Better Than Chocolate. Sheila Roberts

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      Chapter Six

      The man of your dreams is the one who shares your dreams.

      —Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love

      After their family conference call, Samantha’s mother loaded her up with chicken casserole, tuna surprise and brownies, gave her an encouraging hug and then sent her home feeling slightly ill. She hoped the queasiness was due to all the sugar she’d been consuming lately and not fear of failure.

      She went to bed half hoping she could save the day by dreaming up a fabulous chocolate candy recipe just like Great-grandma Rose had done all those years ago.

      Could she, though? No-o-o. Instead of dreaming up a new recipe that would put them on the map, she spent her REM sleep hours running from King Kong–size candy-bar monsters that chased her all over town, trying to squash her with their big, flat feet. Finally three of them cornered her right in front of the bank.

      “Get her,” growled one, and raised a giant foot.

      “No,” she cried. “I’ll do anything. Anything!”

      So far in her dream she’d appeared to be the last living soul in Icicle Falls but suddenly the bank door opened and Blake Preston stood in the doorway dressed in leopard-print boxers. “Did you say you’d do anything?” he asked.

      “Anything,” she panted. He took her by the arm and pulled her inside the bank.

      There she saw that all the desks had been replaced with round beds draped in pink satin bedspreads and the ceiling was one gigantic mirror. In another corner sat a hot tub, bubbling with chocolate.

      Blake slipped an arm around her waist. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and nibbled her earlobe, turning her insides gooey. “Why don’t you lose that dress and join me in the hot tub?”

      “Will you save me from the monsters?” she asked him.

      “Of course. That’s what men are for, isn’t it? Look how Waldo saved your mother.”

      “Aack.” She covered her face with her hands.

      Blake started chuckling and she glanced up to see that he’d put on some sort of Dracula cape and sprouted fangs. And they were dripping chocolate.

      She let out a shriek and ran for the door. But then she caught sight of a big, brown monster eye peering in at her and dashed blindly in the other direction with Blake in hot pursuit, his cape flying out behind him.

      “Bwa-ha-ha. You know you want me,” he cackled.

      “I want to save my company!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Sign something that guarantees you’ll save my company.”

      “First let’s seal the deal,” he called as he chased her around a bed. “Come on, Samantha, you know you want to.”

      “I shouldn’t do this,” she said, and hesitated, which gave him time to get around the bed and catch her. “It’s all right,” he murmured as he kissed her neck. “Trust me.”

      Next thing she knew he was helping her strip off her little black dress. And lo and behold, she was wearing leopard-print panties and a matching bra.

      “Now, sign this,” he said, and produced some sort of contract and a pen shaped like a licorice stick. Samantha took it and scrawled her name across the bottom of the document. “What did I just sign?”

      Blake scooped her up in his arms and smiled at her. “You signed your life away, baby. You sold your company to Madame C.”

      The cheap chocolate company in Seattle? “No!” she protested, and struggled to get free.

      “And now nobody needs you anymore.” With her still squirming in his arms, he flew over to the hot tub and dropped her in. “Sayonara, sweet cheeks,” he said, and began pushing her head down.

      She wakened just before she drowned, sitting up with a jerk and panting, covered in sweat. What kind of sick subconscious did she have, anyway? She pushed her hair out of her eyes and lay back down with a whimper. Nibs slowly made his way across the bed to investigate and she drew him close.

      “Okay, it was only a dream,” she told herself. And one that had convinced her that no matter how bad things got, she didn’t want to end it all by drowning herself in chocolate.

      * * *

      Blake was picking up his midmorning Americano at Bavarian Brews when he spotted Samantha Sterling coming through the door. She wore a short, faux-fur-trimmed jacket over jeans that hugged her thighs and tall black boots—typical Icicle Falls business casual. Except this woman made business casual look erotic and he had to beat down a surge of red-hot lust. The memory of her losing her temper at him doused any remaining embers—until an unbidden thought fueled a fresh fire, suggesting that with so much passion she’d be a real firecracker in bed.

      She saw him and her cheeks, already rosy from the cold, deepened to red. She shot a sidelong glance at the door but then seemed to think the better of turning tail and running, instead donned a polite mask and moved toward the order counter. He smiled at her, determined to meet her halfway. They lived in the same town. Might as well manage a difficult situation civilly.

      “Good morning,” she said, her voice as stiff as her smile.

      He held up his cup. “It is—now that I’ve got my coffee.”

      She nodded. “I’m running on empty myself.”

      “Can I buy you something?”

      She blushed again and dropped her gaze to his chest. “No, thanks. That is—” she cleared her throat “—about the other day.”

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