"Eat, señorita," he urged with a grin. "Enjoy the 'food of the gods'!"
To Sydnee's surprise, the cacao fruit had a bittersweet but surprisingly delicious, rich chocolate flavor.
"Hmm. You're right. It's delicious," she admitted grudgingly. Now that she'd tasted it, she wasn't surprised the cacao had been so highly prized as a crop.
In past centuries, spices had been expensive and hard to come by, after all. The cacao's delicious, sweet pulp would have been much sought after. But now?
"Be honest, Raymondo. Don't you think all this fertile volcanic soil could be put to better use nowadays?"
"Better! What could be better than cacao, Señorita Frost?"
"Oh, I don't know. Something less… well, frivolous than chocolate or coffee, maybe. Something that could provide a staple food crop, say?"
Raymondo smiled. "There are foods that nourish the body, like corn and wheat, yes?" he asked softly. "While others nourish the soul and bring joy to our hearts. Chocolate is such a food. It is very much like love, no?"
He grinned and winked.
"Love?" she echoed, taken aback. "What's love to do with chocolate trees? I'm sorry, Raymondo. You've lost me completely!"
"Well, we do not need love— or chocolate— to survive, do we, señorita? And yet, both bring joy to our hearts! And what is life without a little joy, eh?"
Raymondo Sevillas rode on, but his words lingered— and resonated. In fact, Sydnee found the Costa Rican's comments profoundly disturbing.
She had spent her entire life channeling her energy into getting an education. As a result, she had denied herself anything and everything that did not help her to meet the lofty goals her mother, and later, she herself, had set.
Her mother, she thought, and sighed. Clare Frost had been a sad and embittered woman. Hardly the perfect role model for an impressionable little girl!
Clare's life had revolved entirely around her waitressing job and her little daughter's education. There had simply been no time for anything frivolous and fun.
No time for lazy sunny days together at the beach, gathering seashells or digging holes to China in the damp sand. No time for holding hands and twirling around and around in a grassy meadow starred with daisies, faces upturned to a sky so blue and bright, it made eyes— and hearts— ache to look at it, both of them made dizzy by their sheer love of life and of each other.
No. There had been no room, no time, for anything like that in her mother's life, Sydnee thought with a terrible pang in her breast.
Nor in mine, she added uncomfortably. Her own life revolved around her research.
True, she had fed her hunger for knowledge, as Clare Frost insisted. But at what cost? she wondered now, tears smarting behind her eyelids. At what cost?
She'd been so busy nourishing her mind, she'd completely neglected to "nourish her soul." Or, for that matter, her heart.
When had she made that momentous decision? When had she decided that bringing joy to her heart was not important? Or had she let her mother decide that for her, too?
But laying blame wasn't important. The end result was the same. The bottom line was that she'd failed to satisfy life's other hungers and needs.
Perhaps she'd even chosen Barry Gordon because she'd known, subconsciously, that he had a wife and kids, and it was safe, as Ella had always accused, because she'd suspected there could be no future for the two of them?
And maybe she'd run from Dangerous's room that night for exactly the same reason? Because she'd known exactly how powerful the chemistry between them had been. Because she'd sensed that this man who had made her body come alive, who made every nerve and cell sing with delight, would want— expect— more than a hot-and-heavy one-night stand, and she was afraid? Not that she'd be rejected by him, but that she might not be!
She grew very still as she sat her horse, considering how Raymondo's comments applied to her own life.
"And what is life without a little joy, eh?" he'd said.
What, indeed? But other than her work, the letters after her name, her experiments, what little joys did she have, really?
None. None at all.
Certainly not love— not even a passion for chocolate!
She was still thinking about that when the ranch manager spoke again.
"Ah, bueno! Señor Westridge, he is coming now. Down there, señorita! Look!"
Raymondo's sudden exclamation scattered her thoughts. Pushing back the brim of the woven hat she wore, she saw another horse picking its way between the coffee bushes, toward them. A big horse, with a tall, broad-shouldered rider in the saddle, the two of them one as they climbed the terraces to the lookout.
Her hand flew to her throat in the nervous way that Ella called "prissy." A knot tightened in her belly.
At long last, she was about to meet the elusive Cord Westridge….
"What the hell is this? Your idea of a joke?" Cord demanded in a voice like a whip after Raymondo introduced them.
Westridge's expression was angry, his blue eyes piercing as he glared at his manager, then Sydnee, then back at Raymondo again.
"Where the hell's Sidney Frost?"
"Raymondo told you, Mr. Westridge. I'm Sydnee Frost," Sydnee repeated quietly but firmly, hoping he couldn't see that she was trembling.
She was glad she was still mounted as he angrily twisted in the saddle to face her. Standing, she wasn't sure her legs would have held her, once she saw the saturnine face, shadowed by the brim of a black Stetson.
Saw— instead of the stranger she'd expected— the man she called Dangerous, scowling back at her!
No. Not Dangerous, she amended hastily. Not anymore. Nor was he her outlaw from the plane, or her dream lover from the orchid pool at the hotel. Outlaw, dream lover, shadowy employer were now one and the same. They shared a proper name with this scowling brute with the vivid blue eyes and the beard shadow. It was Cord. A name that was as hard and inflexible as the man himself.
Cord Westridge, to be exact, of Westridge Imports and Exports. Of Westridge Enterprises, Cordero Chocolate and Coffees, and God only knew how many companies.
Please God, don't let him recognize me! she prayed silently, crossing her fingers on the reins.
"Sidney! Sidney's a man's name," Westridge said scornfully, glowering at her as if she were a bug under a microscope. A stinkbug, perhaps. Or more likely, a louse.
"N-not always," she countered, defensive. Her horse shied, sensing her nervousness. The movement brought her close to his mount. "Not when it's spelled with a Y. You know, instead of an I." she babbled. Her voice trailed away as his look darkened.
"Never mind that. Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked out of the blue, looking very suspicious now.
She tensed, her stomach in knots, her hand flying to her throat. Her mouth tasted like sawdust. Her heart was thumping so hard, she was afraid he could hear it. "I don't believe we—"
"The plane!" he remembered, snapping his fingers so loudly, she jumped as if he'd fired a gun. He swept off his black hat and rubbed a hand over his face. "Aaah, jeez. I knew I'd seen you before. You're the flake from the plane. The Scotch-swilling flake," he jeered.
"I am not a flake!" she insisted primly, turning a brilliant crimson. "And I wasn't 'swilling' anything, as you put it," she added in a hiss. "If you must know, I was drinking because I— because I'm afraid to fly."
There. It was out in the open. Let him make of it what he would. If he was distracted, maybe he wouldn't bother to dig any deeper.
His expression softened. "Afraid? Then why the hell didn't you say so?"
She shrugged, glad she'd tucked her hair up beneath the straw Stetson she was wearing. If only her thick lenses had been tinted, too…
"I was too embarrassed," she admitted reluctantly. "Besides, I didn't expect the first little bottle to have such a… a powerful effect on an empty stomach. I hadn't eaten because I was nervous, you see? And I don't usually drink."
She bit her lip. Nervous fingers
stroked her throat, creating a small strawberry blotch on flawless cream.
Cord stared at her intently, as if he could hear an echo somewhere. His thick dark brows knitted in a frown.
"True. But I don't drink," his elusive Cinderella had told him that night from the steps of the pool, in a voice that was uncannily like Sydnee Frost's….
He continued to stare at the woman with the thick horn-rimmed glasses, the nondescript baggy shirt, the loose cotton pants. He was frowning now. "Well, I'm a reasonable man. I'm willing to let bygones be bygones, if you are. Why don't we start over, Ms. Frost?" He offered her his hand. "Cord Westridge. Pleased to meet you. Carl Lindermann tells me you're doing some good work at the school."
"Please, call me Sydnee, Mr. Westridge. Um, Cord," she agreed happily as his hand engulfed her own. "I'm afraid Carl— Professor Lindermann— exaggerates."
Her expression was slavish. Way too eager. She could feel her smile growing wider and wider, but couldn't control it.
As his powerful fingers closed over her slim hand, a hefty jolt of electricity sizzled up her arm, as if she'd touched a live power wire.
She tried to jerk her hand away, but Westridge hung on. His sexy baby-blues bored into her jade eyes, as if he was trying to peer through her thick Coke-bottle lenses.
But, try as she might, she could not look away from him.
"Are you positive we didn't meet before the plane?" His deep, deejay voice was like smoky silk.
She cleared her throat. "Quite sure, yes. You know, your Mr. Sevillas has been wonderful, showing me around!" she began, forcing her voice to sound bright and cheerful. The result was a girlish twitter, like the cartoon character, Elvira.
"Who?" Again, the thick black brows crashed together in a scowl.
"Your— your manager. Raymondo?"
"Yeah, yeah. Raymondo's a great guy. What about him?"
Lord, he was staring at her throat now. On reflex she reached up to touch it.
"He— er— he showed me around. The house. The laboratory. Everywhere."
"Yeah? Did you see the lab yet?"
Hadn't she told him she'd seen the lab, just a second ago? What was wrong with him? "Why, yes."
He was still staring at her, concentrating on her mouth now, rather than on her eyes or her throat. Dry-mouthed, she licked her lips. She couldn't help herself.
His vivid blue eyes were so piercing, she thought with a shiver. Unsettling. Disturbing. The kind of eyes that missed very little.
Just a few nights ago, those eyes had seen her naked, except for her panties. And then he'd removed those, too….
She'd left them behind in her haste to flee his suite.
She swallowed, feeling faint, a little dizzy. This man— Cord— was a perfect stranger. And yet he knew her body better than she did! Surely he wouldn't be fooled by a pair of thick glasses and loose-fitting shirt and pants, would he?
Oh, please, God, let him be fooled!
She squirmed and fiddled with her horse's reins, expecting to be recognized and exposed at any moment. But against all odds, her luck held.
"I mean, it's so well equipped, isn't it?" she gushed in answer to his question. Her tongue was running away with her.
"What is?"
"The lab! I couldn't believe it at first. Not way up here, at the top of a mountain, I mean. And it's far more up-to-date than I expected, too. Well, to be honest, I didn't really know what to expect, did I? Really, I… I didn't…."
Her voice trailed away. She fell silent before the scowl Cord turned on her.
In the Stetson, he really did look like an outlaw. The beard shadow helped, of course. And those eyebrows that were more like ink slashes across his forehead than brows. And that lean, mean, handsome face.
"Where is she?" he suddenly demanded. His voice was clipped, but so very soft it was lethal. "I've had enough, Frost. I don't know what you're playing at, and I don't care. But I do want to know where she is. And I want to know now!"
She flinched.
"Wh-who?" she whispered, confused, her voice small in the wake of his thunder. "Where who is?"
"Your sister," he ground out.
"My sister?" she squeaked in disbelief. Her brows shot up. "But I don't have a—"
"You heard me," he cut in. "And Frost?"
"Yes, sir?"
"If you want that endowment for Lindermann, find her! Find her fast!"
Chapter Eight
Sydnee quietly hung up on the phone in her room and sighed.
Ella still wasn't home, despite the time difference. And she hadn't answered any of the frantic messages Sydnee had left on her answering machine over the past few days, either at work or at home.
What on earth was she to do? If she couldn't produce her "sister" for Cord Westridge, soon, along with a plausible reason for her disappearance, she had some serious explaining to do, because there was no way on earth she was going to admit the truth. That there was no sister. Or that she'd found him so darned sexy, she'd slept with him at the drop of a hat.
She knew exactly what he'd think of her if she did that— and he'd have every right to think it, too.
So, no. There would be no tearful confessions. No occasion for him to look at her with contempt. No chance for him to use her, then cast her aside, now that he was done with her. This time she would be the user. The one to treat a man as a… a sex object, then throw him aside and forget him, just as men had treated women over the ages.
She would pretend he had never made her feel the way he'd made her feel, damn him. She'd force her mind, her body, to forget the wicked— delicious!—things they had done, and the things she'd wanted him— no, no, make that begged him— to do to her. Things that still made her grow hot and fidgety just thinking about them.
She would simply continue with her research— work that, in all honesty, Westridge had said nothing about, as yet— and hope that, as the days passed, he would forget all about her blasted "sister."
"You've been avoiding me, Ms. Frost. Or should I say, Sydnee," Cord murmured, cornering her in the greenhouse the following day.
Any hope she'd had of sweeping the whole thing under the carpet evaporated like a soap bubble.
"Why's that, I wonder?"
She was holding a test tube in one hand, and a spindly seedling in the other.
"Avoiding you?" she echoed, all innocence, backing away from him between the rows of cacao seedlings until she felt the hard corner of a wooden worktable cutting into the small of her back.
"But I wasn't," she insisted, blowing a damp wisp of hair out of her eyes as he stalked her, every bit as predatory as a jungle cat. A dark jaguar, stalking its prey. Except that this "dark jaguar" wore faded blue jeans that were just the tiniest bit snug across the hips, and a black T-shirt that made him look like the bad boy he really was.
"I mean, I didn't. Haven't been," she corrected, flustered by his nearness. God, the man was just so sexy. It shouldn't have been allowed. "I've just been— um— busy." She held up the seedling as if it were a pagan sacrifice, meant to appease him. "The— um— r-research. Remember?"
"On the contrary. You've been avoiding me, Sydnee. And I think I know why."
"Y-you do?" She held her breath. Oh, God. He'd recognized her! This was it! The moment she'd dreaded had finally come!
"Yeah. It's about your sister, isn't it? You haven't found her, have you?" he taunted, pretending to look around him as if searching for her, the creep.
"Have you?" he repeated softly. He trapped the flyaway wisp of her hair between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it.
Straightaway, it spiraled softly around his finger.
"How come, Sydnee?" he whispered in her ear, his voice husky. Mesmerizing. "Vanished into thin air, has she?"
His hot breath made a rash of tingly goose bumps break out down her arms.
"Ye-s," she admitted, her voice breaking. "That's it exactly. She's gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Left without a… a forwarding address."
It wa
sn't a lie. Well, not really. After all, how could she find a sister who didn't exist, except as a figment of Cord Westridge's imagination? A fantasy sex kitten born of moondust and his wishful thinking?
"Too bad. Then maybe I should start looking for a replacement. Someone a little closer to home. Someone within… arm's reach, say? What do you think?" he suggested huskily, one long finger tracing the flushed curve of her cheek down, down to her throat. There, the top button of her plaid shirt prevented any further skin-to-skin explorations, thank God. But her nipples puckered anyway.
Sydnee bit her lower lip. Oh, Lord. The man only had to touch her and she burst into flame! And whereever he touched her, she felt as if she'd been kissed by fire. Singed. Blistered. She felt those scorching caresses clear down to her toenails— and in all the right— or wrong— places in between.
"What's up, Sydnee, darlin'? Cat got your tongue, Sydnee, baby?"
Lord, it was hot here in the greenhouse! And, unless she was mistaken, the temperature was rising, fast.
Oh, yes. It was hot and humid, she thought, swaying slightly, thankful for the solid worktable at her back— the only thing that was keeping her standing.
The air in here was filled with the jungly scents of moist earth and of exotic green and growing things. Orchids. Heliconia. Bird-of-paradise. Fragrant ginger.
An automatic irrigation system misted the warm air all around them with fine sprays of water. The jets turned to multicolored rainbows in the dazzling sunlight that slanted through the tinted glass roof.
Sydnee shivered as a trickle of sweat snaked its way down her spine, acutely aware that Dangerous— Cord— was watching her as if she were a ripe hothouse peach, and he would like to bite her.
Strange. The humidity, the scorching heat, the lush, earthy, fertile, primitive smells of a greenhouse had always made her think about sex.
Being here with Cord had done nothing to change that.
On the contrary.
With her pressed back against the edge of the potting table as she was, he had only to take a half step forward, and he would be standing between her legs. From there he could easily lift her up onto the edge of the potting table and… and…
Seduction By Chocolate Page 27
