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CHAMPAGNE AND CHOCOLATE
(Historical Western romance)
* Best-seller *
From different worlds, drawn by desire, passion is
about to change their lives forever...
Indulge in a wickedly seductive taste of CHAMPAGNE AND CHOCOLATE:
Austin Standish is a man of refined tastes.
Intelligent and educated, Austin enjoys all of the best life has to offer. A
gambler, a gunslinger, and a man who has plans to taste the sweetest prize at
The Palace Casino and Saloon - the lovely owner, Chantille L'Amour, the most
sought after jewel on the Barbary Coast.
Running a high-class brothel and casino isn't
exactly the life she was born to but Chantille is determined to overcome the
ruin her family was left in once the Civil War ended. But, she has chosen a
difficult path... one that demands much and leaves her lonely. She's noticed
the handsome man who comes into her world from time to time, and when she
chooses to give in to desire, the passion evoked by Austin's touch may change
her life forever...
Excerpt:
“Will you be needin’ anything else,
Miss Chantille?”
Chantille L’Amour turned and looked
at her maid. Carrie was hovering close to the door, clearly eager to get on
with other chores if she wasn’t needed here.
“No, Carrie,” Chantille said with a
shake of her head. “I just want a few quiet minutes before business begins for
the night.”
Carrie hesitated, her mouth opened
to speak, then she shook her head and nodded. A moment later, the door to the
suite of rooms closed with a soft thud.
Chantille sighed heavily and walked
to the French doors, then leaned against the door frame. The last faint rays of
the glowing afternoon were giving way to the steady encroachment of evening as
she stared out at the glittering, sun-dappled beauty of San Francisco Bay. For
several more moments, she delayed the increasingly wearisome task of preparing
herself for the evening ahead. For a few precious moments, she allowed her
heart to pine for a simpler world in which to live. The world her parents spoke
about with such longing, life as it had been before the Civil War tore
everything to pieces. Born in the midst of that conflict, Chantille had never
enjoyed the peace and happiness her parents had known in their youth. She’d
resented it deeply, and, because of the devastation wrought by the war, she’d
made choices that weighed heavily on her. Those dictates had done their part to
age her spirit well beyond her twenty-five years.
The scents and sounds of the
Barbary Coast wafted up to her, assaulting her senses now where they had once
caressed. She’d arrived in San Francisco several years ago, bright-eyed and
determined to be the mistress of her fate. She’d been tired of living on the
dead dreams that sustained her family, fully aware that the South would never
again possess the lazy, luxurious languor that had enabled it to fall to its
own complacent arrogance. In San Francisco, Chantille’s money and family meant
nothing to the hordes of men who flocked to her place of business. They cared only
about the quantity of drink and companionship to be found at The Palace. The
quality was another wasted effort on her part, though she steadfastly refused
to compromise it.
With a barely audible groan,
Chantille pushed herself from her casual slouch and went to her bed. She’d laid
out her clothes before bathing, a custom she often found soothing. She slipped
the silk dressing gown off her shoulders and reached for the soft,
ribbon-trimmed cotton drawers. The ritual of dressing eased her nerves, as it always
did, and her spirits lifted as she closed the hooks on her corset and carefully
tugged free the hand-woven froth of lace that decorated her chemise. Layers of
crinolines and petticoats came next, and, once she’d fastened them, she walked
to her dressing table and sat before the mirror. She applied a slight hint of
rouge to her high cheekbones, and then repeated the color in darker tones on
her lips. She selected earrings, and a sparkling diamond necklace that was
worth more than most of her customers would see in their lifetimes. She’d done
her hair earlier and turned her head to survey the results of her work. The
pale ash blonde of her hair was set off by the inky black, velvet ribbons that
she’d taken time to weave into the intricate knot. Strands of fair hair had
already escaped the confines of her careful design, but she knew better than to
attempt to contain them further—by night’s end, many more curling wisps would
be falling around her face, giving her a deceptively angelic appearance that
she knew appealed to men.
Her gaze fell to the ivory swells
of her breasts, the ample curves made more prominent by the corset she wore.
Her waist was naturally tiny, and the tightness of the shaping undergarment
made her appear delicate, almost fragile. Another illusion, she thought, as she
laughed inwardly. She walked to the bed to retrieve the glowing silk gown she’d
selected for the evening. It was pale amethyst in color, trimmed with deep plum
lace and ribbon. She settled the heavy dress over her hips, pulled it closed,
tight to her body, then tugged the wide straps downward so her shoulders were
almost bared. As she bent forward to retrieve a handkerchief from the top
drawer of her dressing table, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her
parents would have been horrified to see her like this, her bosom all but
falling from her dress, her face painted, and her dark brown eyes filled with
knowledge that decent women would run from.
Oddly, the sadness that would once
have accompanied the observation was missing now, and she realized she’d grown
beyond caring what other people thought of her. There was no profit in opinion,
and she’d learned that money was the only real power that mattered. So, she
dismissed the whisper of censure from her past. However, the appealing image in
the looking glass created an entirely different kind of ache within her.
Loneliness, yes, but not the heartbreaking pain she’d known when she’d first
arrived in San Francisco. This evening, she was lonely for the very
companionship the girls who worked for her sold on a nightly basis. Chantille
seldom accepted any of the numerous propositions that came her way in the
course of an evening, but, tonight, she decided, she would attempt to be more
receptive to the invitations she received.
It had been a very long time since
she’d permitted a man’s arms around her. Longer still since she’d enjoyed more
intimate pleasures. Smiling, she turned and headed down to the main room of the
vast saloon she owned and ran.
* * * * *
Austin Standish alighted from his
carriage and glanced at the incongruous, regal splendor of The Palace Saloon and Casino. He paid his driver, then headed into
the sprawling building, an old opera house that had been abandoned for a number
of years before Chantille L’Amour bought the place and set about reinventing
it. He’d come to this particular establishment on numerous occasions since
first discovering its existence and had enjoyed most of the pleasures offered.
He’d thus far failed to make one conquest, however, and he was honest enough to
admit it was that very challenge that kept him coming back. The owner of the
saloon was an enigmatic and alluring woman who’d quickly seen through the charm
and easy arrogance with which he had enticed so many ladies before her. Despite
several invitations, she’d never granted him an audience.
Inside the grand saloon and casino,
the décor was a reflection of surprising sophistication and good taste. It was
wasted on most of the clientele.
Austin spotted several gentlemen
who frequented the place, gentlemen who preferred not to be seen in the company
they presently enjoyed. He ignored them and went through to the casino’s
private room. He was known to the doorman and was immediately granted entrance.
He spotted his quarry the minute he walked in; she was standing near the
polished bar, surveying the customers and their talent at the tables.
Somewhere inside him, he felt a
familiar flutter of excitement, but he dismissed it as ludicrous. He’d long ago
learned the high price one paid for infatuation, and he refused to be swayed by
it ever again. He wanted this alluring woman, but nothing more than that. A
night in her bed, and he’d be content to never again step inside The Palace.
When the lovely Miss L’Amour
glanced his way and held his eyes with her dark gaze, he had to ignore the
self-mocking laughter that bubbled up inside his head. He inclined his head in
a casual bow of acknowledgment, then went to purchase his usual thousand
dollars’ worth of chips. He seldom lost, but his starting sum always remained
the same; when he deviated from the practice Lady Luck withdrew her favor more
often than not. He entered the casino with a thousand dollars, and usually left
with considerably more than he’d had upon his arrival.
The chandeliers set in the high
ceiling threw off enough light to rival the early afternoon sun, and the noise
level, while something that couldn’t be entirely disregarded, was nowhere near
the din that pervaded most saloons on the Coast. Standish was content for the
moment to enjoy himself. He’d concentrate on the beautiful saloon owner after
he’d indulged his more mercenary tendencies.
* * * * *
Less than two hours later, Standish’s
winning streak forced a division of his attention. His last bet at the roulette
wheel had earned him in the vicinity of ten thousand dollars. The man in charge
of the table was looking more than a little bit worried, and he requested a
moment to consult with the owner. Austin smiled and waited for the pretty woman
to join them. He watched her for a few moments as she listened to whatever was
being whispered in her ear. Once again, his stomach reacted with a disturbing
flutter when she glanced at him, her stare bold and refreshingly direct as she
considered her course of action. He realized, much to his inner horror, that he’d
been holding his breath while he waited; he almost gasped in air when she
smiled and began to walk toward him.
“Mr. Standish,” she murmured when
she had reached the roulette table. “How lovely to see you again.”
He was surprised by the
familiarity, and he arched one eyebrow, the response reflexive. “I wasn’t aware
we’d met, Miss L’Amour.”
She laughed softly, and he was
further enchanted.
“I don’t believe we have,” she
agreed. “Not officially. But I do know who you are, Mr. Standish. Otherwise,”
she added with a hint of irony, “you wouldn’t be permitted to gamble in this
suite.”
“And am I to be permitted to
continue this game, ma’am?”
“How lucky do you feel tonight, Mr.
Standish?”
He grinned with an expression he
knew was both confident and charming, a device well used over the years. Miss L’Amour’s
tinkling amusement whispered in the space between them. Then she nodded and
went around the table herself.
“Place your bets, gentlemen,” she
said, gesturing at the numbered black and red table surface. She picked up the
gleaming white marble and prepared to send the roulette wheel spinning.
When she bent forward, giving him a
deliciously full view of her cleavage, Austin placed a reckless bet and sat
back to watch the outcome.
“Your luck holds, Mr. Standish,”
she said less than a minute later. “It would seem that I now owe you a
substantial sum of money.” She walked from behind the table. “I’ll inform the
cashier of your good fortune. When you wish to cash in, the money will be in my
office.”
With a brief nod of her head, she
left the table, smiling despite the loss of revenue. Standish was charmed all
over again.
“Sir?”
He turned to look at the man next
to the roulette wheel. They were waiting for his next bet. He shook his head.
“Not this time, Marty,” he said
with a laugh. “I think I’ll quit while I’m still winning.”
The other man nodded, and, the
moment Austin left his chair, he was aware of another man taking his place. He
headed for the bar, intent on exchanging more than a few words with Miss L’Amour.
* * * * *
Chantille watched Standish from her
vantage point at the end of the bar. He was a handsome man, one she’d noticed
on several occasions. As he stood, she took quick inventory of his appearance,
chewing her bottom lip unconsciously as she absorbed the man’s almost palpable
presence.
At a height of over six feet,
Austin Standish was a man not easily overlooked. He had sandy blond hair with a
lock that perpetually fell over his forehead. Under the shaggy blond hair, the
most startling green eyes Chantille had ever seen missed nothing that came
within their scrutiny. His face was a fascinating blend of angles and contours,
the individual features not perfect, yet the overall combination completely
arresting and pleasing to the appreciative eye. He was slender, yet there was
an undeniable sense of strength and power in the long line of his body.
Tonight, as on other nights, he’d chosen a suit of black, the inky shade
contrasted sharply by the stark white of his shirt. The frills at his cuffs and
along the front of the shirt could have lessened the impact of strong
masculinity that emanated from him, but, instead, they only added to his
imposing aura. His brocade waistcoat was a shade of palest gray, adorned by a
gold watch chain that disappeared in a pocket at his left. Silver-trimmed boots
finished the polished and cultured image, and Chantille wondered how he’d
remained a free man for so long. She didn’t doubt for an instant that the
company of women was something he never lacked.
She straightened when he caught her
gaze and began to walk in her direction. Deep inside, she began to quiver, and
the awareness that he could shake her so intensely with no effort was both
disconcerting and annoying. Yet….
“Miss L’Amour.” Austin smiled when
he reached her side. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?”
“Thank you, no,” she replied. “Have
you come to collect your winnings, Mr. Standish?”
“If you can’t be persuaded to grant
me your company, then I’ll have to settle for your money.”
“You’re far too charming to suffer
loneliness,” she countered. She walked away from the bar and led him into her
office. She arched one eyebrow in subtle surprise when he closed the door behind
them.
“I assure you, Mr. Standish,” she
said, her tone cool, “money is all you will be collecting in this office.”
Austin continued into the small
room until he was directly in front of her and she had to tilt her head back to
hold his gaze. The gleam of amusement in the deep green eyes that bored into
her was irritating, and intriguing.
“Are you certain I can’t change
your mind about dinner?”
“Not entirely,” she conceded with a
smile that wanted to become laughter.
“Ahh,” he whispered. “Hope at last.”
“Hope has a way of disappearing
just when you’re learning to count on it, Mr. Standish.”
“But the times it doesn’t are so
sweet it makes the disappointments bearable, Miss L’Amour.”
“Right you are, sir,” she agreed
with a thoughtful smile. She made a decision then, a reckless choice that she
didn’t take time to consider. “Perhaps I could persuade you to dine with me in
my suite?”
Austin’s gaze was pensive, and she
wondered, with a tiny leap of panic, if she’d miscalculated his interest.
“It’s never a good idea to offer a
man paradise if your plan is to shut the gates before he has a chance to come
inside, Miss L’Amour.”
It was a veiled warning, but a
warning just the same. This man was not one to be toyed with or played for a
fool. He was drawing her a little more deeply into his presence, in spite of
herself.
“And you think I’m offering you
paradise, Mr. Standish?”
“I’m fairly certain of it, yes,” he
murmured, voice low and compelling.
She smiled and went past him to the
safe that was in her office. She collected his money and brought it to him.
“Your winnings, Mr.—”
“Austin.”
“Austin,” she said.
He took a double-eagle from the
pocket of his waistcoat and held it between his index and middle fingers. With
a quick grin, he slipped it into the valley between her breasts, caressing
silken skin for the briefest instant before drawing his hand back. Something
betrayed her reaction and made his smile deepen.
“You take liberties with great
ease,” she whispered, her voice husky and exotic.
“Before the night’s over, I plan to
take a great many more,” he assured her.
“Perhaps I’ll be the one to take
liberties tonight, Mr. Standish.”
“I’d be delighted to put myself in
your hands, Miss L’Amour.”
She smiled. “Would you wait here
for a few moments? I have to speak to my maid.”
Short Author Bio and
Links:
Canadian born and
bred, and a lifelong dreamer, I began writing at an early age and can’t recall
a time when I wasn’t creating in some artistic form. My life has had several
on-going love affairs that shape much of what I write. In the past half
dozen years, I’ve released books in all lengths and genres, and it’s something
I hope to continue to do for many more years. A visit to my websites will show
the diversity of what is currently available, as well as other surprises and
extras!
