Chocolate Kisses (2 page)

“I’ve
destroyed your candy.”

He
stared down at the flattened box and shrugged. “I can buy another box.”

The
sight of the flattened box made her shudder. Bad enough she’d almost killed Ned
Wyatt. But even worse, she’d destroyed some woman’s Valentine’s Day present.

Lucky
woman, she added as she shot him a quick, surreptitious glance. Not only was
Ned Wyatt rich but he was gorgeous.

Now
that her heart had stopped pounding and her brain had stopped reeling, Claudia
made a careful study of the bike rider she’d nearly run over. She absorbed his
athletic legs, his rugged chest, his broad shoulders and finally his face:
long, straight nose, thin lips, hazel eyes outlined by short black lashes,
golden complexion. His hair was thick, dark and unfashionably long. The wind
had tossed and tangled it into the kind of adorably unruly mess that made a
woman’s fingers itch to fix it.

Men
like Ned Wyatt never brought her two-pound boxes of chocolates on Valentine’s
Day, she thought glumly. In Claudia’s life February 14
^th
had always
been a day for hard work, not romantic frivolity. Ever since she’d been old
enough to help out at her parents’ diner, she’d spent Valentine’s Day serving
meals to loving couples, smearing pink frosting on cupcakes, twisting caps off
cheap bottles of domestic wine and smiling politely as lovers toasted each
other. To Claudia, the day had traditionally meant generous tips, nothing more.

Now
she was independent, running her own company. She had no time or energy for
falling in love. When Jimmy McNeill broke up with her last fall, he’d said it
was because she was more devoted to Fantasy Feasts than to him—and she hadn’t
bothered to refute the accusation. Not that she regretted her hard work and
dedication. In truth, she didn’t regret losing Jimmy McNeill, either. Last year
on Valentine’s Day he’d been tasteless enough to give her a card on which he’d
scrawled, “Happy V.D.”

Even
if she hadn’t noticed the elegant candy box, she would have assumed that Ned
Wyatt was a romantic man. His sister was certainly romantic enough, scheduling
the town’s first debutante cotillion in a generation on this most romantic of
days and personally designing the menu to reflect the rich, sweet sentiments of
the holiday. “On one special day a year, the heart isn’t just a muscular pump
in our circulatory system,” Melanie had declared. “It’s the symbol of love and
romance.”

And
Claudia had planned a rich, sweet menu: Champagne-boiled shrimp, mushrooms
stuffed with bacon and herbs, veal marsala, chicken kiev, creamed asparagus.
Crudités and yogurt dip for health-conscious guests. The pièce de résistance
was a dessert table laden with heart-shaped cookies and twin heart-shaped
cakes, one golden and one devil’s food, both slathered in peppermint pink
Valentine’s Day frosting.

A
menu that had looked divine on paper looked positively nauseating spilled and
strewn across the interior of her van. Yet when she glimpsed Ned Wyatt on the
seat next to her, she lost track of the chaos behind her. She smelled not the
rich aroma of chocolate but his wintry, minty male fragrance. His hands rested
on his knees, his fingers too blunt to be patrician, his knuckles thicker than
a blue-blooded man’s were supposed to be. His chin was shaded by a trace of
beard. His eyes were clear, blessed with so many colors she couldn’t begin to
name them.

“You
really don’t have to do this,” she said.

“I
really want to.”

She
eyed him speculatively, then ignited the engine and accelerated down the road.
Ned Wyatt was nobody’s fool. He must have some underlying reason for
accompanying her back to her house on the south side of town. He’d called the
cotillion stupid; maybe he wanted to sabotage his sister’s party by adding
chili peppers to the cake batter.

“I
should warn you,” she said.” It’s not going to be fun.”

Even
with his eyes forward she felt the power of his gaze, the allure of his smile. “Fun
is where you find it,” he said in a low, dark voice.

A
shiver of dread—or was it expectation?—rippled down her spine. He has a
girlfriend, she reminded herself. He’d been on his way to see her that morning,
armed with that great big box of chocolates.

“I’m
sorry I ran over your candy,” she said. “I’ll replace it with a basket of
homemade cookies.”

“That
won’t be necessary.”

“No,
really, It’s the least I can do after almost killing you. Who was the candy
for, anyway?” It was a nosy question, but she figured that if Ned could make
her food problems his business, she could make his love life her business.

“My
mother.”

“Your
mother?”

“Isn’t
that what I just said?”

Did
that mean he didn’t have a girlfriend? “I thought your mother lived in Wyatt
Hall.”

“If
she lived there, I wouldn’t have had her candy with me. I would have given it
to her.”

“Then
who lives there?”

“At
the moment, no one.”

“That
great big house is empty?”

“We’re
still debating what to do with it. My mother decided she was sick of rattling
around all alone in the house. Ever since my father died, she’s been saying she
wanted to move out. Six months ago, she finally bought herself a condo.”

“Is
she going to sell the place?” Claudia didn’t think there would be many people
who could afford to buy it. A movie star, maybe. A hedge-fund billionaire. An
exiled dictator.

Ned
shrugged. “I think she’d like to give it to the historical society or
something. Melanie thinks my mother’s in the early throes of dementia. When my
mother bought the condo, Melanie went into a major panic and demanded that I
come to Glenwood and deal with the situation.”

“Have
you dealt with it?”

“It
isn’t a situation. My mother’s happy where she is, and she’s not demented.
Melanie will just have to get used to it.”

“Is
that why you’re in Glenwood? To deal with the…non-situation?”

“Originally.”
He leaned over to pluck something from the floor at his feet. “But since I’ve
been here I’ve discovered that I like being out of New York. I’ve had it with
all the crowds and the noise. I’m enjoying myself here. I have a temporary
office in town and I can accomplish just about anything with a phone and a
fax.”

“What
kind of work do you do?” she asked, trying to glimpse the object in his hand.

“Investment
consulting. I specialize in financing for start-up companies, new
technologies.” He rubbed the small, round item with his thumb to clean it, then
lifted it to smell. “Wow.”

She
shot him a swift look in time to see him pop an errant chocolate kiss into his
mouth. “Don’t! It was on the floor!”

“It
wasn’t dirty,” he said thickly, his mouth filled with gooey chocolate. “Wow,
that’s incredible! I’ve never tasted a chocolate kiss like that before.”

She
smiled. “It’s my specialty.”

“What’s
the secret ingredient?”

“If
I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“Are
we going to make more of these?”

She
chuckled and shook her head. “If we do, you’ll probably eat all of them.”

“Three-quarters.
We’d set aside a few for the cotillion.”

She
steered onto the driveway of her modest ranch house, sending arcs of slush in
all directions. “For the last time, Mr. Wyatt, you really don’t have to do
this.”

“Call
me Ned,” he said, gazing at her with a hunger she could interpret in more than
one way if she dared. “As for helping you with your kisses, Ms. Mulcahey…I
think that’s something I really
do
have to do.”

Chapter Two

9:47
a.m.

CLAUDIA
WAS STIRRING the chocolate and corn syrup she’d just melted in the microwave when
the dreaded phone call came. “Hello?”

“Claudia!
Where the hell are you?”

It
was Melanie Steele. And she sounded frenzied. Claudia glanced over at Melanie’s
far from frenzied brother, who stood at the sink, rinsing out the lidded bowl
that had once contained yogurt dip.

Over
the past half hour he’d made himself indispensable, helping her to clear the
van of any salvageable food. While she made the cake batter, he’d cleaned the
van. Now the cakes were baking in their valentine-shaped pans in Claudia’s industrial
double oven.

She
still faced a ton of work. She had no time to explain everything to Melanie. If
she had a spare minute, she would have preferred to spend it gazing
appreciatively at Ned’s lanky, virile physique, at his disheveled mane of hair,
his snug-fitting black jeans, his surprisingly competent hands and his sexy
hazel eyes.

“You
know where I am,” she said to Melanie. “You’ve just phoned me.”

“I
am at Wyatt Hall.” Melanie’s tone was edged with hysteria. “There’s no food
here. You said you would start bringing the food over at nine. It’s now almost
ten o’clock and there’s no food here.”

“I—uh—I
had to revise my schedule,” said Claudia. From across the room she saw Ned
grinning at her, openly eavesdropping.

The
eavesdropping she didn’t mind. His grin, however, stroked her nerves into an
overheated state of awareness. One corner of his mouth was skewed slightly
higher than the other, lending his smile a predatory quality.

Why
had she let him inside her house? Why had she trusted him—and herself? The
brightly lit kitchen was as unromantic a setting as she could imagine, yet
whenever she glimpsed Ned Wyatt she felt soft and syrupy inside. She could
focus only so much on the numerous tasks that awaited her. Part of her mind—the
warmest, most womanly part—clung to him like sweet, sticky honey and refused to
let go.

She
turned to stare at the yellow ceramic tiles lining the wall. “Mrs. Steele,
everything is just fine. I’m very busy right now, so—”

“When
are you going to start bringing the food over?” Melanie continued. “I told my
friends they’d get to see the cakes if they come here at twelve.”

“The
cakes aren’t going to be ready at twelve,” Claudia informed her.

Melanie
shrieked. “I’m paying you a lot of money for those cakes.”

“And
they’ll be worth it,” Claudia assured her. “I’ll bring them over as soon as
they’re ready.”

“What
do you think, we can sit around all day waiting?” Melanie sounded as if she
were speaking through clenched teeth. “If you don’t have the cakes here by
noon—”

“You
can see them this evening,” Claudia insisted, struggling to keep her
exasperation out of her voice. This was the most important job Fantasy Feasts
had ever had. Melanie Steele was her most influential client. “I promise you,
the cakes are going to look magnificent. Why don’t you wait and be surprised?”

“I
wanted a preview,” Melanie said petulantly.

“I
wish I could give you one, but I can’t. Trust me, everything’s going to be
wonderful.”
Unless you keep me on the phone all morning,
she added
silently, glancing toward the cooling chocolate in the bowl on the work island.
“I really have to get back to work, Mrs. Steele. Just relax. The cakes are
going to be great.”

Melanie
mumbled something and hung up. Claudia hung up, too. She rested her head against
the cool, smooth tiles and let out a weary sigh.

“She
has a way with people,” Ned remarked, sounding much too close. Claudia flinched
and spun around to find him directly behind her, leaning against the work
island and regarding her with a wry smile.

“Your
sister is very nice.”

“My
sister is a bitch. What did she do to you?”

Claudia
pressed her lips together to keep from blurting out her true sentiments. “What
she did was hire me to feed one hundred-fifty people at Wyatt Hall this
evening. It’s an opportunity I can’t afford to blow.” She pushed past Ned and
reached for the bowl of chocolate.

Ned
rested his elbows on the island, propping his chin in his hands and watching
her. “Are those the kisses?”

“They
will be.”

“When
do I get to eat them?”

“Tonight.
Can you pass me those candy molds near the sink?”

While
Ned went to get them, she pulled a bottle of bourbon out of a nearby cabinet.
Ned turned back in time to see her pour several generous splashes into the
chocolate. “Ah, so that’s the secret ingredient?”

“One
of them.” She added a hefty portion of cinnamon, several generous shakes of
ginger and a less generous shake of ground cloves, then poured the chocolate
into the molds.

“How
did you learn to make chocolate kisses?” he asked.

“How
did you learn to finance new technologies? This is my job, Ned. It’s what I
do.”

He
gazed around the room, silently appraising her work space, a cramped suburban
kitchen which had been completely remodeled with industrial appliances to
accommodate her business.