The Chocolate Touch (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 8)

by Melissa McClone

  Stupid.

  The word resonated through her.

  Don’t be stupid.

  She pulled away. Reluctantly.

  His hands fell to his sides, and a part of her wished he was touching her. Still, the hunger in his eyes sent a rush of power and pride through her. She’d put that look there, but she needed to be smart about this. About him. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Hers, too.

  The street came alive with the sounds of cars driving by and a horn honking off in the distance. The scent of pizza from the restaurant next door scented the air. Now that he wasn’t touching her, the air felt cooler against her heated skin.

  And York.

  His hair was a mess, and he’d never looked sexier. Was this what he looked like when he woke up in the morning?

  She’d never know that, but she reached up and combed her fingers through his hair. Damage control, she told herself, not to feel the soft strands again.

  “There.” She finished combing his hair. “Now you don’t look so—”

  “Thoroughly kissed like you do?” His grin spread quickly and crinkled the corner of his eyes.

  Swoon worthy was the only to describe his smile. She cleared her dry throat. “Yes.”

  “I’d offer to fix your hair, but I’d only make it worse.”

  Lips tingling, Chantelle had no doubt she must look as thoroughly kissed as he did. She felt that way, a bit dazed and lightheaded, too.

  “I’ll settle for this.” He took her hand in his and kissed the top.

  The romantic gesture brought a sigh to her lips.

  He kept her hand near his mouth. “You like?”

  “Very much.” Her gaze slanted to the store window so she could see how messed up her hair was.

  A lovely white lace dress caught her attention. Next to that one was a pink confection of delicate applique flowers and crystals. So perfect. Her breath caught.

  Wedding dresses. They hadn’t kissed in front of any store, but a bridal salon called Married in Marietta.

  A sign? She gulped. A reminder of what she truly wanted?

  As York kissed each of her knuckles, images formed in her mind. The small chapel at her uncle’s chateau. Flowers everywhere. A harp playing.

  The fantasy sharpened. The scent of flowers. Twinkling white lights. Flickering candles. Romantic music. The clinking of silverware against crystal.

  A wedding.

  Her wedding.

  No. No. No.

  A crush was one thing. Picturing a wedding after one—make that two—hot kisses was bad. The worst kind of bad. Psycho-chick bad.

  Chill.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asked, still holding onto her hand.

  “I…” Her gaze bounced between the two dresses that represented her dream of finding forever love and a happily ever after versus having fun with York for a brief amount of time. His kisses made her feel a way she hadn’t before. He was handsome and charming, and she’d enjoyed herself tonight.

  But…

  The thoughts running through her head could fill a 128-gigabyte flash drive.

  Chantelle knew what she wanted. Not tonight with York, but for her future. She’d known for the past three years. She didn’t want to make a mistake when she was so close to making her dream come true.

  “Tonight’s been great,” she said sincerely. “But I have work to do.”

  “That’s true dedication on a Friday night.” He sounded disappointed, but he held onto her hand. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

  “Thanks.” Chantelle felt bad because he’d done nothing wrong. She was the one who’d freaked out and gone bridal on him. “I worked this afternoon, so I have a few things to do tonight.”

  “I understand.”

  Did he? She hoped so.

  “Do you still want company while you play tourist tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes.” The word flew from her lips like the free chocolate passed out at her book signing. Uh-oh. No would have been the smarter answer, but the smile he rewarded her with was worth saying yes.

  “Meet you in the hotel lobby at one-thirty?” he asked.

  “Sounds good.”

  Playing tourist would be fun. They could check out the town and local attractions. No need to kiss again. Or hold hands.

  Though she liked the feel of his warm hand around hers and was glad he hadn’t let go.

  Stop.

  A romance, even a casual one, was not what she wanted or needed right now. She needed to work on the report for her uncle and remain focused on getting to Bayonne. Distractions—even short-term ones—wouldn’t be good.

  York stopped outside the main doors of the hotel. “If I kiss you again, I’m not going to want to stop, so I’ll say goodnight here.”

  She appreciated his honesty. He was a sweet guy. A sweet, hot guy.

  “Thanks again for tonight.”

  Unsure what to say, she hesitated. The biggest problem was she didn’t want tonight to end. Part of her wanted him to stay with her longer, but that couldn’t happen. Not just tonight.

  Time to draw the line.

  “I’m looking forward to tomorrow,” she continued. “Though maybe we shouldn’t, um, kiss again. It was great. Amazing. But I’m not looking for, um, anything like that.”

  He released her hand as if he were holding onto a lit match about to burn his fingers. “Yeah, me, either.”

  “Good,” she said a little quickly.

  “Yes, good.”

  Okay, they agreed. Why was there still an icky feeling in her chest?

  “No worries. You can never have too many friends,” he added. “Goodnight, Chantelle.”

  Being friends would be okay, wouldn’t it? “Goodnight, York.”

  As she walked toward the hotel’s entrance, she repeated the word friend in her mind. About to step into the hotel, she glanced back.

  York was standing in the same place and watching her.

  Chantelle gave him a half-hearted wave. Her stomach hadn’t settled and her lips still tingled, but no big deal. All she had to do was put his hot kisses behind her and think of him as her friend.

  How hard could that be?

  *

  What was wrong with him? As York walked to his sister’s house, he kicked a small rock on the sidewalk. The stone flew onto a yard twenty feet away and thudded against the grass.

  You can never have too many friends.

  That was the stupidest thing he could have said. Kissing Chantelle had been incredible, and then he’d gone and parked himself in the friend zone.

  Ugh.

  His lips wanted to stage a protest at the thought of not kissing Chantelle again.

  Friends…

  What had he been thinking?

  York couldn’t blame alcohol. A beer at Grey’s and then wine at dinner wouldn’t cause him to say that. But he knew the reason. He’d wanted to remove the wariness from her eyes and put the smile back on her face. She’d seemed…freaked out.

  Maybe we shouldn’t, um, kiss again. It was great. Amazing. But I’m not looking for, um, anything like that.

  Face it, he wasn’t looking for “anything like that” either. Although her definition could be different from his. The chemistry between them wasn’t just strong—it was overwhelming.

  Combustible.

  Something unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome, if he were being honest. He understood why the kisses had shaken up Chantelle. He’d felt nothing like that with the women in Fiji or any of the women he’d dated in the past. And a relationship—unless super casual—was the last thing he wanted. Chantelle didn’t seem like the casual type.

  He half-laughed.

  Come June, he would finally be living the life he’d dreamed about. Being friends might not be what he initially wanted, but maybe this had worked out for the best.

  The last thing he wanted was for Chantelle to feel uncomfortable around him. He never wanted to be that guy.

  He
knew how to be a good friend. Having two younger sisters had taught him lots. He’d just never started off kissing a female friend or wanting to kiss her again.

  First time for everything.

  York dragged his hand through his hair.

  He knew what he’d do to start their friendship off on the right foot. He would arrange something fun for them to do besides checking out the town. Something to show Chantelle that all was good. And he knew who could help him.

  Dustin Decker. He worked at a dude ranch that catered to vacationers. If anyone knew about tourist activities, Nevada’s boyfriend would.

  York picked up his pace. When he reached Dakota’s front door, he was surprised to see so many lights on in the house. He expected his sisters to be out with their boyfriends. He walked inside.

  “Hey.” Bryce waved from the couch. He held onto a bowl of popcorn. Fang, a chestnut-brown dog with a graying muzzle, lay at his feet and Zip, the newest arrival, sat on his shoulder. “Dakota and I are going to watch a movie if you want to join us.”

  “Thanks, but finishing up those windows this afternoon wore me out. I’m going to call it an early night.”

  “There’s pizza in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, but I ate already.”

  Dakota entered the living room with two glasses in her hand. “Where did you eat?”

  “Rocco’s.”

  “Delicious food. Were you out with Nevada and Dustin?”

  York didn’t want to answer that. He hadn’t even thought about the consequences to his sister and the chocolate shop before or after he’d kissed Chantelle. A good thing they were only going to be friends. He gave a slight shake of his head and hoped that would be the end of Dakota’s questions. “Enjoy your movie. I’m going upstairs.”

  “There’s a letter for you on the hall table.” Dakota sat next to Bryce. “It’s from the law office in Bozeman that the mysterious benefactor uses. Did you contact them?”

  Chantelle had been correct when she told him to be patient. He picked up the letter and opened the flap. “I sent a thank-you note to give to whoever donated the vacation package. I wanted to acknowledge the person’s generosity.”

  “The rescue did the same,” Dakota said. “The staff and volunteers all signed a card. We included pictures of the animals with their new families and a receipt with our tax id information on it, but almost six months later, we’re no closer to finding out who that person is.”

  He waved the envelope. “Maybe the answer is in here.”

  York pulled out a piece of ivory-colored paper. The law firm must have a big stationery budget to afford such thick, heavy paper. He read the letter. Dear Mr. Parker. Thank you, yadda, yadda, yadda. We are sending your note, yadda, yadda, yadda, and appreciate your gratitude, but please understand that our client prefers to remain anonymous.

  York sighed. “I can’t believe this.”

  Dakota had gotten up from the couch and joined him in the hallway. “Is there a name?”

  “No. Nothing but a letter saying my note was passed on to the benefactor.”

  She touched his arm. “You’re disappointed.”

  “A little,” he admitted. “I want the donor to know how much I appreciate what he, she, or they did. I’m assuming the person wants to remain anonymous for a reason, but it would be great to thank them in person.”

  “That’s how everyone at Whiskers and Paw Pals feels. The Thanksgiving donation has made such a difference for the animals and the facility. Sending a thank-you card doesn’t feel like enough.”

  “That’s how I feel, too.”

  She lowered her arm. “I think whoever donated your vacation is the same person who donated to the rescue in November. I have no proof, but I can’t see two different individuals picking the same law firm in another town when there are perfectly good attorneys in Marietta.”

  “I’ve asked before, but any clue who it might be?”

  “None. It could be any one of the wealthy folk living around Marietta or one of the many who vacation here.”

  “I guess the donor’s identity is meant to be a mystery.” York fanned the letter. “I tried.”

  “You did, and you thanked that person. Can’t do much more with nothing else to go on. Lori, the director at the shelter, told us that we needed to respect our donor’s wish for privacy.”

  York understood that. “This is over as far as I’m concerned. Go back to your movie and your boyfriend.”

  Dakota beamed. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  As she headed to the couch, York went upstairs to the guest bedroom. He tossed the letter onto the queen-sized bed, sat, and removed his shoes.

  Wait a minute. He stared at the letter. That wasn’t one piece of paper, but two.

  No wonder the paper felt so thick. A second page was attached to the back of first one. He pulled them apart.

  The second letter was addressed to Judge A. Kingsley, who lived on Bramble Lane in Marietta. York read.

  Dear Judge Kingsley:

  Enclosed is a note from York Parker, who was the recipient of the luxurious vacation package to Fiji you donated to The Valentine Quest. Per your request, we did not share your identity, but I assured Mr. Parker that his correspondence would be passed on.

  Please do not hesitate to call if you have any needs in the future.

  Sincerely,

  Stanley Price

  That was the same name of the lawyer who’d signed York’s letter, but the copier had foiled Stanley Price’s attempt to keep the benefactor’s identity a secret.

  Judge A. Kingsley.

  York had never heard the name before, but he would learn more about the man and do so carefully. Too much was at stake to do this otherwise.

  He folded the two pages and put them into his computer bag—a safe place.

  If someone at the law office besides Stanley Price had let this mistake happen, that person could be fired for a printer error. York didn’t want that to happen. Nor did he want the judge to stop making donations—ones that helped individuals like him and the community at large—if his identity became public.

  That meant York couldn’t tell anybody.

  Including Dakota.

  Keeping secrets had been part of his former job. He would find the answers he wanted, and somehow figure out a way to show his appreciation for the vacation package he’d received.

  Maybe Dustin could not only help with making plans for tomorrow, but also share some information about the judge.

  York pulled out his phone and typed a text to Nevada aka Sis2: Tell Dustin to call me. Have questions for him.

  *

  Saturday, after touring Marietta with York, Chantelle sat in the passenger seat of his crossover SUV. The interior felt…confining. That was the reason she was uncomfortable. It had nothing to do with how good York looked in faded jeans and a plain T-shirt. Or the way his soap or aftershave—a clean, fresh scent with a hint of mint—teased and reminded her of their kiss last night.

  She’d been able to keep her distance from York and add more space between them if she’d drifted too close to him as they visited various places in town, window shopped, explored the park, and strolled down Bramble Lane, which was lined with big, old houses.

  Not now. Maybe she should roll down the window.

  “How long a drive is it?” She had no idea where they were going, but she hoped it wasn’t too far.

  He flicked on his blinker and turned the car away from the town. “It’s about a forty-minute drive.”

  That was longer than she thought. He’d told her about making plans for the late afternoon. She had no idea what he had in mind, only that he’d promised it would be fun.

  She was all for fun.

  Fun with her friend.

  But a friend didn’t keep wanting to smell another friend. She was trying to keep things friendly, but that was becoming harder to do being so close to him, and noticing the way the fabric of his short sleeves stretched over his muscles, or how his p
rofile showed off his long eyelashes or…

  This was going to drive her crazy.

  Think of something to say… anything.

  “Where are we going again?” she asked.

  “I haven’t told you.”

  “I was hoping you’d just forgotten to tell me.”

  York glanced her way, but then returned his gaze to the road. “Don’t you like surprises?”

  “Not many people in my life to surprise me these days.” She cringed at how that must sound. “But that’s my fault. I’m either working or traveling or both.”

  “That sounds like what my life will be like soon.”

  “You’re welcome to it. I can’t wait to stay in one place.”

  Soon.

  She stared out the window. “Not much out this way.”

  “Ranches and livestock, but Paradise Valley has some of the most beautiful scenery you’ll see around here.”

  “And stars.”

  That brought a smile to his face. Not that one had been lacking today, but none had reached his eyes like this one. “When the sky is dark enough, you’ll see them.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Depends on how late things go.” He gave her a sideward glance. “That okay?”

  “Sure.” It was a little late to say no, but that didn’t stop her anxiety from rising. She clasped her hands on her lap.

  “It’s nice seeing what’s outside of town,” she said. “Today, when customers found out I’m not from Marietta, or that this is my first trip to Montana, they told me what to see. A few gave me history lessons. People love this place.”

  “Dakota does. She’s lived here six, almost seven years.”

  “Some have been here their entire lives. I heard lots of stories. That made the time go fast.” She realized how that must have sounded. “I had fun during my shift, but I’m not used to working retail. Not easy work.”

  “It’s been an adjustment for me, too. At least you’re getting paid.”

  “I, uh, declined Sage’s offer to pay me.”

  “Why?

  Chantelle didn’t know where to start. “Portia ending up in the hospital wasn’t planned.”

  “No, we thought she had two, maybe three, more weeks until the baby arrived, but that’s nice of you to help.”

  It wasn’t the only reason. “I also didn’t want there to be any conflict of interest. I want to write a review about Copper Mountain Chocolates so being paid wouldn’t be right.”