Chapter Thirteen

At the sound of the swinging doors opening, Zandra turned. There stood the prim and proper Madame Pruissard, her white hair in a tight bun and a pair of old-fashioned glasses propped on her nose. All she needed was a habit, and she could’ve passed for Sister Mary Catherine, Zandra’s third grade teacher.

The older woman hurried toward her. “Did you get it out? I have a bit of vinegar that we can use if there still appears to be a stain. Chocolate can be hard to remove, you know.”

Chocolate? Oh, right. The reason Zandra was in the kitchen in the first place. “Ummm…I was a little bit distracted.” She indicated the countertops. “What are these?”

Madame Pruissard raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you don’t recognize them?”

“Well, yeah, of course I do.” Heat crept up Zandra’s face. She wasn’t a prude, for heaven’s sake. What was wrong with her? “I just meant, what are these doing here? They’re…interesting.” Oh, good grief. What was she, twelve? “I mean, I didn’t see any of these in the cases, and, let’s face it, these are kinda hard to forget.”

“These were ordered last week.” The older woman’s smile broadened. “They are not in front because we often have young children in the shop.”

That made sense. The chocolatier was clearly talented enough to make chocolate towns and a replica of the Eiffel Tower, surely something like a penis was a piece of cake for her. “But I don’t get it. You make all those gorgeous dioramas out there. Out of chocolate.”

“I do.” She stepped closer. “But these”—she indicated the molds—“these are special. For the ladies.”

Wow. Clearly the older, demure woman who created gorgeous chocolate villages and chocolate jewelry for a little girl’s birthday party also had a wild side.

Madame tilted her head to one side. “You disapprove?”

“Of course not.” Not now that Zandra was over the shock. “I think they’re great.” She leaned forward to study a particularly large one that had what looked like a white stream flowing from the tip. “They’re very…ummm…life-like.”

“Indeed. That is what my client requested, and that’s what I attempted to do.”

“Do you get a lot of orders?”

Madame shrugged. “Women in the surrounding towns, they know where to come for such items.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I have customers who like to serve these at their events.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to share who they are?” If Zandra could nail a photo shoot with one of them, it might be something that Flights and Sights would pay extra for.

The older woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. I cannot say.”

“Well, would you mind if I took photos of these?” At the older woman’s hesitation, Zandra added, “I promise they’ll be tasteful, and I’d showcase the wide range of talent you have—from the complexity of something like the Eiffel Tower to the simplicity of a man’s penis.”

She nearly tripped over the word, not wanting to say it, but what the hell? If a woman like Madame Pruissard could turn these out, Zandra 2.0 could say penis with her head held high.

…

Blake hadn’t been in too many chocolate shops in his life. He’d had no reason. He looked around the room now and studied the steady stream of customers—mostly tourists with their cameras and selfie-sticks, with an occasional local thrown in. The locals were easy to spot. They breezed in and either went up to the counter and were handed a box of chocolates they’d ordered ahead of time or quickly cruised through the shop. The tourists, on the other hand, lingered.

He tapped on the table that held Zandra’s laptop. On the screen was a shot of Madame Pruissard, her gray hair formed into a bun atop her head making her look almost regal. Yeah, the older woman was certainly talented, but there was something in the way Zandra had framed the shot that somehow showed wisdom and grace as well.

He frowned and glanced at his watch. Madame Pruissard had gone to check on Zandra ten minutes ago. Were chocolate stains all that hard to remove?

He caught the attention of an employee and signaled for her to watch their gear before he headed toward the swinging doors to the kitchen.

Conversation stopped as soon as he entered. That’s weird. Something was definitely off. The older woman stood to one side, Zandra next to her, and both had somewhat guilty expressions on their faces.

“Am I interrupting something?” Because it sure as hell looked like it.

The women turned to each other, and Zandra shrugged. “I’m okay with it.”

“Okay with what?” he asked, stepping farther into the room.

“Please,” the older woman said, motioning him forward. “Please join us.”

Did he want to? The intensity in the room was palpable, and as he reached them, Blake understood why. His gaze landed on a large, almost life-sized chocolate replica of a man’s dick, veins on it looking like they were going to burst, and complete with a stream of white chocolate cum running down the side. Holy shit.

He stopped a couple feet away and his gaze landed on tray after tray of dicks—every size and shape. Not that he was all that familiar with another guy’s junk, but given the chocolatier’s demand for perfection, he wouldn’t be surprised if they represented every size and shape.

“Did you want to try a piece?” Zandra asked. Only then did he notice the knife in her hand. “I can cut some off for you.”

“Uhhh…” His gaze snapped to Madame Pruissard and he blinked. “What happened to the grandmotherly-type woman who made artistic chocolate?” The question was out before he could stop himself.

“Does a grandmotherly-type woman, as you say, not know anything about sex? Is that how you would portray such a woman? Because if so, I promise that grandmothers became grandmothers because they have a good idea about a man’s penis.”

He stared at her, at the amusement in the curve of her lips and the light in her eyes. “Well, I didn’t mean it like that,” he insisted. What exactly did he mean? And did he even want to go there?

“You are surprised,” Madame Pruissard observed. She tapped her chin and continued, “Most young people are. But, you know, we older ones, we know more than you want to believe. Sex doesn’t stop because you grow older. Sometimes it gets even better.”

Okay, this was a totally weird conversation. Blake glanced at Zandra, saw the amusement reflected on her face. “Help me out here,” he said.

“Nope. You’re on your own, buddy.” She grinned and folded her arms, the dark chocolate stain between her breasts taunting him like a neon light at his favorite Seattle bar. Stupid stain.

“In any case,” Madame Pruissard said, “the male anatomy is not something I want to broadcast. It could damage my reputation as an artist.”

“Or broaden it,” Zandra said. “Think of how much more work you’d receive if visitors to the area knew they could come into your shop and take home a box of these. Just think of it,” she coaxed. “You could showcase your wide range of talents, from innocent to naughty.”

“Zandra, it’s like trying to convince your grandmother to peddle sex. Even if it is just chocolates.” What the hell was she thinking?

“And there’s something wrong with that? Believe me, if my grandmother was this talented, I’d encourage her to go for it. Why should she let her age stop her from doing what she wanted? Especially if she was talented enough to pull it off?”

Yeah, he probably shouldn’t be a part of this conversation. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

The older woman chuckled. “I suppose it would truly shock my family to see these in a magazine.” She clapped her hands. “That is the best reason of all.”

“So, you’ll agree to it? I can photograph these?” No mistaking the thread of hope in Zandra’s voice.

“Oh, very well.”

“Great.” Zandra grinned. “Let’s get started.”

A few minutes later, Blake found himself standing uncomfortably next to Zandra as she grabbed a pair of tongs. Yeah…if there was any way to artfully arrange a plate of chocolate penises, she’d find it.

Even now he was surprised Madame Pruissard had agreed to add these to the photo shoot. The older woman had certainly hesitated long enough. Then again, Zandra had given her every logical reason to use them in the shoot, hadn’t she?

Which was part of the reason Blake knew she was good at her job, with her attention to detail and unwillingness to take an initial “no” for an answer. “Good work back there, by the way.”

“Hmmm?” she murmured, not taking her eyes off the plate.

“Getting Madame Pruissard to agree to this.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

“You can be pretty stubborn when you’ve set your mind on something.”

“I prefer to think of it as determined.”

“Of course you do.”

Blake smiled to himself as he watched her nudge a chocolate penis with the side of the tongs. “And a perfectionist, too.”

“Blame my parents for that one.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My parents insisted that I do things ‘right the first time’ for as far back as I can remember. Do you know what it’s like to organize your closet by type of clothing and color?”

“You’re kidding,” he said, remembering her clothes strewn from one end of the hotel room to the other—in less than twenty-four hours. “But you’re such a slob.”

“Thanks.” She grinned. “Anyway, by the time I started college, the expectations were pretty clear—which typically meant I was drilled with accounting scenarios every time I came home. All to make sure my work was perfect. After all, I’d be dealing with clients at their company, so that meant I had to be perfect.” She stood back and regarded her work. “Not that there was any pressure, of course.”

“There’s no pressure now, you know. With the chocolates,” he added at her puzzled expression. “Chocolates are pretty hard to mess up.”

“Yes, but getting the right shot does require how the subject is staged. There,” she said as she straightened. “Much better.”

“It is?” Too bad, because he sure enjoyed looking at her ass when she bent over. “Maybe you should move it off to the left a tad.” He tried to stop the grin from his face but failed miserably.

“Very funny.” The corner of her mouth twitched up like she was fighting a grin, too. “It’s perfect.”

He certainly wouldn’t argue. No doubt about it, Blake was an idiot. He shouldn’t be thinking stuff like that where Zandra was concerned. Even if she did have what looked like a firm, tight ass underneath jeans that hugged every delectable curve.

“Okay.” He turned then shook his head to clear it. He was here to do a job. Be her assistant, get her coffee, hold a light, whatever she needed. What she clearly did not need was him staring at her ass, let alone wanting to touch it.

“It could be worse, I suppose,” he said, not about to let it go. “You could have to make arrangements to get us transportation again. If a hearse showed up last time, there’s a fairly good chance we’d have to ride in a cart pulled by a bicycle or something.”

“Very funny.” Zandra’s gaze bore into his. Without breaking eye contact, she reached toward the plate and pulled off a chocolate penis then held it in front of her. “Look,” she said then promptly snapped it in half.

Blake shifted uncomfortably. She looked like she’d enjoyed that entirely too much.

“Oh, darn, it broke.” She grinned then bit off a tip.

“Was that supposed to be a threat of some sort?” Blake asked. “Kind of mobster-style or something?”

“You take it however you want. Just quit messing with me.” She took another bite of chocolate, the unmistakable snap sending a clear message.

“Got it.”

Blake knew they were just kidding each other, volleying words across the space between them. But just in case, he was sleeping with his hands over his balls tonight.