Page 52 of You Had Me at Chocolate

But she wasn’t listening.

Thankfully, he hadn’t seen her yet. His ear pods were jammed firmly in place and his head bopped to what she assumed was music as he bent over the central counter, piping bag in hand.

Frankly she didn’t want to make any sudden movements in case he did see her.

Somewhere, no doubt, there was a hell for her, but right now, she was just fine at the prospect of dancing with the devil. Of course, he chose that moment to look up and bust her staring at him with her mouth open like a sideshow alley clown.

“Oh damn, sorry.” He popped his ear pods out. “I wasn’t expecting you home yet.”

Clem forced her mouth shut with a click. “Dad got to the hospital a bit earlier today.” She tipped her chin at his chest as nonchalantly as she could considering the mere sight of it made her a little breathless. “Did I interrupt some alone time?”

He laughed. “Sorry, no. I knocked a pint of milk with my elbow. I made a dive for it to save it from crashing to the ground but my shirt copped most of it.” He glanced at the sodden mess of a discarded T-shirt at the end of the counter as he put down the piping bag. “I’ll go grab another.”

Clem flapped his suggestion away with her hand. “It’s fine.” His chest wasn’t exactly hard to look at. It was certainly spilt milk she wouldn’t be crying over. “Not anything I haven’t seen before.”

Oh, Jesus… why had she said that? But it was out there between them now and it was clear from his raised eyebrow and the small smile on his mouth that he was thinking about the night they’d had sex.

“I think the first time I ever met you, you were sans shirt,” she said because normalizing this situation seemed imperative right now.

“It was summer. I was eight.”

Yeah, it had been and he was. And there was zero comparison between that scrawny, rib-rutted version and the hard magnificence of this mature one.

Desperate to change the subject, Clem pushed off the doorframe and wandered into the kitchen. “What’s cooking?”

“Pies for tomorrow,” he murmured, as he returned his attention to what he was doing.

Clem’s mouth watered at the thought as she moved to his left. Pushing his ear pods out the way, she boosted herself up onto the countertop of the central island aided by the slide of her long, flowy black velvet skirt. She was about a foot away from his hip and a bunch of trays, piping bags and bowls of varying sizes some of which contained what appeared to be chocolate mousse.

Maybe being this close to all that naked male flesh was a mistake but Clem was determined to act like it was no big deal. And that she’d totally moved on from their one night together.

“Are these also for tomorrow?” she asked as he piped the mousse into small chocolate cups. Ones he’d, no doubt, made himself.

“Yep.” He put down the bag and switched to another. There were four in total all about a quarter full.

“I didn’t realize chocolate mousse was on the menu?”

“It’s not, officially. But I want to do these for the Graff stall at the stroll, so this is my practice batch. I’m experimenting with different flavors to see what works best to give them a little extra kick.”

Each cup was filled quickly and efficiently as he spoke with what was obviously a much-practiced rotation of his wrist. The end result was uniform swirls rising to a perfect peak.

“You look like you’ve done that before,” she murmured.

“Once or twice. You want a go? I can teach you if you like? Learn from a professional and all that.”

He glanced up at her, grinning, and Clem gave a half-laugh. But she could see no purpose in interrupting perfection for the mediocre. “I’m much more interested in helping you decide on the flavors. Learn from the professional and all that,” she mimicked.

He straightened and she high-fived herself on keeping her eyes up and not down where the broad sweep of his firm, pale pecs met the puckered perfection of his abs. “Professional, huh?”

Clem held up her hand, her middle three fingers raised like she was about to take a Girl Scout pledge. “Card carrying chocolate mousse aficionado.”

“Aficionado? Hmm… all right then.” He put the piping bag down. “Tell me what these flavors are.”

Opening the nearby top drawer, he grabbed several teaspoons and dipped the first one into a bowl, scooping up some mousse and handing it over. Without hesitation, Clem slipped it into her mouth. The cold airy sweetness burst like candy canes on her tastebuds.

“Easy,” she scoffed, her feet absently swinging back and forth as she savored the taste. “Mint.”

He grinned and dipped another spoon into the next bowl. “And this one?”

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