The Chocolate Touch Read Online Free PDF Page A

the other day. Besides, she might be used to some of these flavor combinations if she knew chocolate; other chocolatiers copied him all over the world these days, and even if they didn’t do it as well as he did, some of the flavor combinations that had been outrageous when he first came up with them were growing widespread. Imitation might be the best form of flattery, but it sure as hell was an annoying one. At this rate, he might have to start working with milk chocolate and vanilla just to continue to be the rebel. He just so did not see himself as a milk chocolate and vanilla kind of guy.
    “No, I want to try it,” she said definitely. “If you came up with it, it has to be good.”
    Warmth infused him, scarier and more powerful even than the arousal. Still, his fingers hesitated before he closed them around the garnet-marked square. What if he disappointed that conviction of hers? That was the problem when you took such risks with your flavors; some of the risks were bound to offend someone. Of course, he liked offending people. Why was he suddenly wishing he made things that were safe?
    He forced his gloved fingers to close around the chocolate, slipping it into the corner of the box. The whole vast expanse of the flat square of metal gleamed back at him, still to fill. It was insane how terrifying that expanse looked.
    Dominique, ça suffit, he told himself sharply. Act like who you are: someone who believes in himself when no one else does. “Perhaps this one?” He closed his fingers around a chocolate square printed with a fragile petal-shape of white. “Jasmin.” He felt awkward, offering her the Jasmin, a lumberjack presenting a princess with a fistful of flowers.
    But she would like that one, he thought. It would bloom on her mouth, like a hint of some magical night in Provence.
    Unless she thought it was too perfumey . . .
    “Jasmine,” she said wonderingly. “Oh, yes.”
    He looked up at her, his mouth softening helplessly. “And this one.” Confidence started to unfurl feathers in the ashes like a phoenix. Why she had burned his up in the first place, that was still the question. Her presence had been so very quiet, from the first. Not at all likely to leave a strong man in ashes, surely? “It has this tiny, secret semi-liquid tangy lime-caramel center that melts over your tongue just after you bite through the bitter dark chocolate.”
    Her eyes kept brightening, flicking from his face to his hands and back. “That sounds so fascinating.” She said it as if her tongue curled around the idea, hungry for fascinating things.
    Warmth and arousal battled in him, blended in what was for him a heretofore unheard of fusion. Probably a normal person’s fusion, like chocolate and vanilla, but he didn’t know it.
    “You should at least try this one.” He picked up a square with a golden pattern that evoked just a hint of a sea of waving grain. “Ganache à l’avoine.”
    Her eyes flickered, and he realized she didn’t know the word. But while his English was minimal, given his lack of schooling, he certainly knew how to describe his chocolate in it; his tourist market was enormous. “Oats.”
    She laughed out loud with delight. “A ganache with oats ? Yes, I want to try it.”
    He had to form himself back up out of a puddle behind the counter after that laugh. He hoped he was subtle about it, and she didn’t realize he had melted to the floor.
    He grinned at her. She could have been his mirror, the way she sparkled back at that grin, lighting up. All those days, she’d sat so deeply quiet and still in his salon, and now he was waking her up.
    Triumph surged in him. “This one.” He pointed. “It’s so dark. You can’t rush it. You can’t bite into it expecting something sweet. You have to let it melt on your tongue, wait for the aftertaste, the way it just soothes and soothes and soothes.”
    Her lips softened apart. Her gaze trailed slowly up his body, searched his face, snagged on his