Dark Chocolate Murder (8 page)

“
Oui, allons-y
.  Let’s go,” Belinda whispered dazedly, inwardly screaming at herself when she tripped on the sidewalk and nearly toppled over the curb.

Pierre’s massive hand gently lifted her upright,
and Belinda’s blush reached  a flaming shade. Damn it, she had just ruined the façade that she was actually capable of walking gracefully in high heels.  Licking her lips self-consciously and tossing her amber waves over her shoulder, Belinda unknowingly enticed Pierre even more.

“Here we a
re,” Pierre whispered intimately, placing a hand on the small of Belinda’s back as she unlocked the door to the chocolate boutique.

“What kind of truffle would you like me to teach you how to make?” Belinda asked, flipping the lights on and heading to the refrigerator.

“Your most sinfully sweet one, of course.” Pierre winked and followed close behind her.

“That
would be my Fatally Sweet truffle.  The darkest chocolate your taste buds can imagine.  More than 80% pure cacao.  And an infusion of passion fruit in the center,” Belinda explained huskily, wobbling in her nervousness and wishing she could rip the high heel shoes off her feet and throw them out the window. “You start with the sugared strawberry purée.  Then you mix in the passion fruit extract.” Belinda scooped up the strawberries and drizzled the extract into the mix.  “Would you like to try?”

Immediately, Pierre placed his hand over Belinda’s and guided her to swirl the spoon in the fruit mêlée.  Boldly, he cushioned his hard body against the softness of her
generous curves.

“I’m not sure what kind of spoon
s we’re talking about right now,” Belinda whispered on a breathless note.

The man was spooning her standing up, and she couldn’t help but wonder what the intimate position would feel like…horiz
ontally.  Sensing the closeness was an artful move on Pierre’s part, she inched closer to the mixing bowl and broke the contact between them.

Without warning, Pierre dipped a finger into the fragrant mix and held it above Belinda’s mouth.  She knew he was inviting her to lick the fruit off his finger.  But she stood immobilized, the spoon dropping messily into the bowl and spraying strawberry juice in her eyes.

“Easy there,” Pierre chuckled.  “Taste it.” He would not move his finger away from her mouth.

Unable to resist, she parted her lips and wrapped them around his finger, almost choking on the sweetness of the juice.

“
Bon
.” He laughed softly.  “It’s like yesterday when I met you with that jelly all over your face.”

“Don’t remind me,” Belinda groaned
, mortified.  “I think I needed a bib.”

“
Oh no, I like it---very much.  I would like to see your whole body covered in these sweets,” he said daringly.

Belinda felt that he had crossed a line now, and she was not ready to traverse it with him.  Stepping away from him and wiping her lips on her apron, she gave him a disapproving look.  He stared back at her impudently.

“Is something wrong with a little flirtation between two people who are attracted to each other?” Pierre asked with feigned innocence.

“No, but it was more than a lit
tle flirtation, and you know it,” Belinda said frankly.

“Sorry.” He shrugged.  “Now, don’t interrupt my baking lesson.  Teach me how to put it all together.”

In that moment, Belinda did not know what came over her, but she impulsively twined her arms around Pierre’s neck and stood on her toes a breath away from his face.  Instantly, Pierre swooped down to capture her lips in a sugary kiss laced with remnants of the wine they had sipped at dinner.  He toyed playfully with the strings on her apron but did not untie them.  Instead, he drew her lush curves into the plank of his torso and groaned as she melted submissively against him.

Her lips were juicy and pliant, and he took prime advantage of her sudden submission by initiating a foray into the sweeter recesses of her mouth.  Belinda reciprocated the kiss with long-buried passion and an excitement she had not felt since before her marriage.  Here, in her
chocolaterie
, deep inside a spring night on the French Riviera, Belinda experienced the most powerfully stimulating kiss of her life.  She did not protest when Pierre lifted her and placed her effortlessly onto the messy counter.

Jars of sugar and bottles of vanil
la extract crashed to the floor as Pierre aggressively slid on top of Belinda.  She moaned with the incredible feeling, having all but forgotten how wonderful the weight of a strong man could feel on top of her.  Returning Pierre’s aggression, Belinda shoved her hands into his wavy dark hair and took a nip at his upper lip.

“This is much better than
my cooking classes in New York,” Pierre whispered into her ear before returning his mouth to fuse with hers.

As the kiss deepened, Belinda slipped into an altered state of consciousness, unable to think clearly. 
Reality was muddled as she allowed Pierre to feast on her mouth like a royal banquet.  But in the back of her mind, a nagging thought stabbed at her. 
Tomorrow is a big day.
  Confused, Belinda pushed the thought aside and mindlessly experienced the kiss.  But the thought persisted and became louder. 
Tomorrow is THE big day.

Chapter Six

Frantically, Belinda pulled away from Pierre and sat up straight on the counter.  He looked at her in shock, wondering why she would sever such an intensely pleasurable experience.

“
I’m sorry! Tomorrow is my grand opening! I forgot all about it! Oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Belinda shook her head in a panic, unnerved that this man could have such a potent effect on her that she would completely forget what she had been working months to achieve.

“Tomorrow or later today? It’
s after midnight, remember?” Pierre inquired on a raspy note, still not fully in control of his desires.

Belinda covered her bruised lips with a trembling hand.  “Today! My shop is scheduled for grand opening at noon!  I have less than twelve hours to prepare everything.  I don’t even think I can go to sleep tonight.”

“Calm down.  I’ll stay here and help you,” Pierre offered.

“But you can’t.
It’s Saturday.  Isn’t that the busiest day for your restaurant?” Belinda argued.

“It is.  But I’m the owner.  I don’t need to be there every night, although sometimes I choose to be.  But tonight I’m going to stay right here and help you open your shop.  It’s a good thing you gave me a chocolate making lesson, or else I would have been
completely lost!” Pierre winked humorously, hoping to ease Belinda’s tension.

Ordinarily, Belinda would have refused the help of a man, especially one with whom she hoped to become romantically linked.  But there was nothing ordinary about this predicament.  True, she had already
fashioned most of the chocolates that would be sold the next day, but there were other details that required attention.  Pierre would make an ideal shop assistant, she decided.

“Thank you so much! Most of the chocolates are made, but they need to be arranged in the glass display cases,” Belinda explained.  “Oh, but I also have to prepare the drinks!” She suddenly remembered, another wave of pa
nic flooding her nervous system.  Noting Pierre’s baffled expression, she explained, “I had the idea to set up a chocolate bar.  But instead of alcoholic beverages, I’ll be serving milkshakes, sodas, and hot cocoa.”

“That’s a very creative idea, Belinda.  I’m impressed.  Did you strategize this business on your own?” Pierre asked, his brown eyes twinkling with unconcealed admiration.

“Yes, actually I did.  I thought the chocolate bar could help expand my market to children and teenagers who want a little treat after school,” Belinda said proudly, reflecting on the tireless hours she had devoted to creating a business model for the boutique.

“I am
very
impressed,” Pierre emphasized.  “But I do hope that kiss has a sequel.  You can’t just leave me hanging like that.  Too cruel.” Pierre edged closer to her again and caressed her full bottom lip with his thumb.

Pulse racing instant
ly, Belinda whispered, “There will be a sequel.  Definitely.”

“Good,” Pierre said
firmly.  “Now let’s get to work!”

All through the night, Pierre and Belinda made trips from the refrigerator to the display cases, setting up every morsel of chocolate as though it were a nugget of gold.  And for Belinda, her chocolates
were
equivalent to gold.  She had invested her entire savings in this boutique, and she needed that investment to produce fruitful returns.

Envisioning a spacious home in the French countryside, Belinda lugged three gallons of milk to the chocolate bar.  Bottles of syrup, sprinkles, and whipped cream filled Pierre’s capable arms as he helped her set up the bar.  Belinda glanced over at him shyly, instantly branded by the overconfident, brooding look he gave her.  Pierre was a charmer for sure; she just hoped he wasn’t a snake charmer.  But after what she had learned about how he was raising his little boy alone, Belinda didn’t fear his rakish behavior as much.  Pierre C
édaire was simply a strong, self-assured man who enjoyed women.  Maybe she could be the
only
woman he enjoyed some day…

What am I thinking? Why am I falling so fast?
Belinda asked herself silently.
I have to get in touch with Lenore and see what she says
.  After the birthday poem, Belinda had corresponded a few times with Lenore by email, but her friend didn’t know anything about Pierre.  That would change soon, Belinda decided, because she desperately needed the counsel of a friend.

By dawn, the shop was ready to open to the public.  Sweeping aside a wisp of chocolate-stained hair, Belinda exhaled heavily.  She was exhausted but knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep before the grand opening.  The best she could do would be to go home, shower
, and put on a fresh outfit and apron.  Then she would be ready to face the world.

“Look at thi
s place.  We make good partners.” Pierre slid his arm around Belinda’s waist and pulled her to his side.

She looked up into those smoldering eyes and watched a vein pulsate in his jaw as he availed himself of the sloping lusciousness from her waist to hip. 
The man clearly appreciated her curves, and she wondered how he had ever ended up with that skinny twit, Juliette Fontaine.

“You have the body of Mari
lyn Monroe.  Or Sophia Loren,” he said huskily, evoking the glamorous beauties of Hollywood’s golden years.  “Or Brigitte Bardot,” Pierre continued.  “But actually, you’re shaped the most like Marilyn.  A perfect hourglass.  And with a sharp business mind.  You’re almost irresistible.”

“Almost irresistible?” Belinda demanded with mock
effrontery.

“Almost
irresistible because I’m resisting you right now when all I want to do is put you back on that counter and finish what we started,” Pierre said boldly.  “Does that clarify your question?”

“Yes,” Belinda whispered, wishing they could do the same thing.

Impulsively, she reached up to twine her arms around his neck and hug him.  He held his breath as her breasts brushed across his solid chest.  Knowing she had power over him, Belinda leaned in closer and fanned his ear with her sweet breath.

“I just wanted to thank you for staying overnight and helping me.  I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.  Well, actually, I do know.  I would have had to call my sister and her husband to ask for their help! And I’m s
o glad I didn’t have to do that.” Belinda shook her head comically as Pierre laughed.

“
Mon plaisir
,” He breathed into her ear.

His pleasure
.  She would have a delightful time seeing to Pierre’s pleasure, but not today.  “I better get home to shower and dress.  But thank you again.” Belinda broke the contact between their bodies and instantly felt a loss.  Was it possible that she would already miss him when he got into his Peugeot and drove away?  She felt certain it was.

“Are you sure you’re set for today’s opening? I’ll stay if you need anything at all,” Pierre offered, not wanting to leave either.

“I’m sure.  You go ahead and and get on with your day.  I’m ready to take on a stadium full of customers!” Belinda assured him.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, right?” Pierre asked rhetorically.  “I’m losing track of time after last night’s dinner…and all the dessert.  Is your shop open on Sunday?”

“No, that’s the one day each week my shop will be closed.  Why?” Belinda asked, her heart already thudding in anticipation that he would ask her out again.

“Because I would love to see you.  I could pick you up, and we could cross the border into France.  I’d love to show you where I live and maybe take a drive around the countryside.”

An image of her rustic dream home in the south of France drifted through her mind as she replied, “That sounds really lovely.  Yes.”

“Good.  I’ll pick you up in the early afternoon, maybe around one o’clock?”