Dark Chocolate Murder (9 page)

“Sounds perfect!”

“
Bonne chance
, Belinda,” Pierre wished her good luck for her grand opening before pulling her into a tight, breathless embrace.

His mouth
still tasted of wine and dark chocolate, a potent contrast to the saltiness of his skin.  Sharp stubble grazed her cheek, sending prickles of sensation through her as they reluctantly broke off the kiss.

Without another word, Pierre exited the shop, leaving the bell
s ringing above the door as he walked into the crisp morning.  In a hurry, Belinda grabbed her apartment keys and ran down the street in stocking feet.  Just five more hours until grand opening...

*****

Belinda stood at the cash register, listlessly tapping a pen on the counter.  Grand opening had fizzled out three hours ago without a single patron.  Now, at three o’clock in the afternoon, she looked regretfully at the gallons of perishable milk and truffles that would have to be restocked for Monday.  Could
her business already be in the red?

Sulkily, she picked up one of her All-American truffles filled with peanut butter and
grape jelly.  She bit into it and washed it down with a tall glass of milk.  At least she had a good reason for indulging now; she couldn’t let
all
this food go to waste, right? As Belinda was stuffing a Lavender Essence truffle into her mouth, the door to the shop swung open.  Belinda nearly choked on the chocolate as her brain processed how many customers were filing into the store.  Approximately two dozen children rushed into the shop, tossing their backpacks onto the floor and clamoring to the chocolate counter.

One of the older children, around age twelve, addressed Belinda, “
Bonjour
,
Madame
.  We’ve been waiting for your shop to open!  Everyone at school is so excited about your chocolate bar and the candies.  I hope you have enough for us!” The freckled boy rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the treats he would receive.

“Do I ever!” Belinda squeaked giddily.  “All you children will have tummies full of chocolate by the time you leave my boutique!”

Belinda tried to keep track of the orders flying at her: three classic milkshakes, four hot cocoas, five strawberry chocolate sodas.  Suddenly, she wondered if her inventory would actually run out.  In any case, the food certainly would not rot in the refrigerator!  As Belinda served the children, she admired their voracious appetites and the charming way the chocolate smeared their innocent faces.  It brought tears to her eyes that her very first customers were a rambunctious, happy group of schoolchildren.

After finishing their drinks, the children lingered, some purchasin
g truffles to bring as gifts to their mothers.  Others were still not sated and ordered second rounds of the sweet beverages.  By the time the last of the children had gone home for dinner, the shop settled into a lull.  As Belinda stood by the cash register, she felt a resurgence of ambition for her business.  With renewed certainty, she knew that coming to Monaco and opening this store had been the right thing to do.  She would just have to endure the bumps and bruises that came along with it.

In the early evening, just before closing time, the shop was again abuzz.  This time, families strolled in, their bellies full from dinner but with room enough for a
little dessert.  Elatedly, Belinda filled their orders and ate up their compliments on her ingenuity in creating flavors.

“Ooh, I’ve never had a Pink Champagne truffle before,” a
woman murmured, sharing a bite with her husband.  “
Félicitations
,” she congratulated Belinda, “Your shop is a slice of heaven!”

By the time Belinda closed the doors to the shop at eight o’clock, she was more than a little tired.  As she folded her apron up and walked outside in the gathering dusk, she thought how the day had started so disappointingly.  But by closing time, sales had far exceeded her expectations.

Content with her grand opening success, Belinda shifted her thoughts to tomorrow’s date with Pierre.  She needed to get a queen’s amount of sleep tonight in order to be refreshed for him.  As she settled onto her mountain of blankets on the carpet, she completely forgot about the lack of possessions around her.  No bed? No sofa? No problem.  She had accomplished a pivotal goal, one that just a few months ago had seemed thoroughly impossible.  That knowledge sent her into the most peaceful sleep she had enjoyed in years.

*****

On Sunday morning, Belinda was scrambling around her apartment choosing an outfit
for her rendez-vous with Pierre.  The shoes would be an easy choice.  There was no way she was going to suffer in high heels again.  Those high heels had screamed ‘high maintenance’ just as the open-toed sandals she wore today whispered ‘breezy.’  After trying on nearly a dozen outfits, Belinda finally decided on her uniform of snug denims and curve-hugging cotton tee-shirt.

Pierre was prompt, and Belinda was ready when he arrived.  But this time she did not wait for him outside on the curb.  Instead, she made him climb the stairs and come for her.  When he knocked on the door, she waited a few beats before answering, catching her breath as she did so.

As the door swung open, Pierre surprised her by immediately encircling her in a breath-stealing embrace and kissing her demandingly on the lips.  Eagerly, she parted her lips and melted against his body, feeling a rousing stiffness press against her hips.  Unabashedly rubbing herself against that stiffness, Belinda deliberately enflamed Pierre as he mingled their tongues and squeezed her bottom between his fingers.

Abruptly, he pulled back and groaned, “Good sequel?”

“Yes, but we need more sequels,” Belinda said breathlessly.

He chuckled low in his throat, “Believe me, there will be many more.”

Inside Pierre’s car, he cracked the sunroof open, welcoming inside a lush spring breeze.  Belinda stared dreamily out the window, thinking how mush more relaxing it was to ride as Pierre’s passenger rather than Jean-Jacques and Crystal’s prisoner.  She hadn’t spoken to the couple since before she met Pierre, and she silently reminded herself to call them and again to write to Lenore.

When they sailed over the border into France, Belinda remarked, “I can’t believe how close these two countries are.”

“Yes, only eight miles separates France and Monaco.  Italy is an easy drive too.  I’ll have to take you there some weekend.” Pierre smiled, placing a possessive hand on Belinda’s thigh.

She lay her hand on top of his and did not stop him when he intimately rubbed her thigh.  The chemistry between them was irrepressible, and Belinda did not think they would be able to make it through the day without being fully physical.  The kisses and caresses were sublime but just a prelude to a much more gratifying union. 
She shuddered as the wind whipped her hair, thinking how long it had been since she had been intimate with a man.  The real prospect that it could be happening later that day sent shock waves of excitement through her.

“I can’t remember the last time I was so distracted while driving.  You’re dangerous, Belinda.  A real
femme fatale
.” Pierre reluctantly moved his hand from her thigh to the steering wheel.

“M
aybe I am a little dangerous,” she said spontaneously, grabbing his hand and placing it higher on her thigh.

“I love your combination of shyness and ag
gression.  I never know which I’m going to see next.” Pierre slid his hand inside her thigh.

The suggestive banter came to a halt when Pierre pulled up alongside a large home framed with flowering bushes and a water garden.  Belinda assumed this was his house and that he was about to give her the grand tour, but instead he ripped off his seatbelt so he could get closer to her.  Now with both hands free, Pierre took a leisurely tour of Belinda’s body,
fondling her breasts inside the tight tee-shirt and caressing her neck and collarbone.

“Let’s go inside,” h
e urged.  “We’re not a couple of teenagers.”

“You can say that again!” Belinda laughed.

“I know,” Pierre grinned.  “Did you know I just turned 40?”

“You look much younger,” Belinda said honestly.  “A full decade I would say.  I’m 39, by the way.  Yikes.”

“I hope you don’t think you’re old,
femme fatale
.  Because that would make me old too.  You’re more luscious and radiant than any twenty-something, believe me.  Now unbuckle that seatbelt and come with me inside,” Pierre commanded, not inclined to speak anymore.

Slightly off-kilter from Pierre’s kisses and caresses, Belinda stepped out of the car as he came to slide an arm around her waist.  He led her up a path to a wraparound porch furnished with two wicker chairs and a table.

Inside the house, Pierre slammed Belinda into the door, pressing his lips firmly against hers and kissing her wildly, all inhibitions gone.  They were not in her shop; they were not in his car.  They were inside his house where no one could see or hear them, and Pierre intended to reap the sensual benefits this privacy allowed.

Belinda wanted to explore Pierre’s house, but wanted more to explore Pierre, so when he ripped off his shirt to reveal a hard-muscled torso with a thicket of dark hair trailing down the middle, she did not protest.  She followed his lead by pulling the
tee-shirt over her head and throwing it carelessly across the room.  In an instant, he removed her red satin bra, breaking one of the snaps in his urgency.  Skin to skin, they rubbed heatedly against one another, his hands tangled in her long, wavy hair, made even wilder from the wind that had blown through the sunroof.

Their lips fused hungrily, and Belinda
moaned softly into his mouth.  Then, without warning, she pulled back and issued a desperate plea: “Wait!”

Chapter Seven

The ferocity on Pierre’s face as he processed the import of her words was animalistic.  She still clung to his chest and made full bodily contact with her hips against his lower torso.  The stiffness she had felt when he had kissed her in her apartment earlier that day was now a diamond hardness.

Doubts and fears assailed Belinda as she struggled to find the words to t
ell Pierre to stop.  She felt that this was too soon for them to be completely intimate.  But when his lips descended to insolently reclaim hers, she did not have the power to speak or to do anything but return the kiss fervidly.  She was already topless---and breathless---in the man’s house.  There would be no turning back now because she didn’t
want
to.

She let Pierre lift her into his arms and carry her up the steep staircase to his bedroom.  Belinda tossed her head back, relishing the sensation of being overpowered and transported by a man of near Herculean strength.  An image of the merman in the waters of the Mediterranean Sea flooded her memory.  Belinda wondered if she had somehow envisioned Pierre before she even met him.  His
sculpted body was as mythically beautiful as the one she had gazed upon by the sea.  That was the last lucid thought in Belinda’s mind as Pierre drew her into a succulent kiss, laying her on the bed and climbing on top of her.

Peeling off her jeans, he kissed the silken insides of her thighs and lingered a few moments with his mouth affixed to her feminine center before retreating to frantically rip off his own pants.  When he was inside her, she felt as though they had entered an erotic vortex she had glimpsed in fantasies but never experienced in reality.  Their movements were wholly in synch, a natural rhythm that flowed
through them like fresh water from a spring.

“
Si belle, si belle
,” Pierre murmured, ‘so beautiful,’ and Belinda marveled how divine the words sounded in French.

His hands were restless and his mouth ravenous even as he was inside her.  She held his head against her breast as he greedily licked the
flaming bud while gripping her hips.  Soon, his movements were frenetic, and Belinda knew that he was close to satisfaction.  Shutting her eyes tightly and opening her mouth to scream in abandon, she let go completely, welcoming the cataclysmic force of a climax washing over her.  Tremors shook her as he found his ecstasy and poured all his desire inside her.  She received his sensual offering as though it were oxygen, giving her life and energy she had never felt so potently.

Entwined
legs and arms remained that way for long minutes afterwards, as neither wanted to surface or shatter the tranquil atmosphere by speaking.  Curled up in Pierre’s arms, Belinda felt at home, a strange sensation as she didn’t even know the name of the French town she was in, had never been in this man’s house before, had only met him a few days ago.  How was it possible that such unfamiliar surroundings and such an unfamiliar man felt like home?  The thought boggled Belinda’s mind, so she pushed it away and nuzzled closer to Pierre.

To her delighted surprise, Pierre was a cuddler.  He sheltered her head on his chest and held her body as close to his as he could without cutting off her circulation.  Yes, Pierre was one of those rare men who didn’t bolt for the remote control after sex or pull away and stare into space.  Words didn’t seem appropriate at the moment, so Belinda remained happily silent until the only sound that filled the room was the beating of Pierre’s heart and the rustling
of trees outside his bedroom window.