Dark Chocolate Murder (13 page)

She giggled softly.  “We could go back to my apartment…but we’d just have the carpet and blankets.”

“That sounds heavenly.  Let’s go.”

Yawning happily, Belinda steadied herself on two feet after her prolonged recline on the counter.  She stretched
with another yawn before tiredly putting her clothes back on.

“I wish we could just walk naked to my apartment.  It’s only down the street,” Belinda said half-seriously.

“But I don’t want any other man looking at that beautiful body.  I want you to be just for me,” Pierre replied with gravity.

Snapping her bra on, Belinda gave him a quizzical look.  She wasn’t sure how Frenchmen went about asking women to be exclusive, but this certainly sounded like it.  She had no doubt in her mind when he went on a moment later.

“I want us to be together.  You, as my girlfriend.” Pierre cupped her face in his hands and planted a seductive butterfly kiss on her lips.

“That’s what I want too,”
she whispered, tilting her head back in an invitation for Pierre to kiss her more deeply.

He curved his lips open before bending to kiss her profoundly, his large hands still cradling her face.  All thoughts of getting dressed forgotten, Belinda felt her bra
and panties slip away again as Pierre eased her back down onto the counter.

*****

With a plump moon shining through her
second floor apartment, Belinda opened up her laptop computer.  The evening with Pierre had been the most wonderful physical exhaustion she had ever experienced.  When he finally left to check in at the restaurant, she had kissed him goodbye and watched at the window until his car pulled out of sight.  Now that he had officially asked her to be in a relationship with him, Belinda felt incredibly relaxed.

Settling onto a cushion to check her email, Belinda felt an odd ache in her lower back.  Frowning, she wondered if she had been working too hard lately.  Rubbing
her lower back, she realized that the pain wasn’t in her muscles, but in her bones.  In fact, her entire spinal column felt sore.

“The counter…” Belinda murmured with a slight giggle.  The double sessions of passion she and Pierre had indulged in earlier in the evening were
surely the culprit.  Suddenly, the ache didn’t bother her at all.

Sighing contentedly and taking a sip of ginger tea, Belinda clicked on an email from Lenore.  She smiled saucily when she read the title of Lenore’s
latest poem and scanned the suggestive contents of the email:

Bonjour Belinda!
Okay, so this poem is a little racy, but I thought it would be perfect for you.  When you read it, I want you to own two things: Your sensuality and your curves.  Because they’re both beautiful and natural!

Dessert

Even grapefruits taste sweet when you gaze at him.

Your lips, like smooth layers of raspberry mousse,

Ripest passion fruit and coconut juice,

Hair scented like freshly watered fields of lemon grass,

Lips wetter and juicier than maraschino cherries,

Tongue more pliant than marshmallow pie...

Dessert all over your body, your eyes desire the deepest liqueur,

Poured all over your body, licked from your belly,

Lapped off your lilac neck.

Bathe in a pool of rose petals, water

infuse
d with jasmine and slick jojoba oil,

Tropical paradise all over your body---

Lotions and perfumes not more luscious than you,

They enhance what deliciousness already resides

On your fruit-polished, sugared, floral skin.

Delectable lover, let him inhale your dulcet air,

Feel your pineapple breezy, soft and easy hair,

Taste strawberry droplets, honey, cream and salt,

Mingling, mixing sensations in one sultry brew,

Painfully sweet and scrumptious, dessert all over you.

Belinda lingered over the poem, hearing the baritone voice of Pierre in her mind.  With his French-laced accent, the poem would sound as it was meant to: simply delicious.  Feeling frisky again despite how exhausted she was, Belinda wished that Pierre were at her side to live out more fantasies.  Feeling as sultry as the poem, Belinda wrote a reply to Lenore.

Lenore, your poems just keep getting
more and more amazing! This one is beyond words.  I’ve just run up a fever over here after reading that! Actually, I have been embracing those natural curves lately and embracing everything in my life.  Pierre and I are becoming more serious.  And I know it’s so fast! But I’ve already met his son, and he’s met my sister.  And the connection is just right.  You always know when it is---and when it isn’t! My chocolate shop is doing great, by the way.  It’s a lot of work, but worth every minute.  I’m going to get some shut-eye now.  Anyway, I’m still waiting for that autographed poetry book!  I’ll leave you with that thought.  Bonne nuit…

*****

The Following Afternoon…

In a sea of jolly-faced boys and girls with tousled hair and chocolate smeared faces, the man stood out as an anomaly.  As he approached the chocolate bar, several children scurried away after shooting him a wary glance.  Dressed in dark clothing from head to toe, the man looked far too serious to be inside Belinda’s light-as-mousse shop.

Noticing how the children dispersed, Belinda
stood up at the candy counter to address the odd stranger.  Something in his demeanor made her shiver, although he was not outwardly intimidating.  Built like a green bean, the man had no brawn on his bones, but he did possess a wild-eyed stare that Belinda found unnerving.

“May I help you
, Sir?” Belinda addressed the stranger in English in the hopes of maintaining control of the situation.  French still made her feel far too vulnerable, and as the beady eyed, slack-jawed stranger stared at her, the last thing she wanted to feel was vulnerable.

“Yes, I’m here to purchase a box of chocolates.  I prefer dark chocolate.  What would you recommend?” The man’s breath blew acridly across the room, and Belinda detected the stale odor of whiskey.

Politely, she offered, “It depends on how dark you prefer your chocolate.”

“The darkest possible,” t
he man replied in a gravelly voice, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, then I would recommend my Fatally Sweet truffles.  They’re made with more than 80% cacao and filled with
passion fruit cordial.”

“
Bon
.  Get me a big box.”

“How many would you like?  A dozen?  Two dozen?” Belinda queried, showing him some sample boxes.

“Two dozen.  And tie them up with a bow,” he ordered grimly.

“Very well.  Are these a gift?  Perhaps for a special lady?” Belinda asked innocently,
hoping to clear the air with innocuous small talk.

The stranger smirked off into the distance but made no reply other than to demand, “Tie them with a red bow.”

Hurriedly, Belinda arranged the chocolates and tied the bow around the box.  “That will be 45 euros.  And I apologize, but I only accept cash.  My shop just opened recently and we’re not yet equipped to accept credit cards.”

“I only pay in cash,” t
he man clipped, grabbing a wad of euros from a shabby faux leather wallet and shoving them at Belinda.

“Thank you for
your business.  Have a good day.” She issued the standard thank-you and watched gratefully as the creepy customer left the shop.

Once he was gone, she exhaled deeply, gesturing for the children to come back to the chocolate bar and finish their sodas.  “Come on, kids, the chocolate ice cream is melting!”

“That’s okay.  I like it melty,” An angelic mahogany-haired girl piped up, swiveling onto a stool.  “That man was scary!”

“He
was
scary,” Belinda admitted.  “But he’s gone now.”

As the children slurped up their drinks
, Belinda felt a chill course up her spine.  The strained exchange with the dark cloaked man had left her feeling like she needed a shower.  But as the smiles and laughter of children again lit up the room, she forgot all about him.

*****

In
the evening, Belinda made her début appearance at Pierre’s restaurant.  He had phoned her just an hour earlier to spontaneously invite her to a five course dinner.  When he had picked her up at her shop at closing time, they had both been sorely tempted to engage in another lovemaking episode on the counter.  But both marginally found the will to resist.  Belinda had made a quick stop at home to change into an elegant crepe dress with---yikes---high heels.

Now, as she
strolled through the restaurant doors on Pierre’s arm, she felt like she was living someone else’s life.  It was still unbelievable to her how much her life had changed in such a tiny crinkle of time.  She remembered the last time she had been in a restaurant with a man before moving to Monaco: the laughable blind date back in Boston.  For the life of her, she still couldn’t remember the toad’s name.

Pierre smoothly introduced Belinda to the general manager, head chef, and other key players at his restaurant.  Then, he escorted her to the most romantic booth in the place, directly facing a grand piano and cozy fireplace.

“Your restaurant is lovely,” Belinda breathed as a busboy immediately filled her glass with ice water.  “It has such a romantic atmosphere.” She looked around at the Impressionist paintings that adorned the walls.

Pierre grinned.  “This is the first night it’s felt romantic to me.  Usually, it feels like hell on wheels!”

Belinda laughed, accepting the leather-bound menu the waiter offered her and opening it.  “Oh, these dishes all look sumptuous.  Are you sure we should have five courses?”

Pierre nodded fervently.  “Yes, there are so many
flavors to sample here.  Why should we stick with just one?  That would be like only making love on a bed when there are so many inspiring venues.” He winked mischievously at her.

Belinda smiled wryly. “That’s a lot of pillow talk, Mr. C
édaire.  We haven’t even had our appetizers yet.”

“Looking at you in that dress is my appetizer,” Pierre said hungrily, and from the fierce look in his eyes, she knew he wasn’t exaggerating.

The couple savored each of the dinner’s five courses, interspersing the meal with frequent spicy banter.  Belinda did not keep track of how many glasses of wine she drank, but by the end of the evening, the sommelier had cracked open a second bottle for the pair.

“Spend the night at my house,” Pierre implored, swallowing a spoonful of cr
ème brûlée.  “I’ll drive you to your shop in the morning.”

Belinda stared into Pierre’s hazelnut eyes,
feeling as though she were living a dream.  She tingled with joy imagining how it would feel to wake up in Pierre’s solicitous embrace.  His house in the French countryside was the perfect escape from her busy work days in Monaco.  She sighed sweetly, finishing the last drop of her wine before answering him.

“Yes, I will spend the night at your house.  That sounds perfect.”

Perfect
.  Everything was perfect, Belinda thought on a wave of exhilaration as Pierre weaved his fingers through hers and they strolled out into the night.

Chapter Ten

They hadn’t even made it to the door of Pierre’s house when passions again flamed out of control.  Fumbling in his pocket with one hand for keys, Pierre roamed his other hand over the voluptuous side curve of Belinda’s body.

“I can’t find the key!” He gritted in frustration.

Belinda couldn’t hide her flattered amusement and grinned provocatively at him.  “Should I help you find the key?” Boldly, she slid her hand into Pierre’s front pocket and searched for the key.  He tensed the moment her hand made contact with his body.  “Hmm, it’s not there.  Maybe I should check the back pocket.” Still grinning, she reached around to find Pierre’s tight, muscular rear.  But no pocket.

Now it was Pierre who was grinning as
she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you don’t have a back pocket?”

“And stop you from touching me?  Why in the world would I do that?” Pierre mocked.

“Well, I don’t think we need to find your keys right now anyway.  The night is mild and…you don’t have any conservative neighbors, do you?” She asked boldly.

Pierre laughed huskil
y and led her into the backyard.  The yard was shaded with a bounty of horse chestnut and eucalyptus trees.  Urgently, he motioned for her to recline on a bed of grass.  “No one will see us back here,” he assured her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Belinda whispered, pressing herself full-length against Pierre.  “I’m not feeling shy tonight.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Pierre chuckled.  “Take off your dress.  I want to watch you.”

Belinda rose from the grassy knoll
and locked eyes with Pierre.  Trying to stay classy and not evoke the movements of a stripper, Belinda slowly unzipped her dress.  The subtle noise of her zipper reverberated in the quiet sanctuary of Pierre’s backyard.  Slinking out of the dress, Belinda kept her black stockings and high heels on.