Read The Oddest Little Chocolate Shop in London for Free Online Page B

coming. ‘Well, you can’t sack your cousin. So
I guess it will have to be Rachel who goes?’
       His
half-smile was grim. He shook his head. ‘No, Rachel is brilliant with the
customers. Though perhaps a little … how do you say … ?’
       ‘Scatty?’
she suggested.
       ‘Pushy,’
he said at the same time, and they grinned at each other.
       ‘So
you want to keep Rachel and give your cousin the shove?’
       ‘You
put it very eloquently,’ he said drily, and sipped his black coffee, making a
soft noise of satisfaction at the taste. His dark gaze sought hers and he
smiled into her eyes. ‘Simple pleasures are the best. Don’t you agree?’
       She
had to swallow against a lump in her throat in order to mutter an incoherent,
‘Um, yes.’
       Oh good grief.
       Her
hands trembled a little as she lifted her coffee mug.
       Get a grip , she told herself.
       But
how could she? Dominic Ravel was a total sex god. He had the body of an
athlete, smouldering looks like a French film star, his voice was like honey
over warm dark chocolate, and here she was, having coffee with him. Alone, in a
locked shop.
       ‘Careful!’
he exclaimed as she tipped the mug to her lips, staring back at him in a daze,
and ended up with a lap full of scalding coffee.
       She
shrieked and jumped up, knocking her mug over as she tried to put it down and
escape the burning sensation between her thighs. The delicate bone china mug
rolled onto the floor in what felt like slow motion.
       She
distinctly heard the china CRACK, and closed her eyes in horror.
       ‘I’m
so sorry!’
       He
was there a few seconds later, a dishcloth pressed to her cream skirt where the
dark stain of coffee was already spreading. ‘Don’t panic,’ he said right beside
her ear, making her shiver. ‘C’est pas grave.’
       Opening
her eyes, she shook the wet skirt away from her body. If only it wasn’t so
tight-fitting, she thought, wincing.
       ‘Bloody
hell, that’s hot!’
       She
looked down at herself, trying to assess the damage, and could have moaned with
embarrassment. The wet material of her skirt was sticking to her thighs in a
highly undignified way.
       'You
have to take it off,' he said abruptly. 
        She stared at him, shocked. 'What?'
       ‘Your
skirt, Clementine. The coffee was still very hot. You need to remove it. Vite,
before the material burns your skin.'
       Still
not thinking straight, she belatedly realised what he was telling her. Then she
reached round for the zip and wriggled out of the skirt. She was wearing tights
underneath, of the 'nearly nude' variety. Her tights were wet too, at
mid-thigh, so she dragged them down. He helped her, then handed her another
clean dishcloth to dry her legs. While she was rubbing herself up and down,
feeling very foolish and more than a little exposed, he hung her damp clothing
over one of the high stools.
       'Better?'
he asked, his look concerned.
       Clementine
nodded, holding the damp dishcloth in front of her pink lacy knickers.
       His
dark gaze moved up her bare legs to the protective dishcloth. His mouth
twitched. 'Very fetching.'
       Oh hell.
       So
much for impressing him with her intelligence and poise. The office
professional. Instead she had just ended up looking like a complete fool.
Still, it could have been worse, she comforted herself. It could have been one
of her Full White Cotton Briefs days. Instead he had got an eyeful of her pink
lacy panties. That was okay. They were quite sexy compared to most of her
regular underwear.
       As
long as she did not turn around, he need never know there was a pink rabbit
design on the back.
       ‘I
don’t suppose you’ve got some jeans I could borrow?’ she ventured, her face as
hot as her thighs. ‘Or a long coat I could wrap around myself? I’m really
sorry. I’ve broken your lovely china mug. And just look at the mess.’
       His
eyes twinkled as he assessed her