Whoa. Smeared chocolate had nothing to do with what she was trying to accomplish here. Her job meant keeping her head, not giving head. Although she’d bet chocolate would go with that, too.
“Yes, of course,” Madame said, sweeping her arms wide like a diva giving a personal backstage tour. “Chocolate should always be enjoyed. In fact, every chocolatier has recipes for different kinds of chocolates. Like a chef.”
Yeah, well, Zandra wouldn’t mind trying a recipe or two on Blake. She swatted the thought away, shrugged her backpack off her shoulders, and took a determined breath. She had a job to do, and she needed to stay focused here. “It’s time to set up. Can we start with this display?”
“If you like. Now, what can I do to help?” Madame Pruissard clasped her hands and beamed. “This will be a fun time.”
Yeah, it would. It wasn’t a surprise to Zandra that it started out slow. Set up was everything, and that included testing the shutter speed with different shots and angles then viewing them on her laptop. It was the only way she felt certain that the photos she took were any good, especially when coming back wasn’t an option. While she mostly liked to shoot from her gut, these were too important to leave to chance.
But even while it took a lot of time, the next couple of hours flew by as she concentrated on each shot, making sure what extra lighting she had to add didn’t affect the temperature enough to destroy the chocolate displays. Thank God for modern technology and Photoshop.
From the village pieces to an arrangement of hand-painted chocolate flowers, to the chocolate jewelry made for a little girl’s princess birthday party, it was easy to identify the artistic talent that went into each piece. Clearly, Madame Pruissard had earned her title.
All the while Blake stood off to the side, taking cues from her when it was time to move on to another display or carry an extension cord or even hold her laptop while she took the shot.
The whole place was amazing, but what captured Zandra’s attention most was the chocolate waterfall the older woman had created. Even now it was surrounded by store patrons eager to dip their purchased cookies, cakes, and fruit into the pool at the bottom of the waterfall.
“This is like one of those chocolate fountains,” Blake said as he set up her stand off to one side.
“Only so much better.”
“How so?”
“She’s taken the trouble to stage it so that it’s more intriguing, inviting to anyone who walks by.”
“Huh.”
“I mean, look at it.” Zandra pointed. “There’s the chocolate forest that surrounds it, complete with animals that look like they’re drinking out of the pool. Anyone would be drawn to this.” She swept a hand out. “Look at all these people. They could’ve purchased a bunch of chocolate, gone home and melted it, yet here they are, dipping fruit and marshmallows and cookies into the lake or holding it under the waterfall—”
“Chocolate fountain.”
“Whatever. That, my friend, is the hook that gets them into the shop every time.”
He raised an eyebrow. “People travel from all around to drink from the chocolate fountain? Doesn’t make sense to me.”
“The point is, Madame Pruissard has created something special here. She’s displaying her talent, and those who frequent the shop enjoy her chocolate and the experience as a whole. That’s all I’m saying.”
He studied the display. “Frankly, I’m surprised by your willpower. I’d have thought you’d have caved by now.”
“I thought I’d wait until we finished with the shoot.” She tilted her head toward the display. “But I think I will. This morning’s croissant seems like a long time ago.”
“Then go ahead.” He frowned. “Although I’m not entirely sure sugar is the best thing on an empty stomach.”
“There you go with your ‘eat only whole foods’ thing. You’re on vacation. Loosen up already. Although how you could eat so much so early in the day is beyond me.”
He shrugged. “I’m a growing boy.” A corner of his mouth turned up, filling Zandra’s thoughts with all sorts of inappropriate images. Inappropriate at the moment, anyway.
“Yeah, well, I’m trying some.”
“Yes,” the chocolatier said, rejoining them. She held out a tray filled with an assortment of cookies, small pieces of cake, fruit, and just about everything Zandra could imagine. “Please, help yourself to a snack while I bring the items out for the next shot, yes?” she said.
“Twist my arm.” Zandra forked a strawberry and caught Madame Pruissard’s quizzical eye. “It’s a figure of speech,” she assured the chocolatier. “I promise I’m not asking you to do it.”
“Oh, you Americans and your sayings.” She grinned. “It is very amusing.”
Zandra held the strawberry directly underneath the stream, watching the chocolate layer itself onto the plump fruit. “Are you seriously not having any?” she asked Blake. “I mean, some would argue that the best chocolates come from Switzerland, and guess where we are?”
He shot her an arched brow and chose a cookie from the tray. “Of course I’ll have some. Be crazy not to.”
Zandra’s first bite was amazing. The tartness of the strawberry mingled with the sweet chocolate and partied in her mouth. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the flavors. It was decadent and indulgent and one step below orgasmic. At least, what she remembered about orgasms. It’d clearly been too long since she’d engaged in that particular indulgence.
“Yum,” she finally said when she opened her eyes and caught Blake staring at her mouth like he was glued to a particularly riveting show. Her senses tuned in to him as their earlier kiss flooded her senses—his clean scent, the way he possessively held her tight, and the taste of coffee and cinnamon as they explored each other.
She stuffed the longing back and sucked in a deep breath as she tore her gaze away. “This reminds me of romantic evenings and moonlight over a lake, or the ocean, or even a pool.”
His eyebrow shot up. “You got all that from one bite?”
“Yeah, well, chocolate tends to bring out the romantic in me. What did you think?” she asked, raising her chin at the half-eaten cookie in his hand. “Any good?”
“Very. But obviously nothing like the…ummm…experience you had.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.”
“Of course I am.” He grinned. “That’s why I’m here.”
See, this easy-going vibe she could handle, and really it made the most sense, didn’t it? Instead of kissing him?
Zandra ignored the part of her brain that protested the thought, finished off the rest of the strawberry, and forked up another. She held the fruit underneath the flowing chocolate stream. “One more, then it’s back to work.”
“Slave driver,” he teased.
“Am I?” The question wasn’t a serious one, but more to keep the banter going. She enjoyed their exchanges, silly or otherwise. When his face sobered, she was half afraid she might’ve been pushing him harder than she’d thought.
“You’re one of the hardest working people I know, Zandra. You push to get the right shot—whether it’s the angle you’re standing at or the lighting or the way the shot looks on your laptop. I’ve never seen anyone work a camera the way you do.”
“And how many photographers do you hang with?” she asked, even as she felt her face flush with the compliment.
“That’s not the point. The point is, if anyone is a slave-driver, it’s you, all right, but you drive yourself pretty hard.” He cocked his head to one side. “Have you thought of becoming a soldier? We could use someone like you.”
“Very funny, wiseass.”
“Oh, there you go with the language again.” He popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“Seriously, photography’s important to me,” she admitted. “It’s how I see
the world, and I want to share that.” How could she explain it so he’d understand?
“Besides,” she continued, motioning with her hands a bit, “how else do I make my dreams come true? How else do I carve the kind of life I want for myself unless I push myself to be better? To do better?” She made a sweeping gesture, chocolate-covered strawberry in hand…then plop. The fruit landed at her feet, almost as if taunting her for not eating fast enough.
“Oh, damn it.” She stared down at the blob of chocolate that was now smeared across the front of her white T-shirt. Her favorite white shirt which now sported a splotch of brown. She couldn’t have hit it more dead center if she’d tried.
“Here.”
She took the napkin Blake handed her. “How could I have been so clumsy?” she muttered, dabbing at the chocolate, trying to soak up as much of it as she could. “Where’s Madame Pruissard?” She looked around the shop, grateful that the crowd had died down enough so she could get the chocolatier’s attention.
“I’m going to need to get some water on it,” she explained. “Is there a bathroom I could use?”
“The kitchen.” She motioned toward the back of the shop.
“Watch my gear, would you?” she said to Blake. “I won’t be long.”
Zandra followed the older woman, trying her best not to smudge the chocolate so it didn’t leave a bigger splotch.
“The kitchen is through those doors,” Madame Pruissard said. She glanced at the front of the shop and the band of Asian tourists who entered. “I must go back and help Bernadette,” she said. “You will be okay?”
“Yes, of course.” She gave the woman a warm smile. “Thank you for your help. Truly,” she said before pushing her way through the swing door.
Ugh. Of all the things to have happened now. Light filled the room from the overhead lighting above, flooding the room so every tool, every box, every bowl could be easily identified.
Her gaze searched past the racks of chocolates, past the worktable set off to one side, to the sink beyond and the row of windows above it. It was quaint, cozy, and so very much like Madame Pruissard, right down to the gauzy curtains. Zandra would have to make sure she photographed the area where the magic took place.
And then she stopped mid-track as her gaze fell on trays of chocolate placed on the large, wood island. These weren’t just any chocolate. She swallowed as she took in the wide range of chocolate penises. All shapes and sizes of them. Some even had hard veins running through them, leaving nothing to the imagination whatsoever.
“Holy shit.” Her eyes widened even more. Did she just step into a sex shop?
Chapter Thirteen
At the sound of the swinging doors opening, Zandra turned. There stood the prim and proper Madame Pruissard, her white hair in a tight bun and a pair of old-fashioned glasses propped on her nose. All she needed was a habit, and she could’ve passed for Sister Mary Catherine, Zandra’s third grade teacher.
The older woman hurried toward her. “Did you get it out? I have a bit of vinegar that we can use if there still appears to be a stain. Chocolate can be hard to remove, you know.”
Chocolate? Oh, right. The reason Zandra was in the kitchen in the first place. “Ummm…I was a little bit distracted.” She indicated the countertops. “What are these?”
Madame Pruissard raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you don’t recognize them?”
“Well, yeah, of course I do.” Heat crept up Zandra’s face. She wasn’t a prude, for heaven’s sake. What was wrong with her? “I just meant, what are these doing here? They’re…interesting.” Oh, good grief. What was she, twelve? “I mean, I didn’t see any of these in the cases, and, let’s face it, these are kinda hard to forget.”
“These were ordered last week.” The older woman’s smile broadened. “They are not in front because we often have young children in the shop.”
That made sense. The chocolatier was clearly talented enough to make chocolate towns and a replica of the Eiffel Tower, surely something like a penis was a piece of cake for her. “But I don’t get it. You make all those gorgeous dioramas out there. Out of chocolate.”
“I do.” She stepped closer. “But these”—she indicated the molds—“these are special. For the ladies.”
Wow. Clearly the older, demure woman who created gorgeous chocolate villages and chocolate jewelry for a little girl’s birthday party also had a wild side.
Madame tilted her head to one side. “You disapprove?”
“Of course not.” Not now that Zandra was over the shock. “I think they’re great.” She leaned forward to study a particularly large one that had what looked like a white stream flowing from the tip. “They’re very…ummm…life-like.”
“Indeed. That is what my client requested, and that’s what I attempted to do.”
“Do you get a lot of orders?”
Madame shrugged. “Women in the surrounding towns, they know where to come for such items.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I have customers who like to serve these at their events.”
“I don’t suppose you’d want to share who they are?” If Zandra could nail a photo shoot with one of them, it might be something that Flights and Sights would pay extra for.
The older woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. I cannot say.”
“Well, would you mind if I took photos of these?” At the older woman’s hesitation, Zandra added, “I promise they’ll be tasteful, and I’d showcase the wide range of talent you have—from the complexity of something like the Eiffel Tower to the simplicity of a man’s penis.”
She nearly tripped over the word, not wanting to say it, but what the hell? If a woman like Madame Pruissard could turn these out, Zandra 2.0 could say penis with her head held high.
…
Blake hadn’t been in too many chocolate shops in his life. He’d had no reason. He looked around the room now and studied the steady stream of customers—mostly tourists with their cameras and selfie-sticks, with an occasional local thrown in. The locals were easy to spot. They breezed in and either went up to the counter and were handed a box of chocolates they’d ordered ahead of time or quickly cruised through the shop. The tourists, on the other hand, lingered.
He tapped on the table that held Zandra’s laptop. On the screen was a shot of Madame Pruissard, her gray hair formed into a bun atop her head making her look almost regal. Yeah, the older woman was certainly talented, but there was something in the way Zandra had framed the shot that somehow showed wisdom and grace as well.
He frowned and glanced at his watch. Madame Pruissard had gone to check on Zandra ten minutes ago. Were chocolate stains all that hard to remove?
He caught the attention of an employee and signaled for her to watch their gear before he headed toward the swinging doors to the kitchen.
Conversation stopped as soon as he entered. That’s weird. Something was definitely off. The older woman stood to one side, Zandra next to her, and both had somewhat guilty expressions on their faces.
“Am I interrupting something?” Because it sure as hell looked like it.
The women turned to each other, and Zandra shrugged. “I’m okay with it.”
“Okay with what?” he asked, stepping farther into the room.
“Please,” the older woman said, motioning him forward. “Please join us.”
Did he want to? The intensity in the room was palpable, and as he reached them, Blake understood why. His gaze landed on a large, almost life-sized chocolate replica of a man’s dick, veins on it looking like they were going to burst, and complete with a stream of white chocolate cum running down the side. Holy shit.
He stopped a couple feet away and his gaze landed on tray after tray of dicks—every size and shape. Not that he was all that familiar with another guy’s junk, but given the chocolatier’s demand for perfection, he wouldn’
t be surprised if they represented every size and shape.
“Did you want to try a piece?” Zandra asked. Only then did he notice the knife in her hand. “I can cut some off for you.”
“Uhhh…” His gaze snapped to Madame Pruissard and he blinked. “What happened to the grandmotherly-type woman who made artistic chocolate?” The question was out before he could stop himself.
“Does a grandmotherly-type woman, as you say, not know anything about sex? Is that how you would portray such a woman? Because if so, I promise that grandmothers became grandmothers because they have a good idea about a man’s penis.”
He stared at her, at the amusement in the curve of her lips and the light in her eyes. “Well, I didn’t mean it like that,” he insisted. What exactly did he mean? And did he even want to go there?
“You are surprised,” Madame Pruissard observed. She tapped her chin and continued, “Most young people are. But, you know, we older ones, we know more than you want to believe. Sex doesn’t stop because you grow older. Sometimes it gets even better.”
Okay, this was a totally weird conversation. Blake glanced at Zandra, saw the amusement reflected on her face. “Help me out here,” he said.
“Nope. You’re on your own, buddy.” She grinned and folded her arms, the dark chocolate stain between her breasts taunting him like a neon light at his favorite Seattle bar. Stupid stain.
“In any case,” Madame Pruissard said, “the male anatomy is not something I want to broadcast. It could damage my reputation as an artist.”
“Or broaden it,” Zandra said. “Think of how much more work you’d receive if visitors to the area knew they could come into your shop and take home a box of these. Just think of it,” she coaxed. “You could showcase your wide range of talents, from innocent to naughty.”
“Zandra, it’s like trying to convince your grandmother to peddle sex. Even if it is just chocolates.” What the hell was she thinking?
Seduced by the Soldier Page 7