Sinful Chocolate (7 page)

O
ne should never scream while holding a cat.

The minute Sasha's nails dug into Gisella's arm, she was airborne. When the startled cat landed on Charlie, she turned into a weapon of mass destruction.

Charlie roared.

Sasha shrieked.

And Gisella screamed and ran from the room. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” she chanted, slamming her bedroom door behind her. To calm down, she paced the floor and fanned herself. “That didn't just happen,” she mumbled. “It didn't. It couldn't have.” She rolled her eyes skyward. “Oh, God, please say that didn't happen.”

She started praying in French.

Unfortunately, Charlie and Sasha's continued war prevented her from sinking into denial. Gulping in a few deep breaths, she raced over to her chest of drawers and slung clothes around until she found a pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Once she was dressed, she still hesitated to leave her room. What was she going to say? How could she explain kissing him like that?

And damn. What a kiss.

Just thinking of it caused her heart to speed up again. Who on earth would ever believe that she kissed him because she thought he was a figment of her imagination?

Suddenly, the apartment was quiet.

Gisella inched toward the door. Was Sasha safe? Didn't someone say something about not trusting Charlie alone with anything with breasts and a pulse? Slowly, Gisella pressed her ear against the door.

Silence.

Did he leave?

She closed her eyes, held her breath and strained to hear the slightest sound.

“Gisella, are you in there?” came Charlie's low baritone.

She leaped from the door.

His tone was barely above a whisper, but it had the effect of an excited cheerleader shouting through a megaphone.

“Gisella?”

“Um.” She hesitated. “What are you doing here?”

“Look. I knocked, but you had the music turned up so loud you wouldn't have heard a bomb going off.” He chuckled.

“Oh,” she said, unprepared for a logical explanation. But on second thought, that only answered why he was
inside
the apartment, not why he'd come there in the first place.

“Actually, I was looking for a friend.”

She frowned. They were hardly friends. Hell, they barely qualified as acquaintances. “I never gave you this address,” she said, still weary about opening her door.

“You didn't. I looked up the address on the Internet.”

Okay. Was he a stalker?

“Why would you look me up on the Internet?”

“Oh. No. Not you,” he rushed to explain. “No. I was looking for an old
college
friend, Anna Jacobs. Wait. Isn't Jacobs your last name?”

Charlie and Anna were old college friends? Gisella snatched opened the door and Sasha darted in between her legs with a loud meow.

However, the
real
war victim was clearly Charlie.

“
Mon Dieu.
Look at you!” Her eyes widened at the number of scratches covering his face, neck and arms. “Come here.” She grabbed him by the wrist and led him toward her adjoining bedroom. “Here. Take a seat.” She lowered the toilet seat and then rustled for some supplies.

Charlie sat and looked around. “I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks,” he said.

“Nonsense,” she said. “You're bleeding.” Gisella twisted open a bottle of alcohol and pulled out a few cotton balls. “Now this is going to sting a bit.”

Despite the warning, Charlie sucked in a shocked breath and bounced around on the toilet seat like a Mexican jumping bean.

“Be still,” she instructed softly and then blew on a few deep gashes. “Is that better?”

Charlie grew still. “A little.”

Gisella glanced up and their eyes locked. “You're a big baby, no?”

His cheeks dimpled. “I wouldn't say that.”

For a few seconds, the bathroom tiles magnified their shallow breathing and Gisella swore it even picked up the sound of her heartbeat. Fantasy Charlie paled in comparison to the real deal. Charlie Masters could easily grace the glossy pages of fashion magazines instead of wheeling and dealing behind some office desk. He was just that beautiful.

Forcing herself out of her self-imposed trance, she returned her attention to cleaning a few more scratches, especially the long one across his right cheek. When she leaned forward, Lord help her, she could literally feel his warm breath rush against the exposed portion of her cleavage in her low-cut tee. It took every ounce of her will-power to keep her knees from buckling and depositing her on his lap. All the while, his gaze remained locked on her.

“I'm beginning to think you're a masochist.”

She blinked. “A what?”

“Someone who enjoys torturing people.” When she still looked confused, he added, “Either kiss me again or let me stand up.”

She quickly backed away from him.

“I thought so.” He stood and eyed a Band-Aid in the corner of the medicine cabinet. “May I?”

She nodded, swallowing the lump amassing in her throat.

Charlie leaned toward the mirror and applied an invisible band-aid against his cheek. “There. Good as new.”

She smiled. “Sorry I threw Sasha at you.”

“Sorry I frightened you.”

They stood staring at each other, but Gisella knew what they were both thinking about.

That kiss.

“So,” she said, hoping to deter him from asking about it. “How do you know my sister?”

He stepped back. “Anna is your sister?”

“Half sister,” she corrected. “Different mothers, same father.”

Charlie blinked. “Oh. I would have never thought—you two don't look anything alike.”

That was true. Anna was tall and angular and Gisella was thick and curvy. Though both women were attractive, the facial features were stark opposites.

“Well, I take it she's not here.” He laughed. “Know when she'll be home?”

“Actually, she's out of town for a couple of weeks. In the meantime, it's just me and Sasha.”

“The killer cat.”

Gisella laughed.

“Well,” he said with a note of disappointment.

“When she calls,” Gisella said, “I'll be happy to tell her you came by.”

“That'll be great.” Charlie bobbed his head and went back to staring at her. The memory of their kiss still threatened to become a topic of discussion.

“Do you want to leave a number so she can call you back?” Gisella offered.

“Sure. Um, you gotta pen?”

Gisella glanced around and decided against using a tube of lipstick to write a message. “There should be one up front,” she said, leading the way.

As they walked back through her bedroom, Sasha curled into a ball on the edge of Gisella's bed and meowed at Charlie as he walked by.

“I don't think Killer cares for me much.”

“She'll be all right.” In the living room, Gisella found pen and paper.

Charlie jotted down his name and cell phone number and handed it over. After another beat of silence, he said, “I still can't believe you two are sisters.”

“We have been all my life,” she joked.

They stared at each other as if waiting for the other person to bring up the taboo subject. It was going to be a long wait if it was up to Gisella.

As if reading her thoughts, Charlie nodded and finally took his first step toward the door. “I guess I'll let you get back to your…uh, dancing.”

Gisella's embarrassment rushed back. “Oh, I can't believe you saw that.”

Charlie stopped and loitered for a few more seconds. “You have some pretty good moves.”

“You, Mr. Masters, are a liar.”

“Please. My friends call me Charlie.”

She gave him a soft smile. “All right. Charlie…you're a liar.” Even though she meant it as a joke, she could tell her words landed a blow by how his smile shrank a few inches.

“Well, I guess I've been called worse,” he said with a sad, self-effacing humor.

At the odd flicker of emotions crossing his handsome face, Gisella wished she could take her words back but before she got the chance, he walked away.

She followed, trying to keep her eyes averted from his broad shoulders, firm butt and muscled legs, but it was impossible.

No. No. No. No more bad boys.

He stopped briefly to retrieve his cane from the floor, but then continued on to the front door.

“I guess I'll see you around,” Charlie said after crossing the threshold. He waited, giving her one more chance to talk about the kiss.

Instead, Gisella lowered her eyes and nodded.

“Goodbye.” He turned and walked away.

Gisella slowly closed the door—and locked it.

C
harlie had no memory of driving back home. All he could do was replay the image of Gisella dancing in her living room in a lacy blue panties-and-bra set. No way would he ever forget it. Every detail from the heart-stopping curve of her breasts, the roundness of her full hips and even her long, shapely legs were now permanently branded in his mind.

He squirmed in the seat of his rental car, trying to give his erection a little more breathing room.

And what about that kiss?

He never dreamed she could taste that sweet. With very little effort he remembered how her silken tongue swept through his mouth and stole a part of his soul. It was just that erotic and sensual. No woman had ever kissed him like that.

Ever.

The only frustrating part was that it ended too soon.

One moment he was lost in heaven, and in the next all he saw was orange fur and sharp claws. But even the attack of the killer cat was worth that brief moment of intimacy. By the time he took a break from his long daydream, Charlie was back at his apartment and sprawled across his bed.

Seconds later, he was groaning and wishing the kiss had been longer or that he had reached out to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands. He did remember them being pressed against his chest and confirming that those babies were indeed real.

What he wouldn't give for the chance to see if her luscious mounds were just as beautiful as the rest of her. Charlie's breath thinned in his lungs as he closed his eyes and allowed the memory of strawberries to fill his senses.

Sighing, Charlie lost himself in the short memory and wondered why he'd never felt like this before. He ached just to be able to run his fingers through her hair or rain kisses along her collarbone.

For a woman who spent her life baking sugary treats, Gisella had a body any Hollywood celebrity would kill for. Small waist. Round hips. Flat stomach.

He wondered if her nipples were the color of brown sugar or maybe amber with a hint of gold. Charlie played with the images his head like it was a hologram in his mind. He gave it some serious consideration and finally decided her nipples would be the color of brown sugar and then went on to wonder about other intimate parts.

Brazilian wax?

Groomed?

Au naturel?

More important than that was, what did the other parts of her taste like? These were mysteries he was now obsessed with solving. And he
will
solve them.

Behind his closed eyelids, Gisella's saucy smile beamed, and her seductive walk entranced him. Now he pictured her crawling up his bed. Fantasy Gisella reached inside his pants with the promise to ease the ache of his throbbing erection.

Her hands were soft and smooth as silk, and their gentle stroking was torturously long and slow.

“Oh, God,” he moaned, his toes curling against the bed. He wanted this woman, more than he'd ever wanted anyone. If fantasizing was the only way he could have her, then it would just have to do.

For now.

“
I know what you want,
” Fantasy Gisella whispered huskily in her erotic accent.

He didn't answer. He just watched as she positioned herself to straddle him and then eased down with all the grace of ballerina.

Tight.

Warm.

Wet.

As she began to ride, breathing became secondary to the intense emotions swirling inside of him. “Gisella…Gisella…”

It was all he
could
say and all that he
wanted
to say. He exploded like a rocket, every ounce of his energy zapped in an instant. But he was far from being satisfied.

It wasn't wise to pursue a new relationship. Not with all that he had on his plate. It was too late for that. He was closing chapters in his life, not starting new ones. It wouldn't be fair for him or her. Yet, he
had
to see her again. Even though reason and common sense told him to stay away, his heart and body had plans of their own.

 

Gisella opened her shop bright and early Monday morning. It was a new day, and she was determined to put yesterday's embarrassment to the back of her mind.

But it wasn't working—just like it hadn't worked yesterday.

There was a serious issue at play here. The craziness that she couldn't tell the difference between a fantasy and a real man standing in her living room was too disturbing.

Two of Gisella's part-time workers, Krista and Pamela, darted wary glances Gisella's way every time she'd slammed down a pot or dropped a tray of eggs. They had never seen her like this, and with all the mumbling Gisella kept doing they were too afraid to ask what was wrong.

After making one too many mistakes, Gisella snapped. “Okay! So you kissed him.” She slammed her fist into a pile of flour and caused an atomic white mushroom cloud to cover her face.

Krista and Pamela crept toward the front of store in case their boss turned postal. Death by chocolate didn't sound so cute today.

Choking and waving the flour from her face, Gisella turned and marched to the large walk-in cooler to calm down. By the time Isabella breezed through a few hours later, Gisella had pulled herself together and was at least managing to get
some
of her recipes right.

Isabella reviewed a few spreadsheet issues with her, but by the time she left the shop, Gisella realized that she hadn't heard a single word the woman said.

Gisella sailed into the afternoon, edgy and distracted. Edgy because she thought everyone knew what she'd done and distracted because Charlie's phone number was burning a hole in her pocket. She was supposed to give the number to her sister last night when she called but she never quite got around to doing it. Not that she didn't have the opportunity, it's just that, well, she wasn't exactly comfortable with her sister calling her…what? Fantasy lover?

She did, however, casually bring up his name. This time she listened carefully to what her sister said as well as what she didn't say. Anna couldn't be baited; she just smoothly changed the subject.

What did that mean?

Were Charlie and her sister an item back in college?
That
thought was more troubling than the kiss. She dropped another pan, cursed a blue streak—both in French and in English.

Krista cleared her throat. “You have a visitor.”

Gisella frowned. “Who is it?”

“I don't know.” Krista shrugged. “Some guy,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Some incredibly handsome guy, if that helps.”

Charlie
. Gisella blinked stupidly up at her.

“Is everything all right?” Krista asked.

When she didn't readily respond, Krista asked, “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

“Uh, no.” Gisella stood. “Just…tell him I'll be right up.”

Frowning, Krista nodded and walked off.

Gisella quickly tried to dust the excess flour from her apron, but after surviving a large white funnel cloud, she gave up. Acknowledging that she was both excited and nervous, Gisella coached herself to stay cool. “You can do this.” At least she hoped she could. This was like being a teenager all over again.

For an extra touch, she removed the hairnet and clip from her head and then strolled to the front of the shop with her heart in her throat.

But it wasn't Charlie waiting for her.

“Hello, Gisella.”

“Robert?”