was monster-mush.
"At least Francois and Jo weren't hurt." Her voice sounded unsure.
"Not yet. But when I get downstairs I wouldn't make any bets." The Mustang was only two months old, for crying out loud. "Get hurt? How? That damn truck they drive is a tank."
He pounded down the stairs. After he tore Francois limb from limb, he'd climb back up those stairs and… The thought of what awaited him upstairs soothed him a little. Maybe he wouldn't kill Francois after all. If the cook escaped with his life he'd have Ann to thank.
A hand-wringing Francois and a subdued Jolene waited for him in the kitchen.
"I can't believe what I have done. It was only a little tap." He looked at Matt with a mournful expression. "Your car, it fell apart. Right in front of my eyes it fell apart."
"Yeah? Well, they probably heard that little tap on the other side of the island." Matt's temper was gathering force again.
Jolene stepped in front of Francois. "Hey, hotshot, it's okay. We have insurance. It'll be as good as new."
"Fine. But while it's being made 'as good as new,' how the hell am I going to get home?" Of course, he didn't want to go home. At least not tonight. Maybe never. Never? The thought intrigued him.
"I'll drive you."
Ann's voice spun him around. She'd dressed in shorts and a white blouse. She held his shoes and shirt in her hand. Rats.
She stepped up beside Matt. "Why did you stop by?"
Francois glanced past her at the unfinished sculpture. "We had come to discuss menu choices for our wedding."
"Hmmph." Jolene threw her arms across Francois's narrow shoulders and squeezed encouragingly. "Since our goose is cooked anyway, we may as well have that for the main course."
Francois's gaze turned animated. "Your chocolate man is still not finished. I can help with this. Let me finish him to make up in some small way for the car."
"Have you done this before?" Matt considered the offer. It would take the burden from Ann's shoulders and let her concentrate on… other things.
"Mais oui. In Paris , I—"
" Newark ," Jolene corrected.
"But of course, my crème brûlée." He cast her a reproachful glance, then looked back at Matt. "I sculpted masterful creations in—"
"Shop. His
teacher kept catching him making these things out of metal when he should've been—"
Francois glared at his beloved. "You are a wealth of fascinating info rmation, my onion ring, but I do wish you would keep quiet occasionally."
Jolene blinked in shock. "Oh, well, yeah. Maybe you're right."
Francois grinned happily.
Way to go, Francois. Matt thought the chocolate man might be in good hands after all.
"Why don't you wait for me in the car, Matt? I have to get something from upstairs." Ann handed him the keys to her car.
"Fine." Fine didn't exactly describe what he felt. His night was shot. "I'll get the insurance info rmation from you tomorrow morning, Francois."
He slammed the kitchen door on his way out to indicate his pissed-off frame of mind. Then he slammed the car door shut to emphasize it. He didn't even want to look at his car. If he did, he'd probably go back inside and beat Francois to a pulp.
Slumping sulkily in the passenger seat, he pulled a small foil packet from his jeans pocket and heaved it out the open window. He wouldn't need that.
A few minutes later, Ann approached the car. Pausing, she peered into the street, then walked over to pick up the package he'd thrown away. Oh, boy. The night just got better and better.
Sliding into the seat beside him, she turned the key in the ignition. As they pulled away from the curb, she handed him the foil package. "Chocolate Delights— Tasteful Protection? Hmm. You might want to hold on to those, Davis. Things… happen."
Her smile lit up the darkness. And suddenly the night was bright with possibilities.
Chapter Five
"You've never seen my place. How about coming in and taking a look around?" Matt held the driver's door open. If she thought he'd let her close that door and drive away, then she didn't know Matt Davis too well.
"Said the spider to the fly?" She cast him a laughing glance as she climbed from her car.
"Close. Very close." He led her up the outside steps and into his house. The place was set up on pilings as protection against hurricanes, and he was glad he'd enclosed the area underneath the house. He didn't need her questions about the old car he kept there.
Standing in his living room, she glanced around. "This is great, but you don't put too many things away, do you?" Matt could hear the smile in her voice and an underlying nervousness.
He blinked. "Why should I? I'm just going to use them again."
"Right. I guess there's sort of a twisted logic in that." She sat on his old leather couch.
He wanted to sit down beside her, hug her close, and tell her not to be nervous, that it was just him, Matt. The same old Matt who'd played with her, taken her to the senior prom, and waited forever to make love to her. Matt frowned. Love. There was that word again. Like an oversize Texas mosquito, it kept buzzing around his head, never letting him relax into the moment.
"You just wait here, sweetheart. I'll get us something to drink and be right back." He didn't give her a chance to answer as he left the room.
And hurried to his bedroom. Flinging open the door, he winced. Major disaster area. Grabbing clothes he'd flung everywhere, he balled them up, heaved them into the closet, then shut the door. There. He could see the bed again, and the floor looked great. What more could a woman want?
He'd just go back now and casually offer a guided tour. When they got to the bedroom… Uh-oh. Stuffed toy alert. He'd almost forgotten. Striding to his bedside table, he whipped the old calico cat from where it was propped against his lamp. Smoothing his fingers across its one plastic eye, he grinned. "Sorry, guy. Gotta get you out of sight for a while." Bending down, he shoved the cat under his bed.
Okay, ready. He hurried to the kitchen, grabbed two Cokes, then returned to the living room. "Hey, Ann, why don't I…"
Gone. She was gone. Where…? Sounds from below the house provided his answer. Rats. It figured. The one place he didn't want her to be. Resigned, he put the drinks on his coffee table and plodded down the stairs.
She stood with her back to him, her fingers gliding across the hood of the old red Ford. When she heard him, she turned.
For a moment in time, emotion so strong it staggered him flooded her eyes, then disappeared, leaving a sheen of tears behind. Shoot, he couldn't handle tears. Not Ann's tears.
"You kept it." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Yep." Brilliant, Davis.
"Why?"
He wished she'd look away, but her gaze never wavered. He shrugged. "Old Ghost has a lot of memories. My last muscle car."
"Ghost?" She smiled a trembling smile.
"Yeah. Dad said I didn't have a ghost of a chance of getting that baby when I told him how much it would cost." The name fit. The memory of what they'd done in that backseat was a constant presence, never fading.
She didn't respond, but continued to stroke the gleaming metal. The silence was a solid wall, distancing her from him. Panic intruded. Say something. "Let's go upstairs and I'll give you the cook's tour."
She nodded and followed him up the steps, still silent. Not a good sign.
When they finally reached his bedroom, she sat on his bed and looked around. "I like this room, Matt. It has… character." She swung her feet back and forth. "And this bed is wonderful."
He nodded, ridiculously pleased. "Belonged to my grandparents. Granddaddy used to say that this old four poster had seen some good times." And if things go right it'll see a few more.
"I bet it has." She stopped swinging her feet, a puzzled expression on her face. Then she bent down to peer at the bed ruffle.
Oh, boy. "Uh, I wouldn't look under the bed. Last time I checked there was a portal-to-hell opening. Dustballs are clogging it up a little so the demons can't escape. But you move that ruffle and disturb the dust…" He shrugged. "It won't be pretty."
"I just kicked something." Ignoring his dire warnings, she dragged the calico cat from beneath the bed.
Picking it up, she dusted it off, then stared at it. Finally she turned her gaze on him, a mixture of wonder and disbelief. "Patches? Is this really Patches?"
Matt gave up on a sigh of resignation. He nodded.
Carefully she placed the cat on her lap, then stroked its pink-green-and-orange-mottled back as she would a real cat. "Where, Matt? I threw him out when I was seven years old and got my new Barbie. I was sorry later, but it was too late. The trash had already been picked up." Her gaze was fixed on the cat as her fingers continued to stroke.
Matt could feel the heat rising up his neck. Damned old cat. "Well, you know, I was young and impressionable. He'd been your best friend, and he was just sorta sitting on top of the trash. Not a good way to end a friendship. I thought he deserved better." God, he wanted to crawl under the bed and brave the portal to hell. Couldn't be much worse than this.
"But why'd you keep him, Matt?"
Even though she still didn't look at him, he had the feeling his answer was important. Why had he kept the raggedy toy?
"Because you loved him." And I've always loved you. It was that simple. All those years, and it'd always been that simple.
She looked up then, and he tried not to read too much into the emotion he saw. She was touched, but that wasn't what he wanted.
As though handling something fragile, she placed Patches on his pillow. She drew in a deep breath. "Does Ghost still run?"
Fine. He got the hint. Change-of-topic time. "Barely. I'd say he has about one more trip in him. Why?"
She smiled, a smile that skipped down his spine, churned in his stomach, then settled where everything having to do with Ann Hawkins seemed to settle lately.
"If we hurry, we can just make the ferry over to Bolivar." She rose and headed for his bathroom. "I'll be out in a minute. Meet you in the car."
All the way down the stairs and while he sat in the car waiting, he wondered, he hoped. And when she finally slid in beside him, he knew.
Leaning over, he lifted her hair away from her neck, closed his eyes a
nd breathed deeply. Then he kissed the soft skin at the base of her neck, felt the hot pulse of blood beneath his lips, her shuddering response. " Chantilly ?"
"Hmm." She sighed, a sound that almost seemed a purr. "An old bottle Mom gave me that I never opened. I brought it along just in case."
And as he turned the ignition and heard the roar of the old engine, time rolled back. Once again he was driving to Bolivar in Ghost, beside him the only woman who'd ever had the power to make him lose control. Only this time… This time he'd take more than three seconds.
He patted the cracked dash. This is it, old guy. Your last and most important trip. Let's make history tonight.
Ann stepped out of the car onto the Bolivar beach. A full moon shone on the waves rolling in off the Gulf of Mexico and cast a cold light on the deserted sand. She'd bet the moon would be the only cold thing here tonight.
Lifting her face to the soft Gulf breeze, she savored the rightness of this. A second chance. On a night when everything seemed magically the same as that long-ago night, they'd have a second chance. She intended to make the most of it.
Glancing over her shoulder at the man leaning on the hood of the old Ford, she smiled. "Backseats don't allow much wiggle room, so I think I'll undress out here where I can… maneuver."
She could feel his heat, his want, across the distance separating them, and it fed her own excitement.
"I could help you get to all those hard-to-reach places, sweetheart." He moved around to her side of the car, then leaned against the passenger door as he watched her with hot, predatory eyes.
"Maybe." She tried on a come-hither smile, and hoped he wouldn't come hither too fast. "Maybe not."
"Hmph." He crossed his arms, his disgruntled expression drawing laughter from her.
Her laughter died, and she simply stared at him. She was happy. With this man and this moment. More so than she'd ever been in her life. No one had ever touched the deep wellspring of joy bubbling up within her, bathing her heart with a promise that tonight would be special.
Seduction By Chocolate Page 6
