The Bride Wore Chocolate (Sweet and Savory Romances)

by Shirley Jump

  “It was sweet what you did for Ginny.” Candace smiled again, remembering the smile of the child when Michael had presented her with the toy.

  He shrugged. “It was nothing.”

  “To her it meant a lot. Telling her the new bear was a friend for her old bear and then buying a coat to keep the old bear warm.” Candace touched his shoulder. “You knew, didn't you?”

  “Knew what?”

  “That you couldn't replace the one she had.” She let her hand remain on his arm. “You must have had a teddy bear when you were a kid, huh?”

  The sky darkened and a soft rain began to fall. Michael cleared his throat, leaving the question unanswered. He'd had bears, and everything a kid could have asked for, but none of his possessions had ever meant as much to him as that one stuffed animal did to that little girl. He'd thought her childhood was lacking. Now he realized his had been. Maybe more than hers. “We should get inside.”

  “I like the rain. It's not too heavy. Let's walk.”

  They strode along, one of a handful of people out in the lumbering shower. “I've never done this, either.”

  “What?”

  “Purposely walked in the rain.”

  She laughed. “What, do you live in an envelope?”

  “Seems like it.” When Michael grinned at her, she returned the smile. Something warm settled in his gut. He liked this. He liked her. More than just casual like, too. “And here I thought I was so cultured.”

  “Don't look at me for culture. I have trouble telling Chianti from Lambrusco. That's why I stick with tequila.”

  “Smart woman. Wine can give you a killer headache.”

  “So can tequila,” she pointed out.

  “Ah, but the fun leading up to the headache is worth it.”

  A faint blush crept into her cheeks. He could only hope she was remembering their tequila-inspired night together. They hadn't rounded any bases together, but seeing her in his bed, so angelic and sweet, he'd felt like he had when he'd hit a home run in high school baseball years earlier. Good. Satisfied. Fulfilled.

  He reached out and took her hand in his, a move as easy and natural as if they had been together for years. “I'm not good with wine, either.”

  Candace tipped her jaw to catch a raindrop in her mouth. “Then we'll never go to Europe together.”

  “Agreed.”

  Her joke with the word “we” in it was something he liked. A lot. She hadn't let go of his hand, which he took as a good sign. A very good sign. The air bristled with humidity and electricity. Between them, the same sizzling hummed, growing with the feel of her delicate hand in his.

  It was only five fingers and a palm. But together they felt like an erotic tool designed to take his mind down paths he'd never traveled.

  They came to a crosswalk and he pulled her against him. She collided against his chest, stumbling a bit. He caught her with his free arm. “Candy, I really had fun today.” His palm cupped her chin, thumb tracing her lip.

  She gulped. “You already said that.”

  “I don't want the day to end. Don't go back to the shop. Don't go anywhere but with me.”

  “I—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Don't. Don't say it. Take the day off.” He closed the remaining distance between them. “Live dangerously.”

  “I already am,” she breathed.

  He ran the back of his hand along her cheek. It was soft as a feather. His fingertips brushed against tender, pale skin. Her eyes widened and she inhaled a sharp whistle of air. “You can't live dangerously if you still keep your seat belt on.”

  “Michael—”

  She was cut off by the storm, which, held in abatement for too long, now started gushing with a sudden rumble from the clouds. Rain let loose around them in a steady stream, slapping against the pavement and streaming down their faces.

  “Come on!” He grasped her hand tighter and they dashed forward, running the last couple of blocks to his car, which was still parked in front of Gift Baskets to Die For.

  They piled inside and he turned on the engine, putting the Lexus in gear before she could change her mind and head into the shop. “Let's go get dried off,” he said.

  “Where?”

  He turned and looked at her heart-shaped face. Want pounded in his veins, louder than a Rolling Stones concert, more insistently than the early morning nudges of Sam. She was dripping wet, bare of makeup and dressed in nothing more complicated than a pale yellow sundress, and he wanted her like he'd never wanted anything in his life. “My bathtub.”

  5 small apples

  5 wooden sticks

  7 ounces of caramels

  7 ounces semisweet chocolate

  l/4 cup heavy cream

  1 cup chopped pecans

  Yes, these are the same things that got Eve into all that trouble. But when they're dipped in chocolate, they work better than a fig leaf at covering up the worst of your foibles. Insert a stick into the stem end of each apple. Then, in a saucepan, combine the chocolate, caramels and cream, heating over low until they're melted and smooth as the snake's voice. Now dip the apples and coat them well. Double-dip them for extra flavor, if you want. Roll them in the pecans, then place dipped on wax paper. Chill until ready to serve.

  Warning: one taste of this sinful treat and you'll definitely be back for seconds. Put the guilt on the backburner until you're done tasting the temptation. I guarantee eating this won't get you into quite the same trouble as Eve did.

  CHAPTER 18

  Oh, this was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

  But Candace didn't ask him to stop or turn around or call the dumb mistakes police. Instead, she listened to the heat swirling in her gut, the tightening, twisting need that had roared to life when he'd said the word “bathtub.”

  She didn't say anything on the ride over to his apartment, afraid of what might come out if she did say something. She wasn't a stupid woman. She knew where this was leading.

  And half of her wanted it anyway. They'd been playing this game for days now, with each moment together raising the stakes like a poker game with professionals who were determined to take the whole pot home.

  What about Barry?

  She looked down at the ring on her finger.

  What about me?

  What if everyone was right? What if she married Barry and always wondered, “What if?” How horrible was it to be with Michael for one afternoon?

  Well, it was probably the kind of horrible that would land her on some cheesy talk show later in life. Best not to think about tomorrow. That philosophy had worked for Scarlett O'Hara and Della.

  Of course, their lives were a complete mess.

  “We're here.” He parked the car, but didn't get out. “If you don't want to come in, I can take you to your house.”

  “I want to ... and I don't.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I don't know what I want.”

  He chuckled. “Join the club. All I do know is I don't want today to end.” He took her hand in his. “Where it goes from here is completely up to you.”

  “Well, I know I don't want to sit here in the car in my wet clothes and get all musty.”

  He chuckled. “That's a first step. And we can take just that one if you want.” He opened his door, got out of the car and then came around to open her door.

  From her vantage point behind him, she watched Michael walk up his stairs and into the building. Here was a hot, sexy, incredible man who wanted her. No strings attached. Nothing to worry about tomorrow. He didn't want a commitment. He'd made that pretty damn clear. It was the kind of sex men dreamed about every four seconds, according to the survey in Cosmo. Why not women, too?

  Why couldn't she have one last fling? Get rid of those doubts once and for all—those questions that had been lingering in the back of her mind for so many years, ever since that summer at her father's lake house. There'd been so many “What ifs” that Candace had kept quiet. Too many. And if she married Barry with those still swirli
ng in her mind, could she ever truly be happy with him? Or would she always wonder what the grass looked like on the neighbor's side of the fence?

  Michael paused inside the lobby of his apartment building. He turned and looked at her, bending down as if he were about to kiss her, then withdrawing. He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned away, but the heat still held in the air between them. “I, ah, I should probably get the mail.” He reached to insert his key into one of the brass boxes that lined the wall. When he did, a little muscle flexed in his arm.

  It was a small movement, but enough of one to turn the switch inside Candace's brain from “maybe” to “oh, yeah.”

  “Screw the damn mail.” She stepped forward, grabbed his shirt and turned him around to face her, tugging his face down so she could kiss him. His brows rose in surprise and he took one step back, colliding with the mailbox wall.

  Good. Something for traction. She pressed herself against the length of his body and kissed the hell out of him. Their kiss started out soft at first, his hands tangling in her hair, lifting and releasing. Then harder, the need sparking in each of them, fueled by the long day together, the hours spent shopping and laughing, the unspoken possibilities between them.

  “What... what the hell was that?” he asked when she let him come up for air.

  She grinned. “I'm hungry.”

  “I don't think there's anything in my fridge. I'm not much of a homebody. I can get some take out—”

  Her fingers teased along his hairline. “I'm hungry for something else.”

  “I might have a—” He stopped. “You're not talking about food at all, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about—”

  “I don't want any questions. I don't want to talk about this. I just want to have sex.”

  “Uh... uh... okay.” He nodded. Very quickly.

  Her smile widened. “Good.”

  Michael, she realized, could move pretty damn fast for a guy in shock.

  Michael barely got his door unlocked. He and Candace kissed their way up the stairs, hands roaming, clothing coming untucked. At his door, he fumbled with the keys, nearly dropping them. Twice. Then he got inside, shut the door, and managed to lock it while she fingered his buttons and got his shirt undone and off. She dropped her tote bag to the floor, the contents spilling on the hardwood floor. Neither of them stopped. Or cared.

  Sam came over to greet them, saw his master was otherwise engaged and plodded back to his dog bed and Nylabone. Michael had a vague thought of apologizing to poor Sam later with a warehouse-sized box of Milk Bones.

  And then the thought was gone. Candace's tongue was doing acrobatics in his mouth and his brain short-circuited.

  Here he'd always imagined this big seduction scene. Move slow and easy, tease her until she was begging for him. Because he sure as hell had been wanting her since the moment she'd spilled her chowder on him and then apologized so nicely.

  But he'd been wrong about Candace Woodrow. Nice wasn't how he'd describe her right now.

  Hot, demanding and consumed with a passion to have him. Yeah, those were better adjectives.

  She had his shirt out of his pants, her hands beneath the fabric, nails scratching lightly against his skin, awakening nerve endings, sending little screams of desire into his groin. Never had he been with a woman so aggressive. Who seemed to want him more than she wanted to breathe. The thought of it caused a heady rush of desire in him and he surged forward, sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders, then the straps of her bra, slipping his hands into the cups and lifting her enchanting, perfect breasts out and into his palms.

  She moaned, her head falling back, mouth open, eyes closed. He thumbed her nipples in tiny, tight circles and Candace squirmed her pelvis against his. His erection went stone hard, and he almost lost control right there in his front hall.

  Then she jerked her head forward and grabbed at his head, pulling it down to her breasts. He obliged her demands, tasting the sweetness of her skin, teasing at the tips, hearing her gasps and feeling like he would die inside if he didn't have her right now.

  He pulled back, wrestled with the last couple of buttons on her dress, then finally managed to get enough of it undone that it fell to the floor in a puddle at her feet. Beneath it, she wore tiny lace panties, so sheer they were nearly transparent.

  Oh, God.

  He lowered himself to his knees and trailed kisses along her abdomen. Then he hooked a finger into each side of the string bikini and eased it down, one centimeter at a time, watching her face as he did. She bucked a little, clearly in agony with want and impatience. “If you don't get those goddamn things off me now, I swear—”

  “What?” He grinned. “What'll you do?”

  “I'll...” She took a moment to inhale. “I'll make you wait. And tease you until you can't breathe.” She lowered her mouth to his, swept her tongue inside, then nipped at his bottom lip, sucking at it for one long, sweet second before releasing him and holding his gaze very, very steady. “Until you beg to fuck me.”

  Hearing that word out of her mouth was the last straw for him. His brain exploded with desire, every nerve in his body screaming for her.

  He tugged at her panties, and she stepped out of them as quickly as he slid them down her legs. He tossed them to the side, then stood, moving to his release his own pants.

  “I'll do that, thank you very much.” She gave him a teasing grin. “You keep your little hands busy. Right where they were.”

  He didn't move for a second. “Did I pick up the wrong woman somewhere along the way?”

  “Didn't expect this side of me, did you?”

  “Hell, no.”

  She undid the clasp of his belt and yanked it out of the loops with all the drama of David Copperfield. “Guess I've been holding myself back for a long time.”

  He cupped her face with his hands. “Before we go any farther and while I can still think... are you sure?”

  “I want you.” She dropped his belt to the floor. The buckle hit the wood with a clatter. “You don't want anything else out of me but this, right?”

  A tiny flicker of disappointment ran through him. Just sex. Any man in his right mind would give up his left arm and his retirement account to get that. He'd had plenty of no-strings-attached sex. Women who wanted a good time in bed, a partner for a night or two, and not much more.

  But for the first time in his life, the thought of that sounded almost... empty. How crazy was that? It was the exact thing he'd been telling her he wanted. Against his cheek, he could feel her diamond, which had spun around her finger. Just sex. Nothing more. Because she belonged to someone else. “Yeah, that's all.”

  “Good. Then stop talking.” His zipper went down, his pants fell to the floor and before he knew it, he was naked, carrying her into his bedroom and leaving coherent, sensible thoughts back in the living room.

  6 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped

  1-1/2 cups heavy cream, divided

  3 tablespoons rum

  He's damned good at what he does, isn't he? Well, show your appreciation, girlfriend, by making him a dessert to remember. You don't want to be gone from bed too long, so make it delicious... and make it fast.

  Melt the chocolate and three tablespoons of the cream in a double boiler, then add the rum and remove it from the heat Let it cool for, oh, fifteen minutes, long enough to get his motor running again.

  Beat the remaining cream in a separate chilled bowl until stiff, but not dry, peaks form. Get that mind out of the gutter. I'm talking about the dessert here. Really, I am.

  Fold the whipped cream into the chocolate. Gentle; don't want your peaks to fall. Spoon into four dessert dishes: Two for now. Two for later. Top with any extra whipped cream.

  Serve in bed so you can get back to your own little dessert-making sooner.

  CHAPTER 19

  Michael didn't disappoint her. Sex with him was mindless, intense. He used every ounce of his body to ple
ase her, tasting, feeling, then sliding along her and slipping into her with an expertise that made it seem as if he'd memorized her body. The first time she came, she nearly wept.

  “What?” He paused, catching a single teardrop on her cheek with his fingertip.

  “Nothing. It's ... it's been a long time since.... Well, since I had one of those.”

  “Oh, Candy.” His smile was so, so tender, it forced the tears into her eyes again. The smile turned to a grin. “Then let me make you do it again.”

  And he did. Three times more before he finally climaxed with her in a swirling torrent that seemed to blur the room and him and her into something she couldn't recognize. Stars exploded in her mind and she arched her back beneath him, clawing at him, wishing she could hold onto that feeling for the rest of her life.

  And then it was over. The stars twinkled for a few long seconds, then her heartbeat slowed. And she came back to earth.

  Sex with Barry had never been like this. Not even on the good days when his stamina was at its highest.

  She stretched along the bed, replete and utterly satisfied. Michael had reached places, touched parts of her, that she hadn't even known existed. Was it because it was forbidden sex? With a man who wasn't her fiancé?

  Or did it mean something more?

  Candace refused to spoil the afterglow with analysis. Later...

  Yes, later she'd deal with all of this.

  Michael left the bedroom only long enough to order some Chinese food to be delivered, then he climbed back into the four-poster and pulled her into his arms, kissing at her hair. He trailed a hand along her chest, down her abdomen—a light, tender touch that seemed almost reverent. “You surprised me.”