Page 6 of Her Chocolate His Bar

We hadn’t had sex in about four months, and that was mostly because I hadn’t had time. With switching locations and getting this new business off the ground, I was often way too tired to even try to get into a sexy mood with Pete.

It took effort. And that was another reason we were never going to make it.

I was still tired. Sick and tired of all the bullshit.

I looked at the screen of my buzzing phone and saw ten texts from Pete. Without reading them, I deleted them and sent him a one-word reply before blocking his number.

Stop.

Just that one word, and I prayed he let it go. I had one really hard rule with relationships. Cheaters didn’t get second chances.

If you were dumb enough to step out once, that was a clear sign you’d do it again. And I was too smart to let that happen twice.

Truth was, I felt kind of guilty because instead of being sad and angry once the shock wore off, I was relieved. Humming to myself, I donned my favorite red apron and started the mixers.

Next, I had my robot servant Rosie, which was what I called my Google Nest, start some David Bowie tunes through the wireless speakers I had in every corner of the chocolaterie kitchen.

Then, I got to work.

Usually, my moods dictated what flavors I mixed, but it was an important holiday, and my customers had their favorites.

First, I was going to create a couple of batches of my most popular items—truffles.

Chocolate truffles were the epitome of decadence, in my not so humble opinion, and I made some of the best.

I prepped my ingredients and had the first batch ready before I heard the knock on the door.

What the shit now?

I hoped like hell it wasn’t Pete. I wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Grabbing my she-balls, I went to answer it, wondering who it could be.

I froze when I saw him. My neighbor. Sonny Delgado.

His shirt was half open, revealing tantalizing glimpses of inked skin, and his short hair looked mussed.

From his own fingers or someone else’s, I wondered.

“Can I help you?” I asked, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach that were currently going apeshit.

“Yeah, you can help me,” he said.

His eyes glittered like black diamonds as they raked over me from head to toe. Now, when I worked, I was hardly anything special to look at.

I wore black leggings and a short-sleeved top, a short red apron, and a small hat with a hairnet covering my low ponytail.

Neat. Cute, maybe. But nothing special.

And yet my hot as fuck neighbor looked at me like he was dying of thirst, and I was a tall glass of water.

I wasn’t tall, though. I was barely five three on a good day.

Sonny, however, was tall.

He was six feet of well-muscled, wide-shouldered man, with a healthy smattering of five o’clock shadow covering his square-jawed face and the sexiest dang tribal tattoos I had ever seen on his chest, abs, and arms, from where it was visible.

I wondered if they went around his back too, but all coherent thoughts left me as he moved, walking right into my personal space.

Before either of us could say anything, Sonny cupped my cheeks and growled deep in his chest. His touch alone sent bolts of lightning straight to my core, but add in that sexy growl, and I gasped. Out loud.

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