Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate)

by Alexis Lusonne Montgomery

  Having grown up with parents and grandparents who entertained extensively, even a rough-and-tumble jock like him could spot quality decorating when he saw it. His apartment might not be evidence of his good taste, but that would change soon…now that he’d found the right decorator.

  The annoyed expression on Bebe’s face worried him. He wondered what Margot had said to upset her, but he prudently waited until the blond trio disappeared into the crowd before stepping out from behind his fern frond camouflage to assess the cause for her irritation. She was muttering something about starved hyenas when he spoke.

  “Looking for me?” At the sound of his voice, Sam watched her straighten and turn.

  Her face lit up with uncensored joy and she said, “Hi, Sam.” His whole body shivered with anticipation.

  She looked delicious, and he’d built up a hefty appetite getting here to her tonight.

  The deep forest-green gown she wore clung to her curves when she stepped out from behind the table. Long sleeves covered her to the wrists, and the skirt’s length went to her toes. The vee neckline headed dangerously south to meet an equally revealing slit up the thigh from the hem. She surprised him with a kiss brushed across his cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  “And that would be for what?” he asked.

  “For caring—for helping.”

  “My pleasure.” His gaze caught on the gold cherub dangling from a fine-gauge gold chain around her neck. It rested in the deep vee between her breasts. He caught himself before he reached for it. His tie seemed to be strangling him, and he reached up to tug it loose instead.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” he said. “Have you had any trouble?” Perhaps she’d volunteer the information about Margot and he wouldn’t have to ask.

  “No trouble. Everything’s gone perfectly. George and Paul were sweethearts,” she said, nodding at his two security people standing a discreet distance away. “They pitched in and helped like troopers. We finished in half the time. Angie wants me to hire them away from you.” She smiled and wiggled fingers at the two men who had besotted grins on their faces when they waved back.

  He had a research facility in Antarctica that could use such enthusiastic employees. His face must have reflected his thoughts. The two men straightened to attention, each studying the crowd for potential danger. There would be no more drooling over his red-haired pixie.

  “I’m glad they made things easier for you. Where’s Angie now?” he asked in a controlled tone. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He reached out to brush an imaginary something off her shoulder and ended up cupping her arm and tugging her toward him. Her eyes widened in surprise, but not alarm, so he kissed her. Gently. Lightly. With loads of self-control and self-denial, keeping in mind the whole time that they were in a public place and his mother was in the room somewhere.

  Chapter Eleven

  She probably shouldn’t have kissed him on the cheek. It only encouraged him to take advantage. And she probably shouldn’t be standing on tiptoes to respond to this current liberty, but Sam really was the best kisser…

  She was probably in a lot of trouble here.

  And it had nothing whatsoever to do with chocolate.

  “Where’s Angie?” he repeated in that husky voice he lapsed into whenever he was within body-heat distance of her. He continued to brush his lips across hers, and the sensation was exquisite.

  “Who?” Bebe noticed she was running her hands back and forth over the forearms of his jacket. The tux, made out of the most luxurious wool, did nothing to hide the strength of the muscles underneath. Sam’s hands rested lightly at her waist, but his arms testified to the control he exerted to maintain the light touch. The look in his eyes showed no such control. She could be swept away in that look, and shudders of excitement ran relay races up and down her spine.

  “What?” she managed to ask.

  “You remember Angie, your assistant manager?” he asked with a chuckle. “Can she take over for you long enough for us to have one dance?”

  Sam smiled, almost like he knew how her thoughts whipped around in her mind like batter with the blender turned on puree.

  “Right. She just went to the bar to get us something to drink. She should be back in a minute.” She realized she still had hold of Sam’s forearms—and his hands were making soft flexing movements at her waist—and they were still standing in each other’s very personal space…

  “Would you like a truffle?” she asked, taking one, two, three steps back behind the table until she could busy her hands straightening candies already straightened, feeling only marginally safer with the display table as a barricade between them.

  He followed her behind the table, standing very close, but not touching. “Would you like to dance with me?”

  Refusing to consider what the tone of his voice suggested, Bebe extended a small tray of candies to an older lady in a mink-draped wheelchair being pushed by a young man in a chauffeur’s uniform and smiled.

  Actually, I would love to dance with you.

  “I would,” she replied. “When Angie gets back, we’ll dance. I promise.” His large hand now made warm circles at the small of her back. Very warm circles.

  “With a promise like that, I can be a patient man.”

  Angie chose that precise moment to appear with drinks in hand. Too bad she only carried lime and seltzer water, Bebe thought; she would have liked a double shot of gin to go with it.

  “Hello, Sam,” Angie said, handing Bebe the tall, narrow glass. “I wish I’d known you were here. I would have brought you something to drink. The bar is swamped; it took forever to get these.”

  “You should have sent one of those gentlemen to get your drinks.” He nodded in the direction of his two stalwart employees. “They’re here to help you in whatever way they can.”

  “Really?”

  Angie cast a speculative look in the direction of the two security agents. The gleam in her eyes had Bebe feeling sorry for the hapless pair. They may look like they could each play center linebacker for the Forty-Niners, but they’d never run into anyone as formidable as her assistant manager.

  “Angie, behave.”

  “I haven’t done a thing. Have I done a thing?” Angie demanded of Sam.

  Raising both hands in a sign of surrender, Sam laughed.

  “You’re thinking it, and that’s the first step on the way to you doing it,” Bebe replied.

  Angie shrugged. “And you sound just like Maman Waterston.” Looking gorgeous in her caramel-colored floor-length silk sheath, she sipped her drink, obviously trying to look the picture of innocence. Bebe decided it wasn’t a look she was likely to master.

  They’d picked their dresses out together during a rushed shopping spree. Angie had picked and Bebe had paid. Her friend was the one who’d insisted she buy the forest-green stretch-velvet dress she wore tonight—the one Sam couldn’t seem to quit stroking. The feel of his hand on her back threatened to block out all thought, and her power of speech as well.

  “Since Angie has returned, and she has only to flex a digit for reinforcements, perhaps we could have our first dance now?” A blush rolled high across Bebe’s cheeks, and she took a deep breath to stem the heated tide. Her reactions to Sam’s least little move were over the top. She could enjoy his attentions, but she knew she could never ever take them seriously. His reputation preceded him, and she knew about it better than anyone—she’d made a profit from his dating conduct.

  He was on a first-name-first-date basis with most of the eligible women in the social directory, if his candy list was any indication. She scanned the room. Every blonde had her sights set on Sam. Each covetous look in his direction made her grind her teeth. No one she’d ever dated had caused the spikes of jealousy stabbing through her. She didn’t need this. She should run, not walk, to the nearest exit and get as far away from this man as possible. But no amount of logic could change how Sam made her feel…

  Glancing from Angie’s encourag
ing smile to Sam’s knowing grin, she decided bon temps rouler. She’d let the good times roll, and send herself the most expensive assortment Waterston’s made. Eat dessert first, as Angie was fond of saying.

  She put her arm through Sam’s and smiled. “Shall we dance?”

  …

  Once again, Bebe found herself tucked tight to Sam’s side. He made excellent progress through the crush of San Francisco’s elite. Each one was vying for tastes of the exceptional array of chocolate confections offered by the cream of San Francisco’s chocolatiers. She couldn’t help being impressed and proud of the contribution that those in her industry were willing to make as represented by this gala event.

  Joseph Schmidt, almost as famous as her papa, passed out wonderful swirled truffles and charmed everyone with his wide smile. He waved to her but the crowd prevented her from getting her normal hug and peck. Angela Arzave perched on a stool behind her display table answering questions on the best way to become a world-famous chocolate pastry chef. Bebe would have liked to hear her answers, but her book would have to suffice. Sam seemed determined to dance. The crowd parted for him as though raptors bore down on them.

  As they exited the Colonial ballroom, the enormous poster of Marcel Desaulniers holding a copy of his best seller Death by Chocolate loomed above them. Marcel was the keynote speaker for the night’s benefit and had promised to sign books later in the evening. Bebe had made sure she’d brought her treasured copy, along with a couple of questions about his Chocolate Phantasmagoria and the best resource for hazelnuts. She’d been having problems with her supplier, and Marcel might know someone.

  The Italian Room foyer still teemed with people trying to buy tickets for raffle prizes. In the name of Waterston’s, she’d donated a box a month to the sweetheart of the winner’s choice for one year, and many of her colleagues had followed suit. She delighted in seeing a long line at that particular ticket table.

  At some point in their trek to the Grand Ballroom, she realized she was trying to distract herself from the sensation of being wrapped in Sam’s arm and swept along like a celebrity with her own personal bodyguard. She wasn’t used to having someone else take charge of her person in the way he seemed to do. It was disconcerting and yet somehow fascinating at the same time. And very soon she really was going to put a stop to it. Just not now. First she intended to enjoy dancing with the most handsome man at the ball.

  Cinderella, eat your heart out.

  …

  Sam could have picked up Bebe and made better progress through the crush of patrons trying to get into the Grand Ballroom. Making sure no one accidentally stepped on her while she commented on each ticket table they’d passed nearly gave him hives.

  They’d almost made it onto the dance floor when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He was ready to snarl in frustration, until he swung around to find his father smiling at him.

  “Your mother is looking for you.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Something small and red-haired would be my guess,” his father said under his breath, stepping smoothly around Sam and flashing a wicked grin toward the woman on his arm. “Good evening. I’m John Sugarman. You must be Miss Waterston?”

  Bebe’s smile was one of complete delight. She extended her hand, saying, “I recognize you from your portrait. You’re Sam’s father.”

  “How could you tell?” he asked, taking her hand and leading her toward the tables to the right of the dance floor.

  “Well, you know there is a slight family resemblance,” she replied with a charming giggle.

  “Really?” His father glanced back at Sam. “I’ve always thought he favored his mother.”

  At that, Bebe laughed outright. His father beamed down at her. Another one bites the dust.

  His father could out-charm Clooney, but this time Sam resented the interruption. Knowing where his father’s first loyalty lay, Sam resigned himself to a slight detour.

  He spotted his mother and sister, standing near one of the reserved tables, deep in conversation. When Glenna looked up, saw them approaching, and elbowed his mother in the ribs, he began to worry. He didn’t like the conspiratorial smiles on both their faces when their gazes settled on Bebe. He had a tenuous hold on her at best; he didn’t need anyone’s help at this point—especially those two.

  His father made the introductions. Sam placed a protective hand at Bebe’s waist and cast a warning glance toward his sister. He couldn’t threaten his mother, but he could send Glenna on a fact-finding mission to Alaska if he deemed it necessary. She hated snow.

  His mother, dressed in an ice-blue satin gown he hadn’t seen before, extended a matching satin-gloved hand to Bebe. “I missed you earlier when I verified vendor attendance. I talked to two lovely gentlemen who stood guard over your table like they’d been entrusted with the crown jewels. I loved your display,” his mother continued, while he traded significant looks with his sibling. “Especially those gold filament plate coasters you used. Really exquisite. Where on earth did you find them?”

  Bebe glanced up at him before answering. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it,” she said. “The crochet mats were sent to me from Belgium by my mother, and the security guards were sent by Sam.” She had a now-you-explain-that look on her face when she glanced back at him. The rest of his family shared the same expression.

  “Just a small precaution,” he said. “Bebe’s had some difficulties. We should be able to clear up everything shortly. In the meantime, I don’t intend to take any chances with her safety. Now if you’ll excuse us, she’s promised me this dance.”

  He thought he’d handled that rather deftly. Intending to herd Bebe toward the dance floor, he eased a hand around her shoulder. His mother’s voice stopped him.

  “Sam, dear, we’ve reserved this table for the family. You two should be back here before the presentations begin. In about an hour.”

  Bebe looked at him, a question in her eyes.

  “Thank you, Mother. We’ll be back in plenty of time,” he answered for both of them, realizing he’d been outmaneuvered by a master. His mother looked pleased, his sister looked smug, and his father looked like he was about to burst out laughing.

  “Our dance, princess?” he said, leaning close, in a whisper just for her. She shivered, and then she gave him a bright smile.

  “Yes. Dancing would be good. Safe even,” she whispered back.

  Safe from him or his family? Sam had to grin at her back when she spun on her heel and sped toward the dance floor. If she thought dancing with him would be safe, Ms. Waterston could think again. He intended to keep her close, body-hugging distance, and dancing served his purpose for the moment.

  The band had started a slow rendition of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” when he caught Bebe and swept her into his arms.

  …

  God bless Jimmy Choo, who perfected five-inch platform heels, otherwise I’d be staring at Sam’s belt buckle.

  Bebe tried to slow her racing pulse with the image of herself as a twelve-year-old learning to dance on her father’s shoes. It had little effect, since Papa’s rotund middle had little in common with Sam’s Magic Mike midsection.

  With her head resting on his chest, she heard his steady heartbeat, which might have soothed her, but the feel of his hard muscled body moving against her erased any thoughts of safety she’d espoused earlier.

  How dumb could she be? Wrapped in Sam’s arms? Did she think she could resist?

  Sam’s slow hand down her spine came to a stop in the hollow just below her waist. He could melt her like chocolate over a too-high flame. And she’d get singed in that same fire if she didn’t watch her step.

  Intellectually, she knew this thing between them would never work out. They moved in different worlds. Leagues apart. He expected to be in charge, to have everyone around him jump through hoops at his slightest command. It was his birthright as the scion of a very wealthy and socially prominent family to give the orders and expect to
be obeyed. And while she appreciated his help, it grated that he was the one issuing directives. She wanted a partner, not a boss.

  She also didn’t want to go ten rounds with a love-’em-and-leave-’em Casanova. A man for whom the conquest constituted the whole relationship, and once that happened, the thrill was gone, and so was the man. Sam’s lengthy list of women candy recipients didn’t indicate staying power, more like a hit-and-run Romeo.

  But, oh, her body betrayed every bit of good sense she could muster. She’d never, ever felt like this in anyone else’s arms. Hadn’t even known it was possible. But now she did, so what was she going to do about it? Mon Dieu, she needed to make up her mind and stop worrying the situation to death—she was going to drive herself crazy.

  Bebe pushed away from Sam when the song ended. She was acting like an idiot—the poor man was just trying to help her, not seduce her. She wasn’t his type by eight inches and a wealth of blond hair. She’d known that from the beginning. He dated tall, fair-haired society women with impeccable pedigrees, and she didn’t fit the description. She should accept it. But damn, it hurt.

  “I’ve got to get back to the display. Angie will need me.” She couldn’t even look at him. She turned and headed as fast as she could through the couples crowding onto the floor. She could feel him pressing close behind her, and she tried to hurry, to put distance between them, but her platform heels and floor-length gown didn’t make it easy.

  She’d just reached the ballroom entrance when a mountain of a man stepped into the aisle. Bebe lifted both hands to brace herself against the collision. The man had his back to her, talking, gesturing dramatically with his arms. When he stepped back again, a hand came over her head and was planted squarely in the middle of the mountain’s back. Another hand wrapped around her waist, and a familiar hard body met her back. Taking her out of harm’s way.