From Publishers Weekly
Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
Book Description
The free-spirited owner of a booming chocolate emporium in Santa Magdelana, California, Allison Thomas is out to save the world -- one truffle at a time. Everyone adores Ali -- who wouldn't love a lady who sneaks midnight chocolate deliveries to the local health spa? And even if a string of crumbled relationships have put romance on hold, Ali's perfectly content with her life and her high-flying career. That is, until the mysterious Matt Baker stirs up her world....New to town, Matt quickly gets under her skin and leads her into temptation. But neither love nor chocolate seems to melt Matt's icy heart. Now, in a unique setting where luscious desserts, sweet wine, and fresh ocean breezes intoxicate the soul, it may prove impossible for either of them to resist this seductive recipe for a wondrously indulgent passion!
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Hey, Ali. I found you a man."
Allison Thomas blinked sleepily and thought about hiding her head under the pillow; however, the phone pressed against her ear might get in the way.
"Was I looking for one?" she asked.
"Sure. You've been bugging me for weeks." There was a pause, followed by an impatient sigh. "Ali, it's me, Harry."
Ali pushed the pillow away and sat up. "Harry?"
Her sluggish brain pulled together random bits of information. Harry, the local handyman. Her business downstairs. How Harry had been teasing her with the promise of doing actual work for weeks on her business downstairs. "Are you finally going to build my shelves?"
"Nope. I've hired me a new guy. If this one works out, I think he'll stay around and buy me out."
Ali resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Harry was always hiring some new guy, and anytime an employee stayed longer than a week, Harry became convinced he'd finally found someone interested in buying his small handyman business.
"I hope that happens," she said sincerely. "In the meantime, is he going to do some work for me?"
"Sure thing. I've already sent him over to start your shelves. I'll be by this afternoon to check on his progress."
"Okay. Great." She was drowning in office supplies, cooking supplies, and mailing containers. She needed more stock space in her storage room. While Harry wasn't known for hiring the brightest bulbs in the chandelier, how hard could it be to make a few shelves and paint some walls? She could probably do it herself if she had the time, which she didn't. "When can I expect him?"
"He should be there any minute."
"Okay." Ali blinked, then sat up straighter in bed. "What? Like now?"
"Yeah. He left about fifteen minutes ago, but he's walking."
Ali glanced down at the soft cotton T-shirt that barely came to midthigh. Underneath she wore exactly nothing. Her hair was a mess; she was a mess, and not the least prepared for Harry's helper. She swore under her breath.
"Next time give me a little more warning, Harry," she said.
"You're welcome."
His cheerful reply set her teeth on edge. She hung up the phone, then scrambled out of bed.
It was nearly eight, and on a normal morning she would have been awake for hours. Or at least since seven. But work had kept her up well past midnight. Again.
Ali pulled off her sleep shirt and tossed it onto the four-poster, brass bed. She grabbed underwear, a bra, jeans and a T-shirt that proclaimed her "Queen of Everything" and dressed. When she dug in her closet for sneakers, she found one and had to waste precious minutes searching for the mate. Damn. One of these days she was going to clean up the floor in here and get a shoe organizer, the kind with the clear front so she could see where everything was. Or, if she really went wild, she could hire one of those anal-retentive people who made their living organizing other people's lives. That's what she really needed. A reorganized life. In the meantime she would settle for a pair of matching shoes.
"Gotcha," she murmured, spotting a familiar green shoelace sticking out from under the bed.
She skipped socks and shoved her feet into the shoes, sidestepping the circling of her black-and-white cat, Domino. Ali then turned around to stare into the mirror. As usual, her long dark hair was a tangled riot of curls. On models in magazines the disarray looked artful. On her it looked like a scary "before" shot in a makeover. No time, she thought and rooted through the piles of clips, makeup, and jewelry on the top of her dresser until she found a scrunchy and fashioned a quick ponytail. She could imagine how awful she looked -- no makeup and a thick bushy cat's tail of hair. Not to mention the T-shirt and jeans faded from too many washings. Ali shrugged. She was busy, which meant she didn't always have time to make a fashion statement. Okay, she never had time, and any statement she made shouldn't be repeated.
Less than two minutes later she dashed out of the bathroom and headed downstairs, just in time to hear someone impatiently pounding on the back door.
"I'm coming," she yelled, jogging through the stockroom.
But the person on her back porch wasn't Harry's mystery helper. Instead, her mother -- tall, slender, and perfectly groomed -- stood there, with a pale, leashed pig at her side.
Ali sighed. Most people were allowed to start their day with a cup of coffee and a few minutes to peruse the local paper. She had to face her mother.
"Took you long enough," Charlotte Elizabeth Thomas said as she pushed past her daughter and into the rear room of the shop. "Miss Sylvie and I thought we'd stop by and have coffee after our walk." Her mother's gaze narrowed. "You didn't even brush your hair this morning. And what is that you're wearing?"
"Jeans, Mother. A denim fabric made into slacks for both women and men."
"Sarcasm does not make you more attractive, Allison."
Charlotte Elizabeth bent down and unfastened the leash from Miss Sylvie's collar. The nearly albino pig trotted over to Ali and snuffled at her scuffed sneakers. Ali wasn't sure if it was a greeting or a criticism, nor did she want to know. Charlotte Elizabeth turned and headed for the kitchen.
"We did an hour around the pond. The doctor said that with proper exercise, the heart condition won't be a problem," Charlotte Elizabeth called over her shoulder. "I prefer walking here, rather than in Los Angeles. The sea air is very refreshing, and there isn't any smog."
Ali trailed after her mother, following her into the kitchen, then watching as Charlotte Elizabeth worked, filling the coffee pot with water and pouring it into the machine. After she added six scoops of flavored coffee, she shut the front flap and hit the start button.
"I'm relieved to hear the positive medical news," Ali said, trying to muster some enthusiasm and sincerity. They were, after all, talking about the pig's heart, not her mother's. But while Ali didn't understand her mother's devotion to the large, ungainly animal, Charlotte Elizabeth and Miss Sylvie were inseparable.
How did an otherwise intelligent, articulate person make such a poor pet choice? Why couldn't her mother be like other people's eccentric relatives and just collect dozens of cats or small dogs? Ali could understand the appeal of a stray. She'd had several herself over the years. But a pig? And not one of those cute miniature ones. Miss Sylvie was several hundred pounds of pale, sunburn-prone pork on the hoof, or whatever it was that pigs had.
Charlotte Elizabeth patted her pig's large back. "I think this new sunscreen is going to work. Did I tell you about it? I found it in a catalog. I do so love mail order. The sunscreen is organic and practically guaranteed not to produce an allergic reaction. Something I worry about, don't I, sweetheart?"
Miss Sylvie grunted in response.
"You could carry it here in the store."
Ali looked at her mother. "The sunscreen?"
"You like natural products."
"This is a sweet shop, Mother. Chocolates, cookies, scones, and muffins. Not a sunscreen kind of place."
"I suppose not. Although it wouldn't hurt you to expand. Speaking of which -- muffins, I mean, not expanding -- do you still have those low-fat ones in your freezer?"
"Yes." Ali pointed to the freezer at the far end of the huge kitchen. "I baked about four dozen and sold maybe three in two days."
Her mother opened the door and gazed at the labeled packages inside. "Three dozen is excellent. That's seventy-five percent of what you baked. Not bad for a new product."
If only, Ali thought. "No, Mom. I sold three muffins. I had to freeze the other forty-five."
She'd learned her lesson. Low-fat anything did not sell well at Decadent Delight. People traveled great distances for her gourmet chocolate and when they got here, they didn't want to think about healthy foods or saving calories.
"At least they won't go to waste. I thought instead of a scone, I could start giving Miss Sylvie a low-fat muffin." Her mother glanced up and smiled. "She does so like a treat with her coffee in the morning."
Ali stared at her mother's beautiful face. Charlotte Elizabeth had wide hazel eyes, a small nose, and a perfect mouth. There was a symmetry to her features that left lesser mortals feeling deformed in comparison. Despite being nearly sixty-five, her mother had smooth and practically wrinkle-free skin. Some of that was the result of carefully planned surgery, but most of it was just great genetics.
Ali, of course, took after her father.
Charlotte Elizabeth found the large container of muffins and took one out. She set it on a plate, then put it in the microwave tucked in the corner of the counter near the double metal sink. While she waited, she glanced through the open doorway leading to Ali's storeroom and frowned. Her sharp gaze took in the stacks of supplies for the store, the office, and the kitchen. Unopened bags of sugar nestled up against boxes of mailing envelopes.
"That place is a disaster. You should get some shelves in there."
"Funny you mention that," Ali said, but figured there was no point in explaining the renovation was already planned. In fact, Harry's helper should be arriving any minute. Please God, she thought sincerely, let him get here and rescue me from the force of nature that is my mother.
The microwave beeped at the same time the coffeemaker gave a discreet chime indicating it had taken grounds and water to produce warm, liquid magic. Miss Sylvie came trotting in from wherever she'd been and grunted with pleasure.
"Just a moment, darling," Charlotte Elizabeth said. She cut up the muffin and blew on it to cool it down. Then she poured coffee into a saucer and blew on that as well.
"Did you ever treat me this nicely when I was a child?" Ali asked as she watched the ritual.
"Of course. Don't you remember?"
"Not really. I think Rick and I got shortchanged. Miss Sylvie gets a lot more attention." Ali was only half kidding. Did her mother's behavior ...
