Sinful Chocolate

Chapter 2

“He’s not my type,” Gisella repeated to herself. No matter how many times she made the declaration, a part of her rebelled at the notion. The thought just kept coming to the forefront of her mind how handsome-no-how fine Charlie Masters was. From the moment that six-two, golden brown Adonis strolled inside his high-rise apartment, Gisella could hardly take her eyes off of him.

The man exuded confidence and possessed an undeniable sexual prowess that dampened his fair share of panty liners whenever he walked by. And those eyes—playful hazel green—that sparkled if you were fortunate enough to hold his attention.

No wonder every woman in the room was practically drooling and shamelessly throwing themselves at him. It wasn’t surprising that he looked as if he was reveling in his element.

From the moment she’d slipped her hand into his, there was a powerful magnetic pull toward him, which was right on course since she had an affinity for bad boys, the very habit that she’d promised herself to break.

With a determined shake of her head, Gisella erased Charlie’s image just as she arrived at her car in the high-rise parking garage. “Forget about him,” she mumbled under her breath as she unlocked the car and slid in behind the wheel.

But that was easier said than done. After moving over four thousand miles to get away from the last playa extraordinaire who’d broken her heart, Robert Beauvais, she swore her next man would be the more stable kind—the marrying kind. When his name and image floated across her head, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of all the men she could have fallen for, she had to fall in love with an international male model.

If there was one life lesson learned, it was to never trust a man who’s prettier than you are.

Gisella laughed at herself as she pulled out onto the highway and headed toward her half sister’s apartment in downtown Atlanta. The distance wasn’t too far, but with so many one-way roads, it was easy for her to keep getting turned around.

By the time she made it to Anna’s place, it was beyond late, and her sister had already gone to bed for the night. It was just as well because the last thing she wanted to do was play Twenty Questions.

Since Gisella’s move to America, Anna had taken her role as protector a bit too seriously. Gisella suspected it had a lot to do with Anna’s obsession with police shows and forensic files. For her, trouble lurked around every corner, especially if there was a man involved. Where Gisella had one ugly breakup, Anna had a string of them.

Despite being beautiful, men had lied to, stolen from, beaten up and slept around on Anna. You name it, she had been through it, and when Gisella called her crying about Robert’s infidelity, Anna convinced her to leave France and start over with a new life in Atlanta.

Nine months later, Gisella wasn’t exactly sorry she’d made the move, but she realized that she had underestimated just how broken and bitter her sister really was. Once a month, Anna and a handful of her college girlfriends would host the Lonely Hearts Club. It was supposed to be a book club, but its real function was for the women to get together and gripe about men.

At first Gisella welcomed the sisterhood meetings as a place to vent over the demise of her engagement, but at what point were these women going to move on?

Gisella used the meetings as the first step in healing.

Anna used the group as a monthly soapbox.

After tiptoeing to her sister’s room, Gisella slowly turned the knob and opened the door, then eased her head inside. Under the soft glow of light from the nightstand table, Gisella found Anna’s sleeping form curled up on her side with a thick book next to her. Smiling, Gisella eased into the room and made it over to the bed to gently remove her sister’s reading glasses from her face.

Anna moaned and stirred, but she didn’t wake. “Good night, big sis,” Gisella whispered, leaning down and placing a kiss against her sister’s forehead before turning off the light.

Gisella crept to her bedroom and quickly kicked off her heels and slid out of her clothes before heading toward the adjoining bathroom. In the short time it took for her to make it to the shower, Charlie Masters had eased into her thoughts, and a smile had curved its way back onto her lips.

Humph. Humph. Humph. It really should be a crime for a man to be that hot, that fine, that sexy.

Without meaning to, Gisella made a few calculations and realized it had been more than a year since she had last experienced the touch of a man. Never mind the whole seduction of kissing and…well, just getting laid.

Sighing as she stood underneath the spray of hot water, Gisella allowed her active imagination to take flight. Still smiling, she pretended Charlie had joined her in the bathroom’s billowing steam and that it was his hands instead of the mesh sponge massaging liquid soap across her soft skin.

Gisella moaned and lolled her head back as if giving her imaginary lover full access to her slender neck.

“You taste like strawberries and chocolate,” murmured Fantasy Charlie, nibbling on her ear. His slick hands now roaming around her body and then cupped her full breasts. Instantly, her dusky brown nipples puckered and then throbbed for attention.

Charlie’s rich laughter bounced off the bathroom tiles before his head dipped low and took a hardened nipple into his mouth. Despite knowing this whole thing was just a fantasy, Gisella’s knees still went weak as the shower’s hot droplets substituted for Charlie’s mouth and talented tongue.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

She barely managed to croak out a “Yes” while an army of strawberry bubbles roamed and marched toward the springy black vee of curls between her legs. Charlie’s fingers followed the sudsy front line and then penetrated her with smooth gentle strokes.

Gisella hiked up one leg onto tub’s ledge and gave her fantasy lover better access to her pulsing cherry. There was also no mistaking the change in her breathing. Soon her temperature rose and it had nothing to with the hot cascading water.

Long strokes.

Short strokes.

Gisella’s moans climbed higher and higher. In her ear, Fantasy Charlie kept urging her to, “Come for me, baby. That’s it.”

“Ooooh, yes,” she sighed, her body tingling.

“That’s a good girl.”

Toes curling, Gisella’s sighs and moans continued while she imagined the feel of Charlie’s rock-hard erection pressed against her round bottom.

“You comin’ for me?”

“Y-yessss.”

“What’s my name, baby?” he asked, his fingers now plunging deep into her core.

“Ch-Charlie.” The moment his name crested her lips, her inner muscles tightened while she buckled against his hand. When her orgasm hit, her imaginary world exploded behind her closed eyelids, and her face was momentarily submerged under the shower’s steady stream.

It was at that moment the heat disappeared, Fantasy Charlie vanished along with the shower’s rolling steam, and the water turned into stabbing icicles. She jumped back and nearly tripped over the shower mat. Equilibrium restored, Gisella laughed at herself as she rushed to shut off the water.

Once out of the tub, she wrapped a plush towel around her body and made a second one into a turban over her wet hair. Walking back into her bedroom, her teeth chattered, and her skin pimpled with fresh goose bumps when the cool breeze from the air conditioner kissed her skin.

One thing was for sure: Gisella was a hell of a lot more relaxed after her session with Fantasy Charlie.

She giggled and then fell into a heap across the bed. The clock on the nightstand read one o’clock a.m. Gisella sighed contentedly and promised to get up in a moment to slip into her nightclothes and dry her hair, but before she knew it, she unfurled a few wide yawns and curled against her pillow.

Immediately, Charlie Masters resurfaced in her mind. “I’m not supposed to think about him,” she mumbled. A man like Charlie was dangerous.

Plus, how desperate must she be to fantasize about a man she’d just met and had talked to for less than five minutes?

But what a man.

Burrowing herself into the bedsheets and comforter, the devil on her left shoulder argued with the angel on her right. In the end, Gisella saw nothing wrong with carrying on with her fantasy lover. As long as she never acted on her impulse or actually tried to hook up with the handsome playboy, what harm could it do?

“No harm at all,” Fantasy Charlie whispered as he brushed a kiss against her satiny shoulder.

Gisella rolled onto her back and stared up into his hypnotic hazel green eyes.

“I have a question,” he said, reaching beneath her pillow and then withdrawing her hidden vibrator. “Mind if we play with this?”

Chapter 3

Charlie woke up early Sunday morning the same way he woke up every Sunday morning: completely satisfied and with a curvaceous beauty at his side. What was the girl’s name again—Marcia, Jan or Cindy? Maybe he was thinking of The Brady Bunch. Blair, Jo, Tootie—no, that was the Facts of Life.

The woman moaned softly as she turned and wiggled her rump against his hip—a silent invitation and a coy way of letting him know that she was no longer asleep. Hard and ready, he was more than willing to RSVP her invite when the phone rang.

Mentally, he wrestled with whether he should answer, but then relented when his gaze read the digital clock. Groaning, he snatched up the phone. “I’m up, Taariq.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re late,” he said, irritation dripping through the phone line. “It’s bad enough you dissed us at the party last night for that Beyoncé wannabe. By the way, how was she?”

Charlie glanced out of the corner of his eyes to skim over the woman’s voluptuous form imprinted beneath the silk sheets. “A gentleman never tells.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re one lucky S.O.B? You eased up on her two seconds before I did.”

“You snooze, you lose.” He smiled and sat up. “Give me about an hour, and I’ll be right over.”

“One hour.” Taariq huffed. “I’m going to hold you to it.”

“Whatever.” Charlie hung up and turned his attention back to—Penny? No, that was Good Times. Well, when in doubt, he relied on his favorite pet name. “Hey, baby girl.” He eased a hand beneath the sheet and caressed her soft skin. “I really hate to have to do this, but I, um, I’m afraid it’s time to get up.”

She emitted another soft moan, but then gracefully rolled over to her side to face him. Big, beautiful cat-shaped eyes fluttered open to reveal an intriguing shade of gray.

“Do we really have to get up?” she inquired, curling the corners of her full lips.

Charlie stared at the nymph in his bed as though it was the first time he’d seen her. Her face was devoid of makeup except the slightest hint of red lipstick. She was stunning. “Denise,” he murmured.

“You remembered. I’m impressed.”

“How could I ever forget? Denise just like in The Cosby Show,” Charlie covered smoothly.

“Do you always try to do name associations with TV shows?”

Charlie blinked. “Not always.”

“Then I guess the rumors are false.”

“Rumors?”

Denise’s tinted lips widened across her face. “C’mon. You have to know you’re a man with quite a reputation.” Her eyes traveled down his chest and settled on his erection. “Not all of it bad.”

Charlie’s ego inflated. “Glad to hear it.”

Something stirred at the foot of the bed and since Charlie didn’t have any animals, he jumped, but then quickly relaxed when the covers lifted and Samantha’s—like in Sex and the City—tussled head peeked out. “Are you sure it’s time to get out of bed?”

Charlie’s smile slid wider. “Did you two have something else in mind?”

“As a matter of fact—” the beauty tossed the sheet back from her body to give him a clear view of what she was offering “—I have a few things in mind.”

His erection throbbed and robbed him of sufficient oxygen for him to think clearly. At last a smile rolled across his lips. “To hell with Taariq.”

“You let her meet Charlie Masters?” Nicole, Anna’s busybody best friend roared incredulously. She pretended to rub wax out of her ears. “Please tell me I’m hearing things.”

A bored and sleep-intoxicated Anna struggled to rake her fingers through her frizzy hair before turning her attention to her large mug of coffee. “Gisella is a grown woman and more than capable of keeping her legs closed.”

Nicole’s eyes narrowed. “No woman can think straight when Charlie is on the prowl. How many times have I told you girls that?” She glanced around the four-member Lonely Hearts Club.

“At least a million,” Anna droned.

“Exactly.” Nicole crossed her arms and glared at her best friend. “I knew this was going to happen. I swear Charlie has like this radar whenever a beautiful new woman moves into this city. Hell, I’m surprised it took him nine months to find her.”

The other women snickered at the joke, which only encouraged Nicole to stay perched atop her soapbox. “Wake up, Anna, your sister is exactly Charlie’s type, and he’ll be all over her like white on rice.”

Jade, one of the founding members of the group frowned. “What’s Charlie’s type?”

“Anything with breasts and a pulse,” Nicole shot back.

“Damn. I better hide Sasha, too.” Anna bent down and picked up her orange-and-yellow tabby cat that kept mewing at her ankles.

“She’s telling the truth,” said Emmadonna, a plus-size beauty with a mountainous chip on her shoulder, nodding in agreement. “I met the famous dog at a club a couple of years back, thinking I was safe since he spent half the night dancing with the same old anorexic-looking chicks until he brushed up on me.”

“Ooh?” the other women chorused.

“Next thing I know, he was all up in my ear, saying only a dog wants to play with some bones.”

The women laughed.

“Girl, I played it cool for about two minutes before I jumped him and showed him how us big girls worked it out. Nahwhatimean?” She held up her hands and received a train of high fives while the room filled with new squeals of laughter.

“If you didn’t see the devil horns and tail then you weren’t looking hard enough,” Nicole said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, I was looking, all right,” Emmadonna said. “All I saw was a tall brother with money, class, sophistication…and if I’m not mistaken, a dash of thug in him. Every girl needs a little thug in their lives.”

“That man has a trail of broken hearts that stretches halfway around the globe.” Nicole’s hands settled on her thick hips. “Charlie’s a diehard playa, and any woman who thinks she can change him, which is every woman he’s ever come in contact with, is just kidding herself.”

“Including you,” Jade said, easing back into the leather couch with a knowing smile.

“Yes, including me.” Nicole squared her shoulders. “Of course, I never became a notch on his bedpost. I had a little more sense than that.”

Anna rolled her eyes and yawned. “Anyone want some more coffee?” She shuffled toward the kitchen. “If I have to wake up, I might as well do it the right way.”

“I could’ve slept with him if I wanted,” Nicole said to Anna’s back.

“I hope you like Folgers.”

“Ignore if you want, but back in college I was considered a fine catch myself,” Nicole reminded her.

“Of course, I think we might have some Taster’s Choice in here,” Anna kept on, unfazed.

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Folgers is fine.”

Anna rustled through the cabinets for a few minutes and then fumbled with the coffeemaker. All this talk about Charlie was hitting a little too close for home. She had her own history with the infamous playa and she’d rather just forget the whole incident. She certainly didn’t want to talk about it.

Nicole glanced down at her watch. “It’s noon. I bet you anything, Charlie is lying next to some chick right now trying to figure out the best way to get her out of there.”

“Okay, now you’re creepin’ me out.” Anna hit the Brew button. “You know just a little too much about the man’s modus operandi.”

“All playas have the same M.O. Hit and run.”

“I still say Gisella is smarter than that. She was just hired to make the man’s cake. She’s hardly looking to leap back into another relationship after what her ex just put her through.”

“Charlie doesn’t do relationships.”

“And Gisella doesn’t believe in one-night stands.”

Emmadonna, with supersonic ears for all things gossip, cackled from the living room. “Girl, please. Every woman has had at least one.”

Anna and Nicole rejoined the women in the living room.

“I say,” Nicole continued, “the only way a woman can avoid getting caught up in Charlie Masters’s dog trap is to run the other way when you see him strolling down the sidewalk.”

“Amen” circled around the room along with another series of high fives before the women burst out laughing.

Curious about the commotion in the apartment, Gisella finished dressing and joined her sister’s friends in the living room. “What’s so funny?”

The minute she walked into the room, all the laughter was suddenly sucked out of the air and everyone began straightening and fidgeting in their seats.

Gisella cast her gaze around the room as suspicion crept up her spine. “Parlez-vous de moi?”

Anna shooed Sasha off her lap and stood up. “Don’t be silly, Gisella,” she said, shuffling over and draping her arm around her shoulders. “We weren’t talking about you—exactly.”

“No, we were talking about your birthday boy last night,” Nicole said, piping up.

Gisella’s face flushed. Had her sister heard her in her room last night? Oh, Lord, hadn’t she called out his name a few times?

Nicole pointed. “Look at her face. Something did happen last night.”

Anna’s arm fell from Gisella’s shoulders. “You didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” Gisella asked, thoroughly confused.

“Sleep with the enemy,” Anna said. “Charlie Masters is the biggest man-whore in Atlanta.”

“And that’s putting it nicely,” Nicole agreed.

Gisella groaned before she could stop herself. Didn’t these girls ever give it a rest? Men were not the enemy. “Relax,” she huffed. “Nothing happened. I went to network, remember?”

Unconvinced, Nicole planted her hands on her hips. “Did you meet the birthday boy?”

Four sets of eyes locked onto Gisella and waited.

“I met him.” Gisella shrugged. “He said he loved the cake, and then I took off.”

Anna smiled as her arm magically reappeared around her shoulder. “See? I told you she knew how to handle herself.”

Ivy, the petite and soft-spoken member of their group, voiced her suspicions. “You mean Charlie didn’t even try to hit on you?”

Gisella shook her head, even though the memory of their light flirting replayed in her head. “Nope.”

“Damn.” Emmadonna chuckled and eased back into her seat. “We really are living in the last days.”

Chapter 4

Life had gone from bad to worse.

It was the only way Charlie could explain it. His company, Masters Holdings, continued to edge toward bankruptcy. Hopefully, his upcoming trip to South Africa would change all of that. His bid for a lucrative government contract was all that stood between him and financial ruin. The housing market combined with the credit crisis had formed the perfect storm to sink his financial ship. He was going to lose everything. The high-rise. The cars. The boat. The plane. His lifestyle.

To make matters worse, Charlie had been less than forthcoming with his frat brothers. How could he be, when they were still very rich and very successful in their own right? The last thing he wanted was to be labeled the failure of the group, nor did he want anyone’s sympathy.

After all, he did have his pride.

No. Charlie shook his head. He was going to rebound from this. He had to.

First, he had to survive this basketball game. Hylan and Taariq were running rings around him today, and Derrick looked ready to kick him to the curb and pick Stanley as his partner.

But something was changing. Charlie felt it the moment Hylan passed Taariq the basketball and he launched into trying to block the next shot. Sure, he was in shape. He worked out five days a week at his local gym. Pumped iron, practiced kickboxing and swam like a fish in their indoor pool. And every Sunday afternoon, like today, he and his frat brothers got together on the half-court at Derrick’s spacious estate in Stone Mountain for a few friendly games.

Bottom line: he was in shape.

So what was this change he was feeling in his body? The same change he’d been feeling since the moment he blew out the candles on his birthday cake.

I’m getting old.

Charlie frowned at the continuous thought circling his mind. Trying to dispel the notion, he pushed himself a little harder, ignored a few straining muscles and wiped the pouring sweat off his forehead with the back of his arms like windshield wipers in the midst of a thunderstorm.

Still, he didn’t feel as aerodynamic as he had in college. Why weren’t his other frat brothers struggling?

Taariq faked a shot, Charlie jumped and a collection of muscles in his lower back throbbed in protest. Recovering, he jerked to his left, intersected Taariq’s running dribble for a clean steal.

“Yeah!” Derrick shouted as he did his best to clear the perimeter for Charlie to take his shot. Some people who’d watched them play in the past thought it was a bit odd for the teams to be divided as three on two. Those same people quickly understood when they saw how Stanley epitomized the term: white men can’t jump…or shoot, dribble, block or run.

“Take your shot!” Derrick shouted. “Take your shot.”

Charlie took aim and then launched the ball. Everyone stopped to watch its perfect arch. Taariq, Hylan and Stanley groaned when it swished beautifully inside the netting.

The game tied, Charlie and Derrick whooped in excitement and pumped their fists in the air.

Charlie took a moment to bend at the waist and chugged in a few deep gulps of air.

“You okay, hot shot?” Taariq asked, eyeing him up and down.

“Never better.” Charlie righted himself and forced a smile.

Taariq shrugged off his concern and turned back to wait for Stanley to toss the ball back into play.

Charlie’s resentment toward the other guys’ boundless energy returned. Of course, they could be faking, too, he realized. He couldn’t see any of them admitting to the pull of aging.

Kicking it into overdrive, Charlie tapped into the energy reserves he had left and started zigzagging in between the fellahs. But somewhere along the line, he lost his mind.

That was the only explanation for his delusion of being like Michael Jordan in 1989 and launching across the court with the song “I Believe I Can Fly” playing in his head.

Flying wasn’t the problem.

It was landing.

The ball swooshed through the hoop, giving him and Derrick the winning two points. However, when Charlie’s feet hit the concrete, his ankles folded like paper.

“Ooh, damn!” the Kappa brothers chorused and winced at the same time.

“Owww!” The sound that erupted from his throat wasn’t unlike a roaring lion. But when Charlie looked down and saw the odd angle of his foot, his deep bass disappeared and he sounded like, what Derrick would later call, a wailing banshee.

“Oh, my God, I’ve died and gone to heaven,” moaned Waqueisha, Isabella’s good friend and Delta Phi Theta sorority sister, as she bit into another one of Gisella’s chocolate truffles. “I know you said the girl was good, but damn!”