Read Online The Oddest Little Chocolate Shop in London by Beth Good - Free Book Online Page B

when he
finally drifted down the shop at half past four to see how their first day’s
sales had gone.
       His
hair was a little messy, he was wearing a pinstriped apron, tied twice about
his waist, and there was a kind of burning intensity to his gaze which Rachel
had already warned her to expect. ‘Dominic gets excited when he makes
chocolate,’ she had whispered earlier, at the sound of a crash from the kitchen
followed by a spate of agitated French.
       He
was still hot-looking though. Hot and decidedly edible, despite having stripped
off the see-through latex gloves he apparently always wore while preparing confectionery.
       Health and safety pervert , she told
herself sternly. Getting turned on at the
sight of latex! But it was sadly too true; she had found it hard not to
stare earlier, her mouth ajar, when Dominic wandered out in search of a mislaid
chocolate mould, snapping the thin gloves onto his wrists like a surgeon about
to take a scalpel to somebody’s thorax.
       Now
he looked less like a sadistic surgeon and more like a sex god with domestic
skills. Plain white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, both sleeves rolled up, a
teensy smudge of chocolate on the inside of one muscular forearm, and the
chef-style black and white pinstriped apron over body-hugging black jeans.
       Oh my.
       ‘How
is it going, Clementine?’ he asked in that very sexy French accent, then leant
his elbow on the glass-topped display counter, gazing across at her.
       ‘Fine,
oh just fine.’ She jabbered on for a moment about sales and customers, waving
her hand expressively across the touch-screen till. ‘I’ve nearly got the hang
of this till. It’s not so very hard when you … ’ The till beeped at her
furiously, and she realised she had inadvertently hit the screen. ‘Oops.’
       His
grin made her insides dissolve. ‘Ah yes, I know it well. Le “oops.”’ His tone
was mocking. ‘That’s why I prefer to leave all these sales transactions to
Rachel, and stay safely in my kitchen.’
       ‘Barefoot?’
       One
eyebrow rose slowly. ‘Pardon?’ he queried in French.
       ‘Barefoot
and pregnant. In the kitchen.’ Her voice trailed off as incomprehension turned
to bafflement on his face. ‘Never mind. Very silly joke. Here, we’ve sold all
these.’
       Hurriedly
she showed him the handwritten list of sales she had been marking up herself
after each transaction, just in case she pressed the wrong button on the
computerised till and it ate all the information.  
       He
took the list and studied it seriously. His dark eyes lifted to hers. ‘But this
is very good news. Excellent, in fact. Bien fait, Clementine. Merci.’
       Oh
goodness.
       Those
seductive eyes …
       Mercy, indeed.
       Clementine
managed an unsteady, ‘Thank you.’
       He
handed her back the list, his fingers drumming lightly on the glass counter.
‘Perhaps later, when we have closed up, you will come upstairs for a drink with
me? For a little toast to our success?’
       ‘Absolutely.
I bet Rachel will love that too,’ she replied without thinking, then could have
pinched herself with frustration when she saw his eyes darken.
       ‘I
thought perhaps we could be alone,’ Dominic admitted huskily.
       She
met his gaze, and found herself unable to look away. So this was why it was
called magnetic attraction. ‘Oh. Yes. Well … ’
       Rachel
came up to the counter. ‘Ahem,’ she said, clearing her throat loudly.
       Her
boss straightened up and looked at Rachel, frowning.
       Flushed,
Clementine turned to her in surprise. ‘What is it?’
       Rachel
sneezed, burying her face in a large white hanky, then nodded pointedly past
Dominic. ‘You have a customer. You were too busy chatting to notice, and I
can't serve while I'm sneezing every few minutes, so I thought I’d give you a
nudge.’
       Clementine’s
eyes widened as Dominic moved aside, and they all saw the little old lady
standing