A Taste of Chocolate (3 page)

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What in God’s name was she doing? How crazy was it to sit in a mall waiting for a strange man to approach? Hope chewed her bottom lip and tore more pieces from her paper napkin. Really, did she want another man in her life? Every male thus far had brought his own style of pain and rejection.

This was all too soon. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d had a boyfriend. They’d made plans to go to the shore for the holiday weekend. Well, she’d made them, but Barclay had agreed. Not right away, but eventually, after she’d complained about how she needed time alone with him. Hadn’t her sister warned her of being too pushy? A deep sigh escaped. Had she been too bossy where Barclay was concerned? Maybe her sister’s claims held merit. Maybe she needed to think all this through.

Didn’t she owe herself a time of healing? No doubt she should be home right now, analyzing her past relationships, not sitting here waiting to invite another man into her life. Why would she so readily open her heart for more pain? Why? Just because some strange woman wearing red and pink told her she knew just the right guy for her? How pathetic was that?

Her stomach cramped, and she couldn’t seem to take one deep, complete breath. She eyed the paper bag she kept in her purse. If she hyperventilated, she’d need it.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God, I am freaking insane.

Once he came, if he came, she’d give him ten minutes, and then she was out of here. She didn’t care how good-looking he was. Wait, she’d decided to go for content of character, not looks. This change in priorities would take time. Old habits were hard to break. Her gaze swept the area. With any luck he wouldn’t show.

“Don’t turn around.” A deep voice behind her sent chills up her spine. “I’m Declan, the man Freya sent. I know you’re scared, but don’t be. There’s no need.”

Why couldn’t she look at him? Was he butt-ugly? Short and fat? What?
Remember, I’m not going to concentrate on his looks. I’m making wiser choices this time. I’m looking at the man on the inside, not the hunk on the outside.
She exhaled a long, slow breath. “Okay.”

“Close your eyes for just a second.”

Oh, this was just too weird. Even so, she closed them. Something satiny soft rubbed over her cheek and she jerked. Roses. She smelled roses. Velvety softness caressed her chin.

“Rose petals are very soft, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” They were also very sensual when rubbed over her face. “I’m opening my eyes now.” Enough playing games. Every person in the food court had to be watching them.

“As you wish.” He held a small bouquet in front of her. “Purple roses are for love at first sight. Purple irises are the flower of hope.”

There were two purple roses and three irises snuggled in a bed of baby’s breath and tied with a pink ribbon. What a charming gesture. Don’t weaken. Be strong. Don’t let him suck you in.

“And the baby’s breath?” She’d yet to look at him, but took his sentimental offering from his calloused hand. “What does that flower mean?”

“Sincerity.” He stepped to her side, and her gaze lifted. “Hello, Hope. I’m Declan Fleming.” He extended his hand and she placed hers in his for a handshake. Something swift and searing zinged to her heart.

He had the most incredible blue eyes she’d ever seen. Not pale blue or sky blue, but cobalt.

Declan settled in the chair across from her. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice.”

Something about his voice set her insides to trembling. She lifted the small bouquet to her nose and inhaled their heady fragrance, giving her nerves time to settle after that handshake—as if they could settle with those cobalt eyes taking her in. “Thank you for the flowers.”

“I thought if I showed a measure of gallantry, you wouldn’t be so scared of me.”

“Gallantry?” Who used that word anymore? She shook her head. “This is very kind of you, but I’m not scared.” One of his dark eyebrows arched as if he didn’t believe her. “Okay, yes, I’m nervous. Scared spitless, actually.”

“Understandable.” He had black hair combed straight back and touching the collar of his blue shirt. A closely cropped mustache and beard lent a dangerous air to his narrow face.
Oh, my.

“Freya was right. Blue does bring out the color of your eyes.” Gracious, but the man was muscular. Round, firm shoulders and large biceps. His knit shirt stretched over well-defined pecs. What would it feel like to be held against him?
Oh, girl, don’t even go there.

“Would you feel more comfortable if we walked through the mall? Or are you so freaked out by all this you plan on making some lame excuse to dash out in ten minutes?”

How did he know? She tilted her purse to show him its contents. “See this folded paper bag? I’m prone to hyperventilate when I get nervous. I was thirty seconds away from yanking this out and putting it over my face.”

He blinked those blue eyes twice, three times, and then covered them with one broad hand. His shoulders shook with laughter.

The heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. She would not be laughed at. “I’m out of here. How nice that I provided you with your daily dose of humor.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and stood. “You big jerk.”

He stopped laughing and stood also. “I’m sorry, Hope.” He wiped his eyes. “It was just the image of my coming up to you, hoping I’d make a good impression, and finding your beautiful face inside a paper bag. Would have been a heck of an introduction, wouldn’t it?” A slow, bad-ass smile spread, turning his ordinary face into drop-dead gorgeous. His dimples blinked, softening her irritation. She’d always been a sucker for dimples.

Still, she wanted to offer a pithy reply. Too bad her tongue wouldn’t work. Don’t look at his smile. His feet. Look at his feet. Somehow, huge sneakers didn’t lessen his appeal, especially when her gaze had to travel down jeans that hugged his muscular thighs in a tight embrace.

A warm hand settled in the middle of her back, escorting her out of the eating area. “So, we’re going shopping, are we? Are you up for a movie later? I checked, and there’s a new chick flick playing.”

Her gaze rose to his as she held his bouquet to her nose to enjoy their fragrance again. “Do you enjoy chick flicks, Declan Fleming?” Somehow, with just his hand splayed on her back, he had her tucked against his shoulder. Heat radiated off him. It was like being held in half an embrace while walking through the mall.

“Not really. I prefer thrillers and action flicks.” He stopped at a display in the window of a men’s clothing store. “The more explosions, the better. Let’s go in here for a sec. I need a couple pairs of shorts.” He led her to a rack of solid color pants.

“Plaids are in right now.” Or so Barclay claimed.

“I prefer something more manly.” He snatched two pairs of khakis off the rack. “Let’s go. I’m done.”

“Already? You’re getting two identical pairs of shorts?”

“Yes, when a man sees something he likes, he sticks to it.”

“At least get one pair in green or navy.” She held out a pair of Army green shorts.

“Are you a bossy woman, Hope Morningstar?”

That stung, considering her thoughts earlier. She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Comes with the territory. I’m a school teacher. Second grade.”

He inclined his head, his lips against her ear, and the smell of masculine soap creating all manner of feminine sensations. “Don’t look now, teach, but I’m a grown man.” Just to prove his point, he yanked another identical pair of shorts off the rack and headed for the cashier.

“And stubborn, I see.” Three pair of identical khaki shorts.
Really?

“Alpha males usually are.” He pulled folded bills from his pocket and slipped off his silver money clip that held a military emblem.

When she leaned closer she saw the word SEAL. An ex-SEAL, if the length of his hair was any indication. Interesting.

“I’m not one of your students you can push around. You’ll get further with me using kindness than being bitchy.”

She narrowed her eyes.
The nerve!
What did Freya tell her? That she’d have to show strength. “I won’t be put down.” By golly, she’d had enough of trying to measure up to male expectations.

He snatched his bag from the cashier. “Neither will I. We get that straight from the get-go and we ought to get along just fine. Honesty, respect, and consideration. Three important building blocks for any relationship.”

Her temper was in full bloom now. They’d only met a few minutes ago. “It’s a tad soon to be talking about a relationship, don’t you think? I’m not even sure I like you.”

Evidently he chose to ignore her remark, even though a muscle in his jaw bunched. “How long have you been teaching?”

“Three years. What do you do for a living?”

“I handcraft wood furniture. In the fall, I also coach football at a private high school.”

“Were you once a SEAL? I saw your money clip.”

“Yes, in another life.” He didn’t elaborate.

She stopped at a shoe store window to look at sandals. “Could you tell me the deal with Freya? She claims to be a matchmaker, of all things.” Her attention was drawn to a pair of red sandals before she tore her gaze from the strappy heels to Declan’s blue eyes, waiting for his reply.

His black eyebrows dipped. “Don’t you know? You were with her when she contacted me.”

“I was lost and stopped at her coffee shop to ask for directions. Somehow she knew I was upset over a recent breakup. The next thing I knew she was handing me cookies that weren’t there a minute before and giving me advice. She seemed to know things about me.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Was downright creepy.”

He moved behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Do you think I’m creepy?”

“I do with the way you keep touching me. You have a way of invading my space.” She turned and glared at him.

“We are the way we are, Hope. I like to touch. You like to boss.” The corners of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to laugh at her. If he flashed those dimples again, she’d be lost.

“I do not boss. I…I…”

A calloused fingertip trailed down the side of her face. “Yes?”

She batted his hand aside and squared her shoulders. “I do not boss. I encourage. Now, tell me about Freya.” The tone of her voice was merely insisting. She did a mental eye roll. Okay, so it was bossy.

Declan shook his head twice before aiming those cobalt eyes at her. “Freya helps men who are too busy or too hurt by past relationships to do the dating scene. We tell her what we want in a woman, and she keeps her eyes open for a possible match.”

His fingertips tucked under her chin and pushed it up so her mouth closed. Goodness, had she been gaping? Most men she knew were running from commitment, not actively seeking a mate. Especially not enough to engage the help of a matchmaker.

He flashed his dimples again. “Her success rate is phenomenal. Freya helped my brother, Matt, to find his wife. He and Misty bonded quickly, filling the cracks and holes in each other’s soul. To this day, they get along great. They’re expecting their third child.”

This was beyond her comprehension. “Which are you? Too busy or too hurt?”

“Both.” They walked on, his hand back at the small of her back and his head inclined as they talked. “I’m usually pretty busy with the shop. Twice as busy during the football season.” He waved at a couple teenage boys.

Both hollered “Coach Deck” in return.

“No jokers,” he fired back. When he saw her questioning look over the exchange, he laughed. “Those are two kids from my football team. They all call me Coach Deck, and I tell them there are no jokers in my deck of cards, only players who want to work hard.”

She couldn’t fault him for that. Hard work was the key to so much. Her own career was very important to her. “So, you’re too busy to find women to date and use a matchmaker service?” This whole concept was so foreign to her.

“I’m also disheartened with most modern women. Do you know, the last two dates I had, the women were more interested in texting than holding a conversation? All I saw of them was the top of their heads and their thumbs flying across buttons. Pitiful.”

“You don’t text?”

“Not every waking moment. Never on a date. A man likes attention.”

“Women do, too.”

“Oh, believe me, any woman I’m with will get plenty of attention.” The hand at the small of her back slid to the side of her waist and brought her tight to his side. “Probably more than she can handle.”

Her nipples reacted to the passion in the tone of Declan’s voice. Just what kind of attention was he talking about?

Chapter Three

Hope and Declan walked hand-in-hand across the parking lot in darkness, illuminated only by security lighting. They were both full of popcorn and amped by the thriller they’d seen. “God, all that blood.” Hope shivered.

“Yeah, it was great, wasn’t it?”

She laughed. “Men.”

“Hey, we are the way we are, sweetheart. Men dig violence and action. Women dig chocolate and shoes. Uh-huh, I saw how you salivated over every pair you saw in that shop window.” His demeanor was one of gentle teasing. “I’m surprised you stopped at two pair.”

She elbowed him in the ribs and he chuckled. Declan was easy to talk to, she’d give him that. She’d learned some important things about him as they slowly made their way through the mall and consumed a bucket of popcorn before the movie started. He’d been married to a woman who tried to pass off another man’s child as his. Because he’d taken his commitment to his wife and unborn son seriously, he resigned his commission with the SEALs. In a matter of days, he’d lost faith in his wife and lost, also, the little boy he still mourned. The look of pain in his eyes when he told her about Cole’s picture still on his nightstand nearly broke her heart. Family was important to him.