Angel-chan: Hey everyone! *smiles*

Amu: Angel-chan your back

Ikuto: Yes your back hurry up and finish talking!

Angel-chan & Amu: *sweat drop*

Ikuto: HURRY!

Angel-chan: Calm down Ikuto… Wow for you to ask me to get to the story. *Eyes Ikuto* You read the script didn't you.

Ikuto: *Smirks*

Amu: What about the script?

Angel-chan: *sweat drop* Ah nothing. So Ikuto would you please.

Ikuto: I thought you would never ask. xXxStrawberryAngelxXx does not own The Chocolate Kisses Plot Judith Ardle does. *smirks*

Amu: Angel-chan~! Tell me~!

Angel-chan: Please enjoy *smiles*

Chapter 3

10:27 a.m.

Ikuto examined the wicker basket on his lap. Although small, it held a mountainous heap of homemade cookies, which were held in place by a square of artfully wrapped red cellophane and a white satin ribbon; He had watched Amu prepare the basket, awed by her efficiently and her casual grace.

This was a woman who knew what she was doing.

He thought about the women he used to date in New York. They were invariably professionals like himself, intelligent, articulate, well read and up to date. He could not picture any of them baking a cake.

It was not as if Hinamori Amu was old-fashioned or un-liberated. She was not plump and maternal; she did not seem particularly nurturing. What she was was…competent. Efficient. In charge of her world.

That she was willing to get behind the wheel of her van after her calamity earlier that morning was more evidence of her courage. He recalled the way her hands had trembled within his, right after the skid. She was not the sort of fall apart, though. She had permitted herself a moment's terror, then squared her shoulders and forged ahead. She was brave and talented and…

Damn, so sexy. He relived the arousing sensation of her tongue curling around his finger when he had poked it into her mouth. He recalled the way her breath had grown shallow and her breasts had risen and fallen under her sweater. He recalled his own body's response, a craving for something much sweeter and more complicated than chocolate.

He had not even known he liked chocolate. He suspected that Hinamori Amu could introduce him plenty of other hungers he had never known before.

They were nearing Tsukiyomi Hall and he assessed his options. He could keep pursuing her in the hope that sooner or later he would get to satisfy those hungers. Or he could thank her for the cookies, hop onto his bicycle and ride to his mother's townhouse.

No contest. As Amu turned onto the circular driveway leading up to the house, he did not bother to glance at his abandoned bicycle.

She drove around to the kitchen entrance at the rear of the house. Several other cars and trucks were parked there; among them, his sister's black Mercedes. He smothered a scowl. He was not in the mood to see Angel, but he could not very well hide in the van.

"You really don't have to do help," Amu said as she turned off the engine.

"Why do you keep saying that? I want to help."

She eyed him dubiously. "It's a beautiful day. The warmest day in two weeks—you said so yourself. You don't want to spend it lugging trays into the kitchen."

"And why don't I want to do that?" he asked with artificial patience.

"Because guys don't like kitchens. They think it's a hazardous environment. Bad for their machismo."

"You're speaking from experience, I take it."

She nodded.

"Past lovers?"

Her cheeks darkened briefly with that now familiar lovely blush, but that was the only evidence he had flustered her. "My father," she told him.

"One of those old-fashioned machismo types, huh?"

"My father owned a restaurant in Kyoko. A diner, actually. He was the boss and he never set foot in the kitchen. His idea of running a restaurant was to greet the customers when they were on their way in and take their money when they were on their way out. My mother was the head cook. I worked as a waitress and did some of the cooking, too. My father claimed he was running the place, but did he ever lend a hand in the kitchen?" She answered her own question with a snort.

"I'm not your father."

"You're also not a diner employee. You're a man who grew up in this place—" she waved at the massive brick edifice before them "—and if you keep wanting to help me, I'm going to suspect you of ulterior motives."

"You know my motives," he said, deciding he could be as forthright as she was. "There's nothing ulterior about them."

She lowered her eyes. He regretted losing sight of them, as beautiful as sapphire gem, but he satisfied himself by admiring her long tawny lashes. "The only rose petal banquet you're going to get from me is food," she warned.

"What are you afraid of?" He tucked his thumb under her chin and lifted her face to his.

She appeared on the verge of answering. Her lips moved as she mulled over her words, then moved again. The temptation was unbearable.

Leaning across the console between their seats, he touched his mouth to hers. Just a light, enticing brush, scarcely a kiss. Just enough to let her know how thrilling a longer, deeper kiss would be.

She pulled back slightly and gazed at him, her eyes clouded with doubt. "I don't even know you," she whispered, a plea filtering through the words.

"And what little you know you invented. I grew up in this palace, so I should not help you in the kitchen. Men are bosses, women cook. It is a sunny day, so I should not want to be with you. Well, here's a news flash, Amu I'm not what you think."

"I don't know what I think!" She sounded frustrated.

The light kiss had left him pretty damned frustrated, too. He could tell her what to think: that some of his happiest memories of growing up at Tsukiyomi Hall had involved sneaking into the kitchen and keeping Elda, the cook, company while she whipped up meals. That while his own culinary skills rose no higher than punching buttons on the microwave, he was a willing learner. That by running her own company, Amu displayed a boldness and a commitment that turned him on as much as her eyes and her lips and her luscious body.

Rather than tell her with words, he slid his hand into her hair guided her back to him. He moved his mouth gently, coaxing, skimming, and teasing. When she did not withdraw, he let his tongue slide between his lips.

She tasted like candy, like those fatefully delicious chocolate kisses of hers. He felt overwhelmed by the need to devour her, to absorb every morsel of her, to consume her until he himself was consumed by the passion exploding to life inside them both. He felt a shudder of pleasure seize her. He heard her shaky sigh. Abruptly she turned away and stared out the side window. She wrestled with her breath for a moment, and then reached for the door handle. "Don't do that again," she said before shoving the door open and climbing out.

Sure, he thought sardonically. He would not do that again. Why give in to the desire that blazed between them? Why do anything as logical as admitting that they wanted each other?

He met her at the van's rear doors. Before he could speak, let alone grab her into his arms for another kiss, she prevented him by placing into his out stretched hands a large aluminum tray.

With a wry nod, he headed for the porch. Peeking through the window net to the door, he spotted a woman with moon-round face framed in frizzy silver hair inside the kitchen. He grinned.

Elda saw him the instant he saw her. Bursting into a smile, she hastened to the door and swung it open. "Ikuto! What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you that," he said, easing past Elda's short, bulky body and setting the tray on a counter. "Don't tell me my sister dragged you out of retirement for this wingding of hers."

"She didn't have to drag me." Elda told him. "When she told me she was opening the house for a debutante ball, I insisted on overseeing the cleaning service. Somebody has to make sure they don't break everything."

"Can't Angel handle that?"

"Your sister," Elda confided sotto voice, "is behaving like a she-devil. You'd think it was her debut instead of her daughter's"

"Poor Utau," Ikuto murmured. He wondered whether his niece had any interest at all in debuting or was simply a prop in her mother ostentatious pageantry.

"Don't worry about Utau,' Elda assured him. "She never done anything she didn't want to do."

A knock on the kitchen door interrupted Elda. Ikuto turned to see Amu balancing a tray of meat and watching them through the window. "Let's prop the door open," he said, hurrying over to let Amu in. "We've got more trays to unload."

"We?" Elda asked before scowling at Amu. "You' re the cook Angel hired, I take it."

"I'm the caterer," Amu introduced herself. She set down the tray and extended her hand. "Hinamori Amu."

"I'm Elda White," Elda said haughtily. "Head cook at Tsukiyomi Hall for thirty-two years." She sized Amu with a deprecating look, and then eyed the trays disdainfully. "I don't know why Angel felt it necessary to go outside for a cook."

"She hired Amu because you're retired," Ikuto said gently. "She wasn't going to ask you to put tighter a feast for hundreds of people."

"One-hundred fifty –two," Elda declared. "And just because I'm retired doesn't mean I couldn't have done it."

"You're one of the family, Elda. Why don't you relax and let Amu and me do the work?"

"You're one of the family, too Ikuto," Amu remarked, putting a frost on the words. "Why don't you both relax?" Pivoting on her heels, she stalked out of the kitchen.

"Feisty little snip, isn't she?" Elda muttered.

Ikuto gazed after Amu and sighed. "Yeah," he said, picturing the flash of ire in her eyes. She could act as aloof as she wanted; her eyes gave her away. They seethed with emotion; sometimes anger, something amusement and sometimes irrepressible longing.

"Your sister should have let me handle this party," Elda complained. "Allowing a stranger to take over my kitchen…She should have let me do it."

Ikuto could have argued that, for all her skill as a cook, Elda had never concocted anything quite as exciting as Amu's chocolate kisses. However, that would only have increased Elda's resentment.

"My sister," he said with a genial smile, "obviously wanted you to be in charge of monitoring the cleaning crew. You can't do everything, so Angel asked you to help out where she needs you the most."

"Well, I suppose," Elda, conceded puffing a bit at the magnitude of her responsibility.

"In fact, you'd better go see what they're doing," he urged her. "And check their pockets. You never know what they might steal."

As Elda scurried off to guard the cleaning crew, Ikuto went back outside to the van. He found Amu trying to balance two trays of shrimp and took one from her. "Elda's been with my family for ages," he explained.

"How lucky are you," Amu said archly.

"It's just that she doesn't like the thought of being replaced."

"You can assure her that I'm not replacing her," said Amu. "I'm a caterer. She's a cook. That may be putting a sine point on it, but—"

"Amu." His temper was unraveling and he clung tightly to the platter of shrimp to keep himself from grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a hard shake. "What are you getting at?"

Amu gave him a deceptively innocent look, her eyes round. "Nothing, Ikuto. I think it's just lovely that your family has servants. I think you and Elda ought to go somewhere and watch reruns of 'Upstairs, Downstairs.' I'll take care of this." She lifted her tray ad stalked towards the house. Ikuto ground his teeth and chased after her. "I'm going to help you."

"If you keep swinging that tray back and forth, you're going to spill those shrimp. And if you do that, I swear, Ikuto, I'll dump the new batch of yogurt dip on your head." She stomped into the kitchen and let the screen door slam shut behind her.

Her took a deep breath and another, until his irritation began to wane. All right. He's been a rich kid and he'd made it all the way to rich adulthood without ever having a sling hash at a diner like her father's. That was a fact. He couldn't change it, he was a Tsukiyomi.

And was a Hinamori. And she was working for his sister.

It was a professional arrangement, just as his parents' employment of Elda White had been a professional arrangement. Just as certain business people's employment of Ikuto was a professional arrangement. He billed them for his services and they paid him handsomely for his talents. Did that make him a servant?

When you were a Tsukiyomi, he supposed, you were born into a certain social class and it didn't matter what you did—that class always reminded with you.

Ikuto would just have to prove to Hinamori Amu that class could mean many different things.

Bisoux De Chocolat

"THERE YOU ARE!" Angel squawked.

After leaving her tray of shrimp on the kitchen counter, Amu had walked down the hall to the dining room to see how the buffet was going to set up. The room was large, with cherry wainscoting and hunter green walls, a Queen Anne's table polished as bright as a mirror and long enough to seat thirty comfortably, and three crystal chandeliers. While regal, the room was oddly oppressive. Amu couldn't imagine eating in it.

The room transformed to stultifying when Angel Tsukiyomi Moon swept in from the ballroom. Almost at once, Amu noticed the resemblance between Angel ad her younger brother. She and Ikuto they looked, well, handsome.

At the moment, Angel was clad in an expensive-looking warm-up suit and appeared frantic. "Have you brought the cakes?"

"I'm afraid not," Amu with uncharacteristic diffidence. For all she knew, this could cause Angel Moon to blackball her all over town.

"I want everything perfect tonight," Angel went on, fussing with the pile of neatly folded lace napery that lay waiting on the sideboard. "My daughter and her friends have been looking forward to this moment all their lives."

I doubt that, Amu thought.

"And the cakes—when you described those valentines-shaped cakes, well, that was what won you this commission, Amu. Everything has to be perfect, especially the cakes."

"Everything will be perfect," Amu promised.

"Because there will be tears if something goes wrong. Tears." The way she stressed the word implied that if one girl shed one tear that night, Amu would be sentenced to death.

"My, my," came a deep, husky voice from just beyond the doorway. "You're certainly on today, Angie."

"Ikuto! What are you doing here?"

Ikuto sauntered into the room. His gaze flickered towards Amu before coming to rest on his sister. "I'm helping Ms. Hinamori," he said turning to Amu. She might have just imagined it, but she thought she saw him wink. "Should the meat be refrigerated, or does it go in the oven?"

"I'll take care of it," She mumbled.

"Wait a minute," Angel said as Amu neared the doorway. "What's going on, Ikuto?"

Ikuto's smile grew roguish; one corner of his mouth raising higher than the other, the way it had earlier that day. "Nothing's going on with me. What's going on with you?"

"So help me, if you're trying to interfere with Amu's work—"

"Interfere? Me?"

"I'm warning you, Ikuto. Tonight is too important for you to be getting in Amu's way. Run along now, Amu" Angel imperiously dismissed her. "You take care of the meat. I'd like to talk to my brother."

Run along now, Amu repeated silently, doing her best to stifle her annoyance. Pressing her lips together, she headed for the door Ikuto stepped aside to let her pass, but he discreetly reached out and gave her hand a squeeze.

Her palm burned where his thumb had pressed into it. Her fingers tingled. She loathed him as much for having such an effect on her as she loathed his sister for behaving so condescendingly toward her.

Halfway down the hall, she paused to compose herself. God knew whether that gorgon of a cook would be lying in waiting for her in the kitchen. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Good God, Ikuto." Angel voice was muted, but Amu was able to make out the words. "Don't you have enough to do today? You shouldn't be fooling around with that girl. You were supposed to go to Mother's and keep her happy until I could get over there and help her with her dress."

"It amazes me that you can run everybody's life so well," Ikuto said caustically. "Mellow out, sis. You take care of you and I'll take care of me. And I'll take care of Mom; too, although you know as well as I do that she doesn't want anyone taking care of her."

"And for God's sake, stay away from the caterer. I know she is cute in an Irish sort of way Japanese-Irish sort of way, but really, Ikuto—don't waste your time."

"I'll decide what's worth my time and what isn't."

"Trust me, Iku—she isn't. If you're looking for fun and games, go back to New York. Here in Seiyo people take these things seriously. I won't have you tarnishing your reputation—"

"My reputation? If I have a reputation, I'm sure it's already tarnished beyond redemption. At least, I hope it is."

"Don't joke about it. You're twenty-seven years old and you're still single. People are going to start wondering."

"Wondering what? That I'm gay or that I'm a sleazy womanizer?"

"Both, probably."

"Wow. That's a lot to live up to."

"I'm serious."

"Indeed you are, babe. You're beyond serious. You're critical."

Hearing footsteps approaching he doorway, Amu turned and raced down the hall to the kitchen. To her great relief, the room was empty.

Her temper remained white-hot as she slid the platters of meat into the refrigerator. The hell with all of them, she fumed, Angel, Ikuto—and Elda, too. She was part of the family, wasn't she?

She felt hands on her waist and flinched, jerking the tray in her hands. A half dozen shrimp tumbled onto the floor, looking like succulent pink-and-white parentheses.

"Damn it!" She has seen more food spilled in the past two hours than she had in her entire career.

"No swearing," Ikuto whispered, his hands still spanning her waist and his lips close to her ear. "If anything makes Angel mad, it's naughty language."

"Maybe I should expose her to my complete vocabulary."

"Let her be mad at me, not you," he advised. His fingers felt strong, his thumbs digging into the cramped muscles of her lower back, his palms molding to her curves of her hips.

It took all her willpower not to lean into him, to draw his arms fully around her. His breath ruffled her hair, warming the nape of her neck while the refrigerator continued to throw cold air in her face. "I'm mad at you, too," She muttered, easing out of his grip. "Do you know what shrimp costs?"

He scooped up the shrimp nearest his feet. "Elda always said her floors were clean enough to eat off."

"You seem to have quite a habit of eating off floors."

"These are edible," he said, collecting the last of the shrimp. "We'll rinse them off in the sink. It'll be our little secret."

"They've been steamed in champagne," She argued. "If you rinse them off. They'll lose the flavor."

"Steamed in champagne?" He appeared intrigued. "You actually boiled champagne?"

"Cheap stuff."

He ran the shrimp under the faucet. Then he shook them off and took a bite of one. "It taste great."

"Can you taste the champagne?"

"I don't know what I'm tasting. All I know is, I like it." He held the end of one curling pink shrimp and jabbed the other end between her teeth. She remembered the way his chocolate-covered finger had felt in her mouth. The shrimp made a poor substitute.

She mustn't think that way. She mustn't keep eating out of his hand. The symbolism of it was as alarming as the act itself.

Ikuto seemed unnaturally fascinated by the motions of her mouth as she chewed. She turned away and forced herself to replay his sister's ugly words.

One thing Angel had said was true: Amu wasn't going to be Ikuto's fun and games.

"I'm done her," she said quietly, closing the refrigerator door. "I have more food to bring over. Why don't you get the cookie basket out of the van and go on to your mother's?"

He regarded her for a minute, his eyes filled with questions. "I can't ride the bicycle with that basket," he finally said. "It was hard enough balancing the candy box on the handlebars."

For her own well-being, she knew she should get away from Ikuto before he had the chance to stick anything else in her mouth. She should tell him getting the cookies to his mother was his problem, he'd just have to find a way. Instead when she opened her mouth, what came out was: "I'll drop you off at your mother's on my way home."

Seeing the way his face lit up made her regret the offer…and then made her not regret it quite so much.

She liked Tsukiyomi Ikuto. More than she should. More than was safe or wise. She liked the way his hands had felt on her, the way his mouth had mirrored hers, opening as he slid the shrimp between her teeth and closing as she bit down on it. She liked the way his eyes danced with color and emotion, with challenges and all those questions she couldn't begin to interpret, let alone answer. She liked the way he smelled, the way he sounded when he told her she was beautiful. She liked the way he kissed her.

Maybe it was fun and games to him maybe he was a phony as his supercilious sister, He was a Tsukiyomi, after all.

But no matter what she told herself, no matter how much she wanted to protect herself and avoid unnecessary risks, she wasn't ready to say goodbye to Ikuto.

Not yet.

Angel-chan: There Done with chapter three *smiles* what do you guys think?

Amu: WHY!

Angel-chan: *sweat drop* Sorry Amu-chan but that's how it's written

Ikuto: God I'm loving you so much Angel right now *smirks*

Angel-chan: You only love me because I decided to write this story Amuto style. -.-

Ikuto: So…

Angel-chan: whatever…Anyways Amu would you please *smiles*

Amu: Please R&R *smiles*

Ikuto: Come everyone you know you want more so Review and ask for it.

Angel-chan: *sigh/smiles* See you guys