Dark Chocolate Murder by Anisa Claire West Read Free Book Online Page A

the business arrangement, sealing the deal with his signature and a handshake.
     
    *****
    Later in the day, after Belinda was finally able to hustle Crystal and Jean-Jacques off her modest turf and back to their lavish abode, she stood in an empty apartment with unpacked bags.  With sparkling tile floors and elegant ceiling fans, the place was clean but barren.  The bare white walls looked institutional, and she vowed to buy a can of paint to splash some color onto her bleak surroundings.  Thankfully, the carpets were thick and plush---just as they needed to be right now since she did not have a bed.  She wondered if Monaco had any stores that sold futons, but she didn’t feel very hopeful.  For now, she would spend her nights sleeping on the carpet, building a mattress from layers of blankets.
    Diligently, she worked past dusk every day over the next week, ordering ingredients, trying out chocolate molds, and setting up office equipment.  Fortunately, the storefront had formerly been a pastry shop and was already outfitted with state-of-the-art kitchen appliances.  There was also a cash register and fax machine to receive orders---but no copy machine.  Belinda smirked thinking how she would never copy another paper again.  Not for Jerry and not for anyone.
    By the end of the second week, Belinda knew she had not been too ambitious in setting a grand opening date.  She would definitely be ready to open on time if she kept working at this breakneck speed.
    One afternoon, two days before the grand opening, Belinda was in her shop ins pecting a tray of freshly made Raspberry Cloud truffles.  Filled with raspberry jam and a dollop of vanilla cream, the truffles looked irresistible.
    “I have to taste these,” Belinda reasoned, “I can’t sell any candy that I hav en’t personally tasted myself.” She popped the truffle into her mouth and giggled as jelly dribbled down her chin and cream clung to her lips.
    “Looks delicious.  How do I get some of those?” A deep male voice laced with a French accent inquired.
    Belinda looked up and locked eyes with a swarthy, casually dressed powerhouse of a man.  With the body and apparel of a lumberjack, he was exquisitely masculine and extremely unnerving as he smirked at Belinda with raspberry goo trickling down her face.  Searching in vain for a napkin, Belinda hastily licked the cream off her lips and indelicately wiped her chin on her sleeve.  The stranger’s amusement deepened, and he cocked his head to one side while wearing a disarming grin.  Mortified, Belinda struggled to speak to the French-accented Adonis who stood before her making a mockery of her embarrassing predicament.  She was more astonished when the man walked forward and boldly lifted a chocolate off the tray.
    “May I?” He asked a beat too late.
    You already have , she thought but remained mute, not trusting her own voice at the moment.  She watched in amazement as he slowly placed the truffle on his tongue and bit right into the center, deliberately making the jelly and cream leak onto his chin.
    “Now I see why you want to we ar these as well as eat them,” the man said flirtatiously.  “They’re delicious.”
    “Thank you,” Belinda managed, blushing furiously , but grateful that he had lightened the moment.
    “I’m Pierre Cédaire.   Yes, you heard my name right.  Cédaire sounds just like Say Dare ,” he chuckled and extended his hand.
    When Belinda offered him her hand, he clasped it lingeringly in his and gently kissed the top.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he smirked. “It appears I got more of the sweet on you.”
    “That’s okay ,” Belinda mumbled.  “I’m Belinda Rockland.”
    “Yes.  I heard that an American woman was opening up shop here, and I wanted to check it out.  I’m in the culinary business myself, you see,” Pierre explained, his eyes glued to Belinda’s raspberry-red lips.
    “Oh, did you see the ad I placed in the local paper?” Belinda asked,