If you’re reading a book you can’t put down—blame it on Jennifer Greene!

BLAME IT ON CHOCOLATE

“Written with a deliciously sharp sense of humour

and her usual superb sense of characterisation,

RITA® Award-winning Greene’s latest romance is a

sweetly sexy, thoroughly satisfying, and simply

sublime literary confection.”

—Booklist

“Ms Greene is a wonderful story teller who pulls

you into the lives of her characters…Blame It on Chocolate is intriguing, engaging and full of drama and wit.You’ll have a very hard time putting this story down.”

—CataRomance.com

“…terrifically likeable hero and heroine. The sexual

chemistry between them sizzles, the romantic plot is

emotionally compelling and the subject matter at

the heart of the story is interesting.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“The characters are likeable, the plot is realistic,

and the book is fantastic. I highly recommend

Blame It on Chocolate.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“The characters are truly believable, the dialogue is

funny, and the situations this couple find themselves

in are ones anyone can relate to.”

—Romance Junkies

“A warmhearted romance with endearing

characters, simmering sensuality, and a very

interesting subject matter. A book to curl

up with on a cold night.”

—Rendezvous

Other works by

Jennifer Greene

BLAME IT ON CHOCOLATE

BLAME IT ON PARIS

Blame It
on Cupid
JENNIFER
GREENE

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To: Moose, Brody, Havi, Magic

It’s about the unconditional love.

Thanks, guys

CHAPTER ONE

NORMALLY NOTHING SCARED Merry Olson. People teased her about it all the time. On the same morning, you could throw her a flat tire, bad hair and burned eggs, and she’d still be perky. Her dad claimed she could find the silver lining in a tornado. But man, one look at the house and she felt rattled clear to the bone.

The trip from Minnesota to Oakburg, Virginia, had been tediously long, especially driving alone, so she expected to arrive exhausted. She just never expected to feel culture shock as if she’d landed on a completely alien planet.

Taking a huge, bolstering breath, she climbed from her snow-and-salt-crusted blue Mini Cooper and grabbed her cell phone. At twenty-nine, she was hardly tied by the emotional umbilical cord to her dad, but she knew darn well he’d worry himself crazy until he heard from her. She worried about him the same way when he traveled alone.

Waiting for her dad to answer, she glanced at her car. Merry never doubted that her Cooper could make it through anything—the car was far more reliable than she was—but right now, no question, the baby was sagging in the rear end and heaped to the gills.

Upending her entire life in a week had been a major challenge, but not impossible. For years friends and family had labeled her ditzy, but where they meant an affectionate insult, Merry secretly took pride in the tag. She lived life loose. That was a deliberate choice, not an accident. She’d never taken a job she couldn’t quit, never allowed herself to get so attached to a place that she couldn’t leave. She’d never settled long with anyone or for anything.

What other people called flaky, she called freedom. And maybe she had a few personal reasons why she was so zealously footloose, but that wasn’t the point. The point was now—when she’d needed to be able to change her whole life quickly, she’d been able to do so.

Her Mini Cooper did look a bit odd. The passenger seat alone was weighted down with two suitcases, a pillow and a jumbled collection of shoes—forty pairs, to be precise. The backseat was completely stuffed with a table-sized Christmas tree, already decked out with pink lights and pink satin ornaments, and a mess of various-sized boxes wrapped in pink and silver and gold.

Considering it was January tenth, a long way past Christmas, the tree especially had to look a little weird to a stranger. But Merry had her priorities, and she hoped to Pete that looking sane to other people was never one of them.

“Dad?” Finally, he answered on the fourth ring. “I got here, safe and sound. A mighty long drive, but really no sweat…”

A zingy ice sleet stung her face, but she didn’t mind. The chipper temperature was exhilarating after all those cramped hours in the car. Besides, she’d left two feet of snow in Minneapolis, so if this was the worst Virginia could hand out in the winter, living here was going to be a piece of cake.

When she glanced at the house again, though, she suffered another shiver chasing up her spine.

“No, Dad, I haven’t seen the lawyer yet. Or the child. There hasn’t been time. I thought I could drive it through, but I had to stop for a few hours sleep last night. So I literally just pulled in the driveway to get a look at the place…”

With the phone still tucked to her ear, she whirled around, hoping the look of the neighborhood would be more reassuring. Instead, she suffered another shuddersized shiver.

Apparently it wasn’t just the one house. There was a whole block of them. They were all minicastles, with sculpted yards and fancy architectural features and three-car garages. The only vehicles in sight were BMWs and Volvos and Lexus SUVs.

Her house wasn’t any worse than the rest, but it was pretty darn scary. To begin with, the size alone could have slept a small country. A cathedral ceiling and blue crystal chandelier was visible from a two-story-tall glass window. Carriage lamps graced the double oak doors. The flagstone walkway was landscaped within an inch of its life and the porch had pillars, for Pete’s sake.

Merry felt another clutch in her chest. There was just no denying the truth. This was upper-class suburbia. Desperate Housewives in the flesh. The land of swing sets and soccer moms and lawn mowers.

Come on, Merry. It’s not as if someone dropped you in the Amazon without bug repellent. Common sense rarely influenced her, but in this case, Merry was relieved to have her conscience show up with a little re-assurance—and of course it was true. Maybe the house was a shock, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t realize the suburb thing existed. It was just so remote from her life.

Naturally she’d thought about marriage now and then, but she couldn’t imagine falling for a guy who wanted 2.3 kids and the minivan deal. The only kind of guy who’d likely tempt her would have to be as free-footed as she was. If that never happened, no loss. Life offered no end of adventures and interesting possibilities just as it was.

As happy as she’d been with that philosophy, though, it gave her no clue now what a soccer mom was supposed to do all day. With the cell phone still glued to her ear, she squinted again at the chandelier visible from the tall window, wondering how the Sam Hill anybody cleaned that sucker. A fireman’s ladder? Maybe someone sprayed Windex from a helicopter? Maybe someone rented climbing gear and belayed down from the chimney?

“No, no, I was listening, Dad!” Swiftly she concentrated back on the conversation. “It’s still two hours before five, so I’m hoping to connect with the lawyer today, get the house key. I only wish I could get her out of that place tonight, but at least this way, I’ll have tonight to get some things done—like turning on the heat, bringing in some food, opening the place up and like that. But first thing tomorrow, with any luck…sure, Dad. Of course, I’ll call you as soon as I know more…the house? Oh yeah, you’d love the house.”

As she clicked off the phone, she thought wryly that her dad would most certainly love the place. She was the only one suffering from “suburb allergy.”

Her sisters teased that she was maturity-challenged, but they were all older, had all bought into the myth about adulthood being synonymous with mortgages and appliance ownership.

She’d just shoved the cell phone back in her purse when she heard a truck door slam from the next driveway.

After the last unsettling moments, she appreciated the distraction. Especially a distraction as riveting as this one. It was just a guy—but definitely a long, lanky hunk of a guy, arresting enough to put some kaboom back in her tired pulse.

He peeled out of a black pickup and immediately hiked around to the rear. Undoubtedly hustling because of the spitting sleet, he cracked down the tailgate and started hefting some long wooden boards. She didn’t think he’d noticed her until he suddenly called out, “You must be lost.”

It wasn’t the time, the moment, or the guy to murmur the old Campbell’s soup refrain—M’m! M’m! Good!— but she did think it. Just for a minute. Heaven knew, she had no time for silliness right now, but one good long look wasn’t hurting anything. He was so definitely adorable. Dark hair, worn a little roguish-long, dusted with snow. Dark eyes that glistened. A long angular face with a scrape of high cheekbones, a distinctly French nose, a chin carved out of granite. The thin mouth was the only soft thing about him, but she’d bet the ranch those lips knew how to kiss.

Maybe she didn’t own a ranch, but she happened to be extremely skilled in certain areas. Just because a woman wasn’t rabid about settling down didn’t mean she hadn’t tested out her share of the male population, particularly in the kissing department.

“No, honestly, I’m not lost,” she assured him. “But I did just come a long way to find the place. You knew Charlie Ross?”

“Yup. Neighbors for years.” He motioned with his head. “The house is locked up.”

She watched him unload several more boards—all gorgeous-looking wood. She didn’t know birch from beech, but she could see he was treating the boards as if they were precious cargo. “I know,” she said. “About the house being locked up, I mean. I just drove here from Minnesota…”

“Uh-huh.” He carted two boards at a time to the inside of his garage, then came back for more.

She realized he was hardly inviting more conversation—nor did she have time for chitchat. But a nextdoor neighbor was a potential ally. And certainly, someone who had to know Charlie and his daughter, so she offered, “I’ve never been here before. In fact, the last time I saw Charlie, he was still living in Minneapolis, years ago. I had no idea he’d died until the lawyer contacted me. I’m here about Charlene—”

“Yeah?”

“I have to get the house key from the lawyer. And I guess there’s a whole host of complicated issues to settle besides that. But with any luck, I’m really hoping to have Charlene back in her own home by tomorrow.”

She definitely caught his attention then. In fact, he suddenly stopped dead. “What? You’re the guardian?”

Okay, maybe his tone was a little insulting, as if the possibility of her being a guardian was as remote as the sky falling in, but Merry made allowances. He was probably cranky from carrying the weight of all those boards. And she’d been hard-core driving, which meant she wore no makeup and her hair hadn’t seen a brush in hours, not to mention that her red flowered slippers lacked a certain cachet. Cripes, she generally got more male attention than she wanted when she dressed up—but undoubtedly to this guy, she looked young. At least compared to him. Living in this neighborhood, he was undoubtedly on the married-with-kids side of the fence.

Not that he was decrepit. Merry had guy-shopped long enough to recognize real diamonds from the faux. He wasn’t just cute. He was sexy the way only men with some experience-lines could look. He was past the spoiled-boy stage, past the how-was-it-for-you tedium in the morning. More into the I-Know-How-To-Please-A-Woman era. Close to forty, for sure.

Still, he was definitely off her radar. Not because of his age, but because of the married thing.

She still hoped he’d like her, though. Having a friend next door would be a huge help, so quickly and warmly she produced her biggest smile—the smile that had been known to attract male favor since she was, oh, three and a half.

For a good two seconds, it seemed to work on him, too. Between the shiny sleet, the gloomy afternoon and the distance across the driveway, she couldn’t see his expression all that clearly…but he definitely stared back at her intensely for those few moments.

And that was about all the time Merry had to mess around. “I won’t bug you any longer—I can see you’re busy, and I’m in a real hurry as well. But I’m Merry. Merry Olson. So when you see lights turn on in the house later, you’ll know it’s me.”

“Jack Mackinnon here.” Swiftly he added, “Merry…you have actually met Charlene before, right?”

He sounded more incredulous than critical, but Merry didn’t figure it was the time or place to get into it. “Not yet,” she said cheerfully, and then waved as she climbed back in her car.

The look of him lingered in her mind—but so did his expression.

He wouldn’t be the first to call her crazy for taking off cross-country to take on an eleven-year-old girl she’d never even met. Hell’s bells, even she admitted it was crazy.

But crazy didn’t mean it was wrong.

Merry had long, devastating memories from the year she was eleven—so the little girl’s age had hugely, hopelessly touched her. The second factor was the poor kid had lost her dad on Christmas Eve—how impossibly devastating was that? On top of which, there were no relatives who could step in. Charlene was far beyond the usual adoptable age, and in an overcrowded fostercare system, the child was absolutely alone, had no one in her corner.

The way Merry saw it, one of the giant advantages to living footloose and fancy free was exactly an issue like this—she had the flexibility to take off and choose a different life path whenever she wanted to. No, she didn’t know the child. No, she didn’t have a clue if there were any special problems, but when push came down to shove—which it had—what did anything like that matter? How could she possible leave a lonely, griefstricken eleven-year-old girl when she had the power to do something about it?

And that was her plan. First, to just open her arms and love the kid. And then, to give her a Christmas—in her own home—to make up for the one she’d just lost. After that, well, she’d figure out what the child needed and wanted. There was no way to cross those bridges until they came to them. Together.

Right now, though, driving demanded all her concentration. Lee Oxford—Charlie’s estate lawyer—had an Arlington address. The problem was that maps and Merry didn’t get along. And that she was already tired. And that Arlington and D.C. traffic was like a prehistoric reality play about the survival of the fittest.

Nobody wanted to play nice. Minneapolis rush hour was no cupcake, but either the drivers in this neck of the woods all had political agendas or were sociopath-wannabes.

She also had to pop into a gas station—not for gas, but to charge into the restroom for a fast cleanup. A little makeup, a brush and putting on some real shoes was all she had time for. Unfortunately, after that she had trouble finding the attorney’s address. Not for the first time, she cursed all her relatives for failing to pass on a direction gene, and after all that fiddle-faddling around, it was fifteen minutes to five before she managed to park and chase up the stairs to Lee Oxford’s office.

The receptionist took one look at her and sniffed, the little snot. Maybe receptionists on this side of the Mississippi could afford Ellen Tracy suits, but at least where Merry came from, people were familiar with some friendly manners. “It’s late, but I’ll see if he can fit you in,” was all the receptionist offered.

“I left a message on his cell that I was coming in early, but I don’t know if he got it. Please tell him it’s about Charlene Ross. I know we didn’t plan a meeting until tomorrow, I’m hoping he can still see me today.”

“Have a seat.”

Yeah, right, like she could relax at this point. She slugged her hands in her pockets and paced from window to window. She’d had mental images in her mind for days of the little girl, so young, alone, no mom, and then losing her daddy right before Christmas. It was easy to picture her. Granted, it had been years since she’d seen Charlie, but his daughter was undoubtedly built short and scrappy, because he’d been. Likely she’d be blond. Hopefully she wouldn’t have her daddy’s hook nose, but with any luck at all she’d have those wonderfully warm crinkle-in-the-corner blue eyes.

Naturally, without knowing her, Merry had had a hard time picking out Christmas presents—but not totally. Eleven was eleven. Whether Merry wanted to or not, she recalled every detail about that age. It was that era when you had to have a best friend. When you first started to notice boys, even if you were still a little worried they had cooties. It was that age when you first got hard-core interested in makeup and fashion styles, started hearing the appeal of the “in” music, talked on the phone nonstop.

And, yeah, it was an age when losing a parent was the worst thing in the universe—especially if the other parent had already deserted the ship.

Merry’s heart had been ripped up since she first heard the story. Still was. Still would be, she suspected, until she’d gotten her arms around the little girl. Whatever happened was going to be challenging, she knew. How could anything about this be easy, for her or for Charlene? But Merry didn’t really doubt that she’d get along with the child. Wherever this all ended up, love and caring and attention had to help the little sweetheart, and Merry was more than willing to open her heart to the child.

Finally the receptionist gave her the high sign, and Merry sailed into Oxford’s office with an eager smile and her hand outstretched. The terrier-sized, darkhaired man on the other side of the polished onyx desk stood up to return her handshake, but abruptly her optimistic spirits suffered a teensy drop.

Unlike everybody else, she usually liked lawyers. Some of her closest friends were lawyers. But most of them were of that earnest, honest breed fresh from law school, hot to make the world a better place, flagwaving hopeless liberals like…well, like herself. Lee Oxford looked about fifty, had a mega-watt diamond in his tie, elegantly styled brown hair—even for a city guy—and wore alligator shoes. He took one look at her and brightened as if she were the freshest meat on the hoof he’d seen in a long, long time.

It’s not as if she’d never had that response from a man before, but she’d really wanted to like this guy. Mentally she reminded herself that Charlie Ross would never have picked a jerk for a lawyer, so to just chill on that first reaction and give him a longer chance.

Still, Oxford held her hand more like a caress instead of a handshake, before slowly sinking back in his chair. He started out with, “I wondered what you’d look like. This is a highly unusual situation.”

“Believe me, it is for me, too.” She sank into the barrel chair across from his sleek black desk. “This is the fastest I could get here. I didn’t expect to be able to connect with Charlene still tonight, but I was hoping to get the key to the house. I’d like to open it up, make sure everything’s turned on, get some food in, just get to know the place a little. Try and make some things ready for her.”

“A good idea. But there’s a lot we have to go over first.”

Merry leaned forward. There was a ton she wanted to go over, too. And just because little guys tended to worry her—they always seemed to have a mean streak, need to prove their power and all that—she tried to quit pegging him in the negative. So the guy had looked her over a little close. What man didn’t?

“As I hope I explained on the phone…if the child’s mother happened to show up, or another blood relative who is capable of taking Charlene, they could make a legal claim. But right now, to the best of our knowledge, there’s no one.”

Merry nodded. “For her sake, I wish she had some family, too.”

“Regardless, you need to fully understand that you have no legal obligation to take her.”

“I do understand that. You explained on the phone.”

“The document you signed years ago isn’t binding.”

Again she nodded. She’d gone over that night numerous times in her mind. It was hard to explain to an outsider what a rare and special friendship she’d formed with Charlie. It just wasn’t like any other friend relationship.

He’d been newly divorced when she met him, living in Minnesota, not Virginia. There’d never been anything romantic between them. They’d met at some ghastly party that they’d both been conned into attending by friends, started talking and never stopped. He was just a totally great guy who’d needed a friend, and she’d valued being one for him. Over days and weeks of talking together, she shared more about her childhood than she’d ever told anyone. Likewise, he’d revealed his circumstances. The court had given him full custody of his baby daughter, but he’d been frantic about what would happen to Charlene if he died or was hurt. Even before his ex-wife had disappeared from the picture, she’d been attracted to anything she could smoke or sniff.

The two of them had written up an agreement on a legal pad in a restaurant. It wasn’t fancy, just said that Merry would take care of his daughter, as he’d take care of hers if she ever had kids who needed help. Even if it was just a pact between friends, she’d meant the words. He had, too. And yeah, unfortunately they’d lost track when he took the job in Virginia. He also must have wildly changed if he’d turned into Mr. Suburbia. But she’d never forgotten him. When the lawyer first called, she’d let out a helpless, keening cry on hearing Charlie was gone.

And that fast, Oxford told her that she was the only one listed as a potential guardian for Charlene. He’d also quickly informed her there was nothing legally binding about such a document, nothing to stop her from backing out.

He repeated the same thing now.

She answered him the same way she had then. “Maybe there’s nothing in this situation that’s legally binding. But morally and ethically is a whole different ball of wax. I have no idea if I can be a good guardian for Charlene. But she can’t possibly be better off in foster care, and for sure she needs out of the situation she’s stuck in right now. And I’m free. I can at least make sure she’s back in her own home, her own school, around her own friends again, before anybody has to make any decisions set in granite.”

“It’s a monumental thing you’re taking on.” Oxford picked up a pen, and terrier-fashion, started worrying it, poking it end to end. “If you don’t mind my saying, I find it odd if not a little suspicious that you’d be willing to take on a kid out of the blue.”

Merry tried not to take offense. He didn’t know her from Adam. She tried to answer with the same careful honesty she’d expressed to everyone else. “If you’re thinking that I easily said yes, I promise you I didn’t. But when you described the situation she was in…I couldn’t get it out of my mind. A little girl, right at Christmas, who had everything she knew and loved ripped away from her—”

He cut her short, as if he needed to hear an emotional argument like he needed another head. “Somehow I suspect you know there’s a sizable trust.”

She frowned. “Yes. You said Charlie had a trust set up for his daughter.”

“A sizable trust,” he repeated, and looked at her.

She opened her mouth, closed it. She told herself again that Charlie would never have chosen a lawyer who was a creep, but the tone of Oxford’s voice still stung. He clearly seemed to think she was motivated by money. Of course, he couldn’t possibly know that half the world tagged her Ms. Eternal Sunshine…and the other half accused her of being a hopelessly naive idealist. But greedy—sheesh. Of all the faults she’d picked up and excelled at, greed sure wasn’t one of them.

“I don’t know what you mean by sizable,” she said carefully. “But I admit I was shocked when I saw the house. When I knew Charlie, he was an engineer. A good one, making a decent salary. But when I saw the house, I figured it must have a heckuva mortgage—”

“The house is paid for. When Charlie’s dad died, he inherited a bundle. Which I suspect you knew.”

“No, I didn’t, actually,” she said evenly. “I never asked Charlie about money. It was never my business.”

“Uh-huh.” Oxford put down his pen. “I’m not trying to yank your chain, Merry. I wouldn’t take on a kid either, unless there was something in it for me. But if there hadn’t been that kind of money, the child would undoubtedly have been popped into foster care from the start. And if blood relatives do show up, you’d better believe they’ll fight for a chance at that size of pot.”

She felt a little like a goldfish stolen from a tank. Her mouth kept opening. She just couldn’t temporarily get any words out. She’d never take on a child for money’s sake, couldn’t imagine anyone who would. Bruising her even more, though, was that the attorney seemed to believe she was like him, now that they’d put some honesty on the table. At least his version of honesty.

“You need to understand though, Merry, that Charlie made that trust iron-tight. Or I should say I made the trust tight. No one gets their hands on that money, without verifying that any and all expenses are for the child.”

“Which is the way it should be,” Merry got in.

“Yeah, right. Naturally, there’s an allowance for the guardian.” He named a sum that almost knocked her off her chair. “But typical of such situations, there was an immediate guardian ad litem appointed by the court.”

“You used that term on the phone, but I don’t really know what it means.”

“Basically the court appoints a guardian ad litem, who functions as an impartial voice in decisions involving a minor or incapacitated person. In this case, obviously, the child. I have control over matters involving the trust and finances—but I have no power over custody details. She’ll check on Charlene’s progress with you. Evaluate how the relationship is working. She has the right to make home visits, to interview Charlene’s doctor or teachers or other people who know the child. And you need to understand that she can petition the court to have you removed from the guardian role if she feels Charlene isn’t thriving in your care…but she will have to prove it.”

“All that sounds like good sense. Fine.” Merry found herself wrapping her arms tight around her chest. A lump kept clogging her throat. These were facts she needed to know, no question. It was just that the attorney hadn’t said a single personal thing about the child. There was no hint he’d ever even met her. Maybe she was being oversensitive, but he kept striking her as having a heart colder than the Arctic. “Mr. Oxford—”

“Lee. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other. No reason to stand on formality.”

How ironic, she thought thickly. Because she never stood on formality with anyone in her life. But this was one person she wished she could. “If you don’t mind my asking…how did you happen to be Charlie’s attorney?”

He smiled, leaned back and cocked his alligator shoe against a drawer. “Actually, I was originally his father’s attorney, not Charlie’s. When Bartholomew and his wife died—unexpectedly, in a boating accident—I believe Charlie recognized right off that I’d done a good job of protecting his parents’ assets. I think he also readily realized that he wasn’t good with money himself. He used to say that he didn’t need to have a cutthroat bone because he knew I had plenty of them.”

Maybe she was supposed to laugh, but all she could think was that now she got it. How and why Charlie had tied up with such a cold-blooded machine.

“Anyhow…” Lee glanced at his watch and zoomed back to business. “The guardian ad litem’s name is June Innes. She’s already seen Charlene, and will undoubtedly be getting in touch with you shortly.” He started feeding her forms and papers far faster than she could possibly read or absorb the details. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t care about the information—or else he was just in a hurry to get out of there. Outside, night was falling faster than bad news.

Finally, he handed her the last form…several of which she’d had to sign…and got around to handing her the key to the house. “You’ve landed yourself a nice setup,” he said bluntly. “It’s a great house. A lucrative allowance. And for the record, I have no intention of being hard on you. As long as the kid’s well taken care of, there’s financial room for leniency if you need any kind of…flexibility.”

Minutes later, Merry tore out of the office as if being chased by bees, carrying a thick slug of papers and the house key. Her heart was pounding and her stomach roiling with acid. Oxford’s personality sure matched his alligator shoes. He was scaly and aggressive.

He hadn’t said one personal word about the child! Not one! Her mind was still ranting when she climbed back in her car…until she glanced at the rearview mirror and saw her eyes spitting tears. Okay. So she tended toward overemotional. But that little girl needed someone who gave a damn.

Not just someone who wanted to administer her socalled estate from behind a black lacquer desk.

She couldn’t wait to get her hands on Charlene.

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