Seduction By Chocolate

by Nina Bangs, Lisa Cach, Thea Devine

  Everything good was worth waiting for: food— or men. Her philosophy in a nutshell. She pushed off the ledge and was greatly amused when someone grabbed her place before she even walked away.

  He spotted her half a block away. He was walking, too, because of the insane midafternoon traffic that had as usual stalled everything.

  It was easier to walk at that point, but then suddenly there she was, where he least expected to see her, as if he'd conjured her out of his dreams.

  And there had been dreams. Little snapshot dreams of her mouth working its magic every which way on everything but reality. This was not something to fool with; Matt hadn't had this kind of reaction to anyone in years.

  She was just ahead of him, working furiously to lick up a melting chocolate ice-cream cone before it dripped all over her blouse.

  He hung back and watched her obvious enjoyment as she made her way through the pedestrians and the traffic toward her office.

  That mouth… it just made every inch of him go ballistic. Thank God he was in a crowd….

  And then she bit into the sugary cone and he felt the sensation right down to his toes.

  He wanted to bite her. No, he wanted her.

  Soon, he thought.

  Then: Check that. Big mistake getting involved with business associates. He knew it, she knew it, so why did he feel as if he were on a speeding train, and he'd left her at the station?

  She was licking her fingers as she approached the building, and he was mesmerized by the movement for one instant before she entered the lobby.

  Girding himself, he followed her in. "Donna!"

  She whirled. Damn, she thought. And her hands were sticky, and how much was smeared on her mouth and chin she could only guess.

  But her voice revealed none of that. "Matt. You're early."

  How prosaic could a conversation be? Surreptitiously, she rubbed her fingers against her skirt and then offered him her hand.

  "I walked. Traffic's a mess. My car is somewhere down on Forty-second Street, and I think they're making everyone take a detour from there."

  "It never gets better," Donna said as they stepped into the elevator and she punched number ten. "But then, if you live here, you don't really need a car, do you?"

  "Do you?"

  "What?" She felt breathless as the elevator heaved upward. What were they talking about?

  "Live in the city."

  She didn't know quite what to say. Sure, come on over? No, too soon, too forward. She said, "Yes."

  "Good."

  They jolted to a stop at the tenth floor. "I think everything should be ready," Donna said as they entered the office. "Angie?"

  "All done, Donna. In the conference room."

  "Why don't you go in, Matt? I'll be there in a second." Crossing her fingers, Donna slipped into the kitchenette to wash her hands. That was faith, to send him in alone, before she'd even eyed it, to see Sorrell's handiwork.

  Of such follies were disasters made.

  She found him still in the doorway, just staring in astonishment.

  Sorrell had transformed the conference room into a mini-town house parlor. There were four tables, dressed for dinner with silver, china, flowers, wreathes, and candles, and these were underlaid by the figured ivory linen and the burgundy table skirt, with the chairs sheathed in ivory to match.

  Along the walls he'd created linen-draped ledges to display more candles and still more flowers. In the corners there were big, frondy plants uplit from behind. The effect was cream color on cream color, light and spacious, shot with just a hint of color and life, the ambience subdued, elegant, and intimate in the flickering candlelight, the perfect stage to show off a charismatic personality.

  "Perfect," Donna said softly.

  "Yes, it is. Exactly what we were after." So why was he thinking of wedding receptions and wedding cake, and Donna walking slowly down the aisle?

  "Good," Donna said lightly. "Then we're though for now."

  "Are we?"

  Well, that came out of left field. What did he mean by that? Matt wasn't sure he knew.

  "Excuse me?"

  Matt took her arm and propelled her back into her office. "Do I have to sign off on anything?"

  "Not this time. What's up, Matt?"

  Me.

  "There's nothing more you have to do," she added for good measure, without even considering how the words sounded.

  Oh, she was something. That just about undercut anything Matt intended to say. "Not anything?"

  "Look, you must have a million other things to do. It's our job to take care of this. It's going to be a wonderful party, I promise. I'll call you the week before, after I've reconfirmed everything, and we'll—"

  "What if I kissed you?" Matt said suddenly, to stem the flow of words.

  Whoa— why had he jumped into quicksand headfirst?

  "What if you didn't?" What if you did? Oh, but trouble lay that way; Donna felt it in her bones.

  He stared at her a long moment. There was nothing about her that wasn't desirable, including her tactful refusal. And it was graceful, and it didn't make a damn bit of difference to him. And he was just sensing now that it might make a huge difference to her.

  She was not as indifferent as she seemed.

  "I'll call you," Donna said, but her heart was pounding wildly, because this was a statement he could read two ways. And she wondered which way she wanted him to take it. Or which way she meant it.

  Oh, damn, this complicated things so much she couldn't think.

  "Will you?"

  "The update," she interjected, feeling as if she must say something more. "Nothing personal, Matt. It just doesn't make sense, and this isn't how I operate, having relationships with clients."

  "You're having one," Matt said, reaching out to cup her chin before she could deny it.

  What was it about her?

  He didn't stop to analyze it again. And she didn't pull away. He slanted his mouth over hers, holding himself back for one tentative moment, and then he took her— no, took those lips that invaded his dreams, took the taste of chocolate on her tongue, took the stillness, the peace in her for his own.

  But there was no peace; there was the only unexpected, shattering explosion of excitement and the drive to possess, and the insane heat of one foolish moment's giving in to himself, to her, and to the universe.

  Dear God. He hadn't expected this. He wasn't even touching her and he wanted to sink into these feelings; he wanted to lose all sense of time and self in the lush, sensuous Donna who had opened her arms and opened her mouth to him with that sexy little back-of-the-throat sigh that made him want all of her, and everything— now….

  But there wasn't time; there just wasn't any time, and there was no place to take time with her, and the frustration of that was almost killing him.

  She deserved nothing less. And she wanted nothing more.

  He was shaking as he pulled away— reluctantly, regretfully, because everything was so right and so wrong, and she was hot enough to melt brick, and cool enough to douse fire.

  And he was just a man.

  And a kiss wasn't going to change anything— today.

  It had only rocked his world.

  "Call me," he said abruptly.

  And he left her without looking back.

  She had broken her self-imposed first commandment, willfully and willingly, without protest or pretensions, because Matt was just that kind of man. The kind who deserved such a reaction.

  She couldn't back down from his fascination, his kiss.

  And he'd tasted wonderful to boot.

  She made a little sound. She was not going to lose it over this man.

  She picked up the intercom, then set it down. The worst mistake she could make was to run away from him. All this afternoon proved was that she was no saint.

  Not that she'd ever pretended to be. She was just as susceptible as the next woman to a masterful man. Who would back down from a man who wanted to kiss her?
>
  That had been some kiss.

  She touched her lips.

  Anyway, it was probably just a one-shot thing, generated in the heat of a moment. And if she didn't think about it, didn't remember it, it never happened, a Gilbert and Sullivan philosophy that was very useful in a situation like this.

  He'd probably forgotten all about it already.

  It was only a kiss, after all.

  Only…!

  Only something that shot her world to hell, but who was counting? Who would have expected that the cool and contained Matt Greer could ignite like that?

  Oh, probably a dozen other women. And there you go. This was a man who could probably take anything he wanted and no one would try to stop him. Well, she had been there for the taking.

  Somehow, whatever she'd been doing, it just screamed Take me to him. Although she wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten from her not having relationships with clients to that bone-melting kiss.

  And she wasn't going to devote any more time to trying to figure it out, either.

  He was falling for Donna Cavalero's mouth.

  As insane as it sounded, all Matt could think about was chocolate kisses. In meetings with Dan, at his desk juggling five phone calls, talking to various media representatives, or writing Dan's daily sound bite, he felt a fabulous impatience just to stop and luxuriate in the moment, to take that time he thought there wasn't any of, to think about Donna— to think about being with Donna.

  No, to be with Donna.

  He picked up the phone to call her, put it down. Too many complications, too much in the way. How did people ever find time to get together? His machine could call her machine. He could have a lovely relationship with a telephone wire.

  Maybe it was just the weather— mating season— and every man was hearing the call of the wild.

  He had a feeling Donna wasn't quite seeing it that way. After all, he'd left her, and her orderly mind could probably rationalize anything.

  Except that kiss.

  He hadn't known a man's bones could melt.

  He felt he didn't know anything since he met Donna.

  He picked up the phone again. Her voice was soft, crisp, genuine.

  "Matt! I thought I was going to call you."

  He pictured that mouth. "You are. But I'm calling because I'd like to take you out to dinner tonight."

  A hesitation, so brief he thought he imagined it, and then that voice, filled with sincere regret. "I wish I could. I'm sorry, Matt. I do have another engagement."

  Matt didn't think so, but he chose not to contradict her. "Another time, then." Time, after all, was on his side.

  "I'll look forward to it."

  Perfect, flawlessly mannered Donna, sounding like she meant it.

  He put down the phone slowly, thoughtfully. Dan's dinner was now less than two weeks away, he thought, consulting his calendar.

  Maybe he'd set that as D-Day. Donna Day.

  Because after the dinner, when she could have no more excuses, all bets were off.

  Jess was ready to shake Donna, especially because she'd asked Jess for advice— after the fact and knowing she never would take it— and Jess was at a loss to know exactly what Donna really wanted to hear from her.

  "Tell me again— you said no to dinner with Matt because…?"

  "Because he's a client, one, and two, I don't accept last-minute dates; and whatever you think, Jess, that was just what it was."

  "So what do you want me to say? That you did the right thing? You didn't do the right thing. I think you're crazy."

  Donna sighed. If it hadn't been for that kiss— but that was something she was not going to share with Jess. So, of course her refusal sounded as though she had gone somewhere around the bend. It was silly to think that Jess would agree with her. Jess would have built the restaurant in the time it took to say yes, and she would have served the food besides.

  Ah, well. That just wasn't her style, and now that it was further complicated by Jess's insinuations and recitations, she was never going to hear the end of it.

  But Jess did love a good romance, even if it wasn't her own.

  Who didn't?

  The phone rang again.

  "It's Matt." She almost dropped the receiver.

  "Hi." Since she couldn't think of another thing to say….

  "It just occurred to me that I gave you awfully short notice on that dinner invitation tonight. What about next week, after Dan's dinner? We'll go out afterward."

  "Oh." Such a puny little word for the storm going on inside her. And Jess was making faces at her from across the room, nodding a vehement yes yes yes, as if she knew exactly who was on the other end of the phone.

  She probably did; Jess had radar about that kind of thing.

  And how could she refuse him now? This wasn't last-minute; this was well in advance, and totally in line with all of her dating mandates— including, she realized with a start, the one about not fraternizing with clients. Because after Thursday night, a week and a half from now, he would not be a client.

  "Oh—" she said again. No way, no reason to back out now. She took a deep breath and plunged. "I'd like that, Matt. Thank you for thinking of it." Graceful. Mannerly. Heart-throbbing. Cornered. "I'll see you then, of course. And I'll speak with you later this week."

  Jess eyed her with an expression that could mean You see? as she hung up the phone.

  "Well, you know what, Miss Know-it-all? You're going to do this with me. Two heads are better than one anyway, and this dinner has to be flawless. Don't even argue. Don't plead a date or a headache. The only headache you're going to deal with that night is me."

  "Hey, I'm yours," Jess said, throwing her hands up in surrender. "Which is what you should have said to Matt Greer in the first place. But more power to you that you made him find a way to dipsy-doodle a way around all your objections. And good for him for figuring it out."

  I did not make him do anything.

  No one could make him do anything he didn't want to do. Which meant…

  She'd better stop thinking along those lines, was what it meant.

  She picked up the phone four days later. "Matt?"

  His voice was deep and reassuring on the other end, but she didn't feel reassured at all as she continued. "We're good to go. Final guest count is sixty attendees. Everything's set. I'll be at the town house tomorrow morning with the crew, if you or Dan want to drop by."

  God, she hated offering that, but it was standard operating procedure. Of course, the manual said nothing about being in a close and confined space with a man who kissed like that.

  "Maybe we will."

  And that was what she was most afraid of.

  "Jess…!" she called in distress.

  "I know, I know. Have you done any thinking about the Halstead Group?"

  "Good God, no. I haven't been thinking at all or I wouldn't be in this shape."

  "All right, I'll take care of it. Come on, chill out, Donna. It's just a catered dinner."

  Just…

  Those words would come back to haunt her, Jess thought ruefully the following morning when she arrived at the town house to meet Donna.

  Because one big, long, luxurious chauffered car was already double-parked there, and the minute she came into sight, the rear door swung open and Dan Boland eased himself out.

  Just…

  There was nothing just about Dan Boland. If he came across as handsome and heroic on camera, then he was larger than life in person. He was six feet, three inches of telegenic perfection, from his tousled sun-streaked blond hair to his all-American square jaw.

  The only thing that saved him from being too pretty were the visible scars of a legendary football career at Penn State— the broken nose, now charmingly crooked; the pucker of skin on his cheek; the permanent cut along his lower lip.

  But even with these imperfections, he was stunning.

  He just bowled her over without even saying a word, and Jess stood gaping at him as if he were a ha
rbinger of the Second Coming. And dressed in her rattiest clothes to boot.

  Which was probably why, she thought, he was so taken aback that it must have been a full two or three minutes before he moved toward her and said, "You're Jess, right?"

  Was she? No, Jess was the glamorous one, in the trendy suits with the latest hair and makeup. Truly. Maybe she could pretend to be her twin sister? The one separated at birth who grew up on a farm?

  No. Too late for that. His hand was extended and she had no choice but to take it. "Hi." And she was breathless. "I'm Jess." And that was the limit of her conversation at the moment.

  He gave her that high-voltage smile, looking as bemused as she felt. "Yeah. Hi, Jess."

  "Ummm—" He still had her hand and she didn't want to move, didn't want to say one more word that might sound stupid or unintelligible; but she had to say something. "Why don't we go inside?"

  "Good idea." He signaled the driver, and the car drove off. "I've got about a half hour. Matt will be here shortly."

  "And Donna." Jess couldn't seem to catch her breath. "In here." She unlocked the gate under the steps and they entered the hallway adjacent to the kitchen. "Oh, good. Everything's been delivered." The words sounded inane, and she didn't know quite what to say next. "Would you like to see upstairs?"

  "Sure." He didn't care.

  He followed her upstairs, and she still felt short of breath. "Well, this is it." They were hopelessly inadequate words. Where are my words? she wondered as she trailed after him into the library, basking in his "Nice, nice" as they passed from room to room, then out onto the deck, down into the garden, and back in through the rear-facing rooms on the lower floor.

  "I like this. It's clubby. And the fireplace. Yeah, I think you should serve the dessert in here. This is good."

  And down the hallway, to the kitchen, at the very moment Donna walked in the door.

  "Hey, Jess. And I take it you're Dan Boland?"

  "I'm Dan," he said pleasantly, shaking her hand. "And I've got fifteen more minutes before I have to be off. This is a great place you found on such short notice. I'm really deeply appreciative."

  "Thanks," Donna said, appearing to be having no trouble breathing at all, Jess noted in wonderment. "It's going to be a wonderful event, Dan— may I call you Dan?"