Seduction By Chocolate

by Nina Bangs, Lisa Cach, Thea Devine

  Overheated, flustered, she freed the top button of her shirt, then fumbled with the second, baring a creamy vee of throat and chest.

  Lord, her shirt was damp with perspiration. The thin cotton clung to her body, hugged her spine, outlined her breasts. Self-conscious, she tugged the slicked-down fabric away from her body, only too well aware of the slitted blue eyes that watched her as she did so.

  "Getting hot, Sydnee?" he asked. He licked his lips, like a wolf licking its chops before a meal.

  Tiny beads of sweat glistened on her brow and made her cheeks as dewy as a rose. In fact, her skin was so moist, her heavy glasses kept sliding down her nose, threatening to fall off completely and unmask her.

  With both hands full, she used her forearm to furtively shove the thick glasses back up where they belonged, leaving a streak of mud across one flushed cheek.

  He hadn't seen her eyes, had he? Their telltale color would give her away.

  "I suppose I am hot. Just a little. It must be close to a hundred degrees in here."

  "Me, too. I'm real hot," he agreed. "Know what I like to do when I'm real hot, Sydnee?"

  "I— I really couldn't imagine," she answered in a weak, strangled voice.

  "Swim," he said in a silky voice that made it sound like quite another four-letter word. "Like I swam with your sister that night at the hotel. Before we… went back to my room."

  She gulped. "They say… they say it's really good exercise. You know. For the heart? And the… the lungs, too, of course."

  "Going back to my room?" he asked, dark brows lifting. An amused smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

  "Of course not!" she corrected hastily. "Swimming. I meant swimming."

  "Aaah." He paused. "She's not coming back, is she?" he asked suddenly. "Your sister, I mean."

  "To be honest, Mr. Westridge, Cord, I would say it's… unlikely," she agreed unhappily. "No."

  "Okay. Then maybe I should just give up. Start looking for a replacement," he suggested.

  He was so close she could smell him. Her nostrils flared with pleasure. An erotic mixture of sex, clean, healthy male, laundry detergent, deodorant bath soap, and lemony aftershave.

  "What do you think, Sydnee? Should I find a replacement?"

  "I… I… think that's a great idea. I think you should, yes," she agreed quickly, unable to meet his eyes.

  "Any suggestions on where I might find someone exactly like her?"

  "Oh, let me see. Down in the village, perhaps? I saw several beautiful young women in Santa Isadora the other day." All of whom would give their eyeteeth for handsome, wealthy Señor Westridge to so much as glance their way, she added silently, teeth gritted, hating them all.

  "Then again, maybe you don't understand how it was between the two of us. Well, for me, anyway," he amended. "I can't speak for your sister."

  She stared at his mouth. At his sensual, deep-rose lips. Remembered the way he'd used those lips when he kissed her. What he'd done to her with that mouth. And precisely where and how he'd done it.

  It should have been patented, classified and licensed as a deadly weapon— then banned altogether.

  "No. Maybe I don't," she agreed, resigned to the fact that he was going to tell her whether she liked it or not.

  "This woman— your sister— she was… well, she was really something."

  "Sexy, I suppose you mean?" she blurted out, her lips pursed in disapproval.

  "Oh, sure. She was sexy as all get out. Mucho sexy," he agreed, playing with the lapels of her shirt. Idly, he rubbed the cloth between his fingers and looked down at her with those sleepy bedroom eyes. Oh, and that disreputable beard shadow! "But it wasn't just the sex."

  "It wasn't?" She blinked, her tone one of patent disbelief as she looked owlishly up at him from behind the safety of her thick lenses.

  "Hell, no. Me and her, we… well… we connected."

  "Oh, I just bet you did!"

  "Hey, Frosty, it wasn't like that. Enough with those lemon lips! Well, it was like that, later on," he admitted, on second thought. "But that's not what I'm talking about.

  "You should have been there, Sydnee! The sparks flew from the moment we laid eyes on each other. Like when lightning strikes a tree and it explodes— That's how it was between us. Instant sparks! Ka-boom!"

  His blue eyes shone. And there was no denying his sincerity. It was there in his voice. In his expression, too, she decided. He looked earnest. Earnest and honest.

  For an outlaw, anyway…

  "Like I said. Sex," she said with a sniff and more of what he called "lemon lips."

  "Hey. The best," he agreed, brushing the muddy smudge from her cheek with the ball of his thumb. His touch was unbelievably gentle. "But then, later that same night, as I sat there watching her sleep, remembering all the things we'd talked about, it hit me that—"

  "You did that?" She sounded surprised, probably because she was. Surprised, intrigued, and touched by the idea of this… this outlaw watching her sleep.

  "You mean, did we talk? Hell, yes. For three hours straight. She's smart, Sydnee. Real smart. Not to mention sweet, funny, sensitive—"

  "No. The other. You said you watched her sleep. Did you really?"

  "Sure," he confirmed. His eyes were surprisingly tender. "And I've never felt so… so close to anyone as I did then, looking down at your… at your sister. There was something about her, Sydnee. I still can't put my finger on it, but I felt this… this sadness. This terrible loneliness about her. This need to love and be loved. It reached out and grabbed me, Sydnee."

  Her eyes stung. Her throat tightened. "Hrrrmph. You know, I really think I should get on back to the lab bef—"

  "No, wait. I want you to tell her for me, Sydnee. I want, more than anything, for her to know that she would never be alone again, if she just came back. That if she feels the same way, I'll be there for her, through thick and thin, come hell or high water.

  "All she has to do is let me love her. I want her to know that. I want you to tell her for me, Sydnee. To tell her that I fell in love with her that night. That it was love at first sight!"

  Here he paused. He was very close to her now. So close his hot breath fanned her cheek. She could feel the heat given off by his body. It crackled like a magnetic field, drawing her closer. Closer…

  "Do you believe in love at first sight, Sydnee?"

  "No," she said shakily. Desperately. "No, I don't. I'm a realist, Mr. Westridge—"

  "The name's Cord, sweetheart."

  "Cord, then. And neither does… does she. My sister, I mean. Our… upbringing made sure of that. I'm sorry if… if she led you to believe otherwise. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an experiment to finish," she whispered, her face burning.

  But before she could protest or push past him, he plucked the heavy glasses from her nose. She gazed up at him blindly, blinking like a little mole. There was a small red mark on the bridge of her nose where the glasses had rubbed, he noted.

  "You two have the same pretty green eyes," he observed. "They must run in the family, hmmm? So how come you hide yours behind these butt-ugly glasses? What are you afraid people will see, Sydnee?"

  "Afraid? I'm not afraid of anything."

  "And just look at this! The same cute little nose. Your mouths are the same, too," Cord added, strumming the ball of his thumb across her pouty lower lip. "Hmmm. Pretty pink lips. Full lips, just made for kissing. Who kisses yours, Sydnee? Do you have someone to love back home? A man who loves you?"

  His low, sexy voice was mesmerizing. For a few seconds she succumbed to its spell, as dazed as a rabbit hypnotized by a snake. Or a doe, frozen in the headlights of a car.

  The temptation to slide her arms around that broad expanse of black T-shirt, to tug that dark head down to hers, was almost overwhelming. As was the urge to confess!

  Thank God, it passed, scattered to the four winds by a hefty jolt of pure terror. What if she confessed, only to hear him laugh and say it was all part of some great big joke
he was playing? Or worse, to discover he pitied her. That he was only pretending to care because he felt sorry for her…?

  She shook her head to clear it, then snatched her glasses out of his hand, jamming them on so violently she almost put out her eye with an earpiece.

  "I'm a scientist, Mr. Westridge. We don't need love," she insisted raggedly. "We have our studies. Our experiments. Our quest for knowledge. For… for insight."

  "Awww, come on, Sydnee. That's bull. Insight doesn't keep you warm at night. Or scratch your itches! Everyone needs love. Even you. Even scientists."

  "Oh, do we? Do we really?" she shot back sarcastically, trembling with fury and upset. "Next thing I know, you'll be telling me everyone needs chocolate, too!"

  His eyebrows shot up. "Chocolate?"

  "You heard me! What did Raymondo do, I wonder? Hand out copies of his pat little speech?"

  "What?" He frowned, those dark brows knitting together now.

  "That's right. I said chocolate, and I meant chocolate, damn it! Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Westridge, I have work to do. That's why I came to Costa Rica, remember? To work. And standing here talking is not going to keep your blasted cacao free of the witches'-broom or moniliasis, or that d-d-d-damnedpod borer, is it?"

  And with that, she shrugged past him and stomped out of the greenhouse, leaving him staring after her, smiling a speculative half smile.

  Pod borer, huh? He'd yet to meet a nastier threat to his cacao trees! So how come on her lips, pod borer sounded downright sexy?

  Chapter Nine

  It was in the wee hours of that same night, after hours of tossing, turning, and soul searching, that Sydnee finally came to terms with her past and accepted her upbringing for what it had been.

  She couldn't go back. Couldn't change a blessed thing that had happened in the past. Her mother had been shaped by the events of her life. And unfortunately, she'd never managed to find the strength to break free of the imprisoning bitterness and anger that had so shaped Sydnee's upbringing in turn. She had, however, done the best she could, which was all anyone could do, when you got right down to it.

  Now it was Sydnee's turn to take the reins of her own life firmly in hand, without advice from Ella, Carl, or even Westridge, and move on. To go forward. Time to live her life the way she wanted. To make her own decisions, right or wrong, good or bad, then live with the consequences.

  And, having come to her decision, she'd known immediately what she must do. Difficult as it had been, she was pleased she had done it without consulting Ella or anyone else.

  It was her life. From now on, she would live it her way.

  In only a little while, she had showered, dried her hair, and popped in her contacts. New beginnings called for new attitudes and styles, she told herself, tucking her thick glasses into their soft leather case. Trading her glasses for contacts was as good a place to start as any.

  She hefted her soft-sided suitcases to the door, then straightened and looked about. There! She was packed and ready to go.

  The lovely room with its breathtaking view of the hazy mountain peaks was as neat and tidy as she'd found it a week ago, upon her arrival.

  For the last time, she ran a brush through her tousled, layered hair, left her room, and closed the door quietly behind her.

  The door closing seemed symbolic, somehow, like closing a door on her past. She was smiling as she went down the second-story landing of Villa Corazón on tiptoe.

  It was the night she'd run from Cord's suite at the Las Floras all over again, she thought as she made her way down the tiled staircase. Only this time, a polished wooden balustrade glided smoothly beneath her fingertips, instead of an elevator button. And the terra-cotta tiles, instead of carpet, were like slabs of ice under her bare feet.

  There was no one about. No nightlights left burning to guide her way through the shadowy villa, except for the silvery moonlight that spilled its beams through the arched windows high above. The huge chandelier over the stairwell was extinguished at night, once the family of the house retired.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she gasped in fright and took a hasty step backward.

  A man was standing in the pool of shadows at the foot of the stairs!

  His arms were folded over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned against the wall, almost as if he'd been waiting for her.

  "Cord! You frightened me!"

  As dark as any shadow himself, he stepped from the gloom into a broad shaft of moonlight.

  "I thought I heard someone. Going someplace, Cinderella?" he asked, unsmiling.

  She hesitated, then looked him square in the eye. "No, Cord. I'm not. Not this time."

  He blinked, black brows lifting in the murky light. Disbelief— and perhaps hope— flared in his vivid blue eyes. "You're not running away?"

  "No. I'm through with running away. This time I'm running to somewhere. Or maybe I should say, to someone. To you, Cord, if you really meant what you told me in the greenhouse. And— and if you really and truly want me," she began shyly, trembling uncontrollably with the courage it took to say those words. Her heart was in her eyes.

  "Do you, Cord? Want me, I mean?" she whispered.

  "Oh, I want you, sweetheart," he said softly, stepping forward and taking her in his arms. "I want you and your sexy sister more than you'll ever know." He grinned. "So. What do you say, Cinderella? Shall we have our own little ménage à trois, just the three of us!"

  "You!" she accused. Yet her heart sang as she stepped into his open arms. "I'm not sharing you with anyone else."

  "Not even your 'sister'?"

  "Not even with her. Let her get her own man!"

  He was laughing, smiling that oh, so-wicked outlaw grin as he swung her up into his arms and carried her down the long red-tiled hallway to the huge master suite. Like a robber baron carrying off his captive bride.

  A fire crackled in the arched brick fireplace. Dark Spanish-style rafters soared against the whitewashed stucco ceiling.

  "You asked me if I want you, baby. I do. And I'm going to have you. We're going to have each other over and over again, sweetheart," he promised wickedly as he lowered her to stand before him.

  His arms still around her, he smiled, but it was a smile that put the flutters back in her belly. The smile of a big ol' tomcat before it gobbled up the itty bitty— yet oh, so willing!—canary.

  Tweet! Tweet!

  He ducked his dark head. His mouth brushed her ear. His warm breath fanned her cheek.

  "You left something behind when you took off that night, Cinders," he whispered, pressing a scrap of cloth into her hand.

  She didn't need to look down to know that the "something" wasn't a glass slipper. No, sir. It was something much smaller and softer. Something that felt… well, lacy.

  Her face burned scarlet in the shadows as she realized what he'd given her.

  "Care to see if they still fit, Cinderella?" He playfully nipped her earlobe, hard enough to make her squeak. "Or shall we try them on your 'sister'?"

  "You knew!" she whispered. His warm breath, his sensual tone, his wicked suggestion gave her goose bumps. "You've known all along I didn't have a sister!"

  "Just about, sweetheart!" he admitted. He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling in the shadows.

  "When did you find out?" she demanded.

  He shrugged. "What's to find out? You're still you, Sydnee. Wearing butt-ugly glasses and baggy clothes doesn't change that. I recognized you before Raymondo had even introduced us."

  "You did? Then why didn't you say so?" She punched his chest. "You could have saved me a week of sleepless nights!"

  "It was too soon. First, I wanted to know why you were pretending to be someone else. I'm a wealthy man, Sydnee. Very wealthy. Maybe you knew who I was all along? Maybe you'd slept with me hoping to hurry along that endowment for your boss and his precious department, hmm?"

  "I would never do that. I couldn't!" she protested, indignant. "I'm not like that."

&n
bsp; He nodded. "I know that now," he murmured.

  Several sleepless nights spent worrying about the situation she found herself in had left faint lilac shadows beneath her eyes. Not exactly the mark of a conniving temptress, or a calculating gold-digger!

  "In fact, I think I know just about everything I need to know about you. So quit talking and c'mon over here, Sydnee."

  He tried to draw her against him, but she pressed her palms against his chest and swallowed, overwhelmed by a sudden attack of cold feet. "Wait. Please. Just hold on a second. Maybe this is a mistake, after all? You know, I should probably think this through a little while longer. I—"

  "Sydnee? Just shut up and come here."

  His tone brooked no refusal. With a sigh, she obediently melted into his arms.

  And as her cheek pressed his broad chest, she uttered a gusty sigh of pleasure— and relief.

  It felt as if she had finally come home after a long and lonely voyage to nowhere.

  Home, to Cord's arms.

  Sliding her own arms around his neck, she plunged her fingers into his crisp black hair, angling her head so that their lips could fit together in a long, sweet kiss.

  "This was all my fault. I should never have rushed you that night, sweetheart," Cord told her, cupping her chin with his bunched fingers when they broke apart several breathless moments later.

  "Maybe if I'd taken things slower, you wouldn't have panicked and run off like that. Maybe you could have accepted that what we had might be real, although it happened so fast."

  "Is it, Cord? Is it real?" Sydnee asked tremulously, holding her breath.

  "I think so. For me it is, anyway. Twenty-four-karat, solid gold, genuine L-O-V-E. Love," he admitted. "How about you?"

  "I think so, too. I really do." Her eyes shone.

  He nodded. "My grandfather used to say that there are only two things in life worth worrying about: love and chocolate. You get those two right, the rest'll take care of itself," he said solemnly— but his blue eyes were filled with laughter.

  Sydnee laughed, too. "Your grandpa sounds an awful lot like a certain ranch manager I know, Mr. Westridge. Any relative?"