A Taste of Chocolate Read online

  The older woman reached out to finger Hope’s hair. “I love the color.”

  “It’s new since this morning. I normally have mousy brown hair. What do you think?”

  Freya tilted her head as if studying Hope’s hair. “I love it. Hmmm, a little redder than mine, I believe. I do love anything red. What’s the name of the color, do you know? My gray roots are showing.”

  “Gracie called it ‘wine-red smash.’ My students will go wild when they see it.”

  “You’re a teacher?” The pink-shadowed eyes took on a dreamy quality.

  “Yes, second grade.”

  Freya handed her a slice of a chocolate cake that wasn’t there a minute ago, or was it? I’m losing my mind.

  “Now, my dear, I want to caution you about the kind of men you seem to choose. There’s an old Irish saying: You can take the man out of the bog, but you can’t take the bog out of the man. Quit going to the bog.”

  Well, she had met Barclay at LaRogues six months ago. The bar, adjoining a chic female-only zumba and aerobics club, had a reputation of men trolling for willing women, but she’d chosen to believe Barclay was above all that. Evidently he wasn’t. Nor was she, it seemed. Perhaps she was too easy, too desperate, too eager to have someone—anyone. Time she grew a backbone and stood up for herself. It was also time she raised her standards a few notches where her male choices were concerned.

  “Tell me, what is it you seek in a man?” Freya’s gaze was full of warmth.

  “I’m at a turning point in that regard. Guess you could say I’m working my way through a maturing process.”

  “That pleases me. What qualities are beginning to appeal to you?”

  Hope sighed and closed her eyes. Twin tears moistened her cheeks as they forged a trail. “Before, I went for looks. A modern, stylish kind of guy. A shaker. A mover. A partier.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I want a forever kind of man. Someone I can depend on. Someone who loves me—warts, curves, moods, and all.” She opened her eyes and regarded Freya through a veil of tears. “I…I want to be cherished. Am I expecting too much?”

  Freya patted Hope’s hand. “My dear, what you expect is merely what a lady like you deserves.” She shrugged. “What we all deserve.”

  She stared at the older woman for a few beats. “You mean that, don’t you?” A total stranger believed she deserved to be cherished. While a man she’d dated for six months didn’t feel she was deserving of anything good. In fact, he’d told her that her role was to please him.

  “Yes, Hope Morningstar, I do. Now eat your cake.”

  She forked a bite of chocolate cake into her mouth and moaned. Her toes curled in her sandals as the chocolate exploded on her tongue and revved her system. “Oh my! This is scrumptious.”

  Freya’s eyes twinkled. “It’s quite yummy, isn’t it? That’s how a man should taste when you kiss him. His flavor should burst in your mouth and do sensual things to your system. You should moan in appreciation, and your toes should curl in your shoes. It should be a magical chocolate kiss. And,”—she slid the plate away from Hope, much to her alarm—“one taste is never enough.” Freya waggled her red-penciled eyebrows. “Your job is to improve on the way you think about yourself. Mine is to make a phone call.”

  The woman’s long fingers curled around a red cell phone and punched in a number. Five seconds later, she spoke. “Declan, I’ve found her.”

  Chapter Two

  Declan wiped the sawdust from his hands and willed his heartbeat to return to normal. After all, he’d waited a long time for this call. “Tell me.”

  “Her name is Hope Morningstar, and she possesses all the qualities you need. Perhaps not all you seek, but all you need. She bears the mark of Ireland on her soul. And she loves children.”

  From the background of Freya’s phone came, “What are you doing? I…I never said…”

  “Is that her? Is that Hope?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me speak to her. Let me hear the sound of her voice.” God, don’t let her be loud and brassy.

  “There’s power in suspense, Declan. What are you in the middle of right now?”

  He glanced at his work bench, where he’d been sanding a table top. “I’m making tables for a customer. Why?”

  “Be at the Louisiana Mall in two hours. Your first meeting should be in a public place, don’t you think? Although I know you to be an upright man, Hope knows nothing of you. She’ll be understandably apprehensive.”

  “Of course.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You know my history. You know I can’t take more lies and deceit.” The two of them had talked of his feelings at some length. Freya had convinced him he couldn’t hold every female accountable for one woman’s lies.

  “Her heart is true, Declan. I wouldn’t send her to you otherwise. She’ll be in the food court. Look for a redhead wearing a white blouse.”

  He beat a fist against his heart twice, willing it to start beating again. Nearly a year had passed since he’d spoken with Freya. By then he’d suffered through two years of getting over Courtney’s betrayal. He’d left the military to help raise the child she claimed was his. Two months after Cole’s birth, he’d needed surgery to repair his tiny, deformed heart. When Declan tried to donate blood for his son’s surgery, he’d found out his blood wasn’t compatible. Courtney finally admitted the baby wasn’t his. Then she’d taunted his gullibility with her brassy laughter and snide remarks.

  The child he’d loved died during surgery, mere days after the death of his marriage. He’d mourned the loss of his son, biological or not, for months, unable to forget the feel of him in his arms or the way he wrapped his little fist around his large finger, squeezing more love from his heart than Declan had ever thought possible. He missed the way his son watched him with those blue eyes of his as he drank from his bottle and the way he’d gift him with a milky smile and a coo when the bottle was nearly drained.

  Cole, small and frail though he was, taught him how to love unconditionally. He longed for more children. More than that, though, he needed someone special to love. Someone who would love him in return. His need for love and a family grew, with an edge so keen it sometimes slashed at his soul. Yet his efforts at dating proved fruitless. Where was this special woman who would be true to him? Did such a woman exist?

  Nathan, a happily married friend, spoke highly of Freya’s matchmaking services. Matt, his brother, also went to her to find his beloved. After much soul searching, Declan sought her out, too.

  Frankly, after another long year of loneliness, he’d given up hope. Now…now, he had Hope. “Okay, Freya. I’ll be at the mall in two hours.”

  “And Declan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Wear a blue shirt to bring out the blue in your eyes.” The matchmaker ended the call.

  Two hours. Good, he’d have time for a shower. “Matt, can you close the shop for me? I have some place I have to be.”

  “No problem. We don’t get that many customers on Saturday afternoons.”

  “Thanks, man. Going to meet a special lady.”

  “Freya set you up?”

  He nodded before snatching the dog-eared phonebook from a shelf and thumbing through the yellow pages.

  Nearly two hours later, Declan walked into the mall and strode with confidence toward the food court. Now that his nerves had settled, determination had shouldered its way into his soul. If Freya approved of Hope, he would too. Using a matchmaker involved a strong degree of trust—and a thorough background check. Even though Matt and Nathan swore by her, he’d used his government and family contacts to check her out. Although a few things didn’t add up, like her sudden moves from one state or country to the next, proof existed of her talent in bringing lost souls together. He stopped at the edge of the tables in the food court, his eyes in constant movement, seeking. There she was. Air whooshed from his lungs. By herself at a table, her red head bowed as if she were praying or too scared to look for him the w
ay he sought her.

  Since she hadn’t spotted him yet, he had a minute to take her in. Short spiky hair, slender arms decorated with a dozen or so bangle bracelets, and a lush figure. A slow smile spread when he noticed her one foot bouncing, no doubt from nerves. A movement he found charming for some inane reason. How should he approach her? How could he make this meeting memorable? One they could tell their children and grandchildren about, over and over. Traditions and family tales were important. And if their relationship progressed, he wanted them to have special memories of falling in love.

  ****

  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.”