Angel-chan: YAY! I am back into the Shugo Chara! Section :D

Amu: Welcome back Angel-chan. *smiles*

Ikuto: The lazy writer is back!

Angel-chan: *hits Ikuto/smiles at Amu* Thank you Amu it is good to be back.

Ikuto: OW~! You bit-….wait you're making a rated M story?

Amu: *eyes widen* wh-what?

Angel-chan: Oh, you saw…yeah I am but I do not think you can really you can call it an M really but there is a bit of sexually actives so I have to place it under M.

Amu: EH~! ANGEL-CHAN~! HOW COULD YOU~!

Angel-chan: *sweat drop* I am sorry Amu it was just a good story that I have to share it as an Amuto one.

Ikuto: *hugs and kisses me multiple times on my cheeks* Angel have I ever told you are awesome. *grins*

Angel-chan: *blank face* yeah nice try kiss ass *Pushes Ikuto way* Anyway I did not making this story's plot but some of you might have not have heard of this story so why not share it with you all. So if either of you would please.

Ikuto: xXxStrawberryAngelxXx does not own Chocolate Kisses. Judith Ardle does and I am happy that she made this story *smirks* Oh, but she does own her own character.

Amu: *Blushes* YOU PERVERT!

Angel-chan: *sweat drop* Okay then enjoy *smiles*

Chapter 1

8:58 a.m.

"YOU BROKE MY HEARTS!" Tsukiyomi Ikuto dusted the snow off his black denim dungarees and glanced towards the road. He has been accused of breaking a few hearts in his day, but what did that have to do with anything? She has been the one driving the minivan, after all; he had been riding a bicycle. If anything had broken, it would have been his bones, not her heart.

Then again, she had said heart. If she more than one heart, anything was possible.

He heaved himself to his feet and looked around. His eighteen-speed bike lay on its side several yards down the road, apparently undamaged. He recalled the way it had staggered under him like a wild bronco, spitting pebbles and slush in all directions until he had deliberately jumped clear of it.

Closing his eyes, he replayed the near-collision in his mind: the van cruising down the road towards him as he coasted out through the wrought-iron gates in the stonewall surrounding Tsukiyomi Hall. The whine of the van's tires losing traction on the slippery road as the driver slammed on the breaks. The violent spin. The van's rear bumper bouncing off the stonewall, sending the vehicle teetering on two tires, tilting precariously for the longest, ghastliest spilt-second Ikuto had ever endured before it final dropped back onto all four tires with a jarring thump.

As he pulled himself out of the snow bank, he heard the driver's high-pitched cry: "My hearts! You broke my hearts!"

"Now, wait a minute," he said with what he considered admirable poise. He stalked down the slope to the van. "I didn't break anything. I'm not at fault here."

"Of course you are! What kind of maniac rides a bicycle in the middle of February?"

The kind of maniac who had grown restless from too many days of slate skies and frozen precipitation, he almost retorted. When he had awakened that morning to a clear, sunny day, he had decided to treat himself to some fresh air and exercise. He had bundled up and gone out for a morning jaunt in the brisk, biting cold. He's balanced a huge red valentine-shaped box of candy across the handlebars of his bike, figuring he'd ride north along the winding rural lanes he'd known as a child then circle back to town and deliver his gift.

He was not sure what impulse had compelled him to detour through Tsukiyomi Hall's grim iron gates. He had not thought of the estate as home in twelve years, and he'd felt like a visitor as he pedaled around the circular driveway to the stately pillared entrance of the mansion. It was a grand house, three stories of Georgian brick with a slate hip roof and four towering stone chimneys. It would make a majestic setting for Angel's silly shindig.

He did not think much of the pretentious party his sister had organized for that night at the family estate. Debutante cotillions were absurd, even when they were scheduled in honor of Valentine's Day and even when his niece was one of the debutantes. He would attend because Angel had begged him to. But he still found the entire notion of society debut laughable.

"It's a disaster," the van driver was moaning. "Everything is ruined. My hearts, my buns—oh, God, My kisses!" Ikuto paused. From where he stood, her buns looked terrific, packed tightly into a pair of snug baby blue jeans. She stood on tiptoe with her back to him, leaning into the rear of the van. Her waist-length pink hair caught the early morning sunlight and shimmered with dusty pink highlights. Her puffy down vest hid her chest, but her legs were long, slim, and tempting.

Her hearts, her buns and, oh, God, her kisses. What an intriguing combination.

He sternly reminded himself that she was talking about food. The side of her van featured the painting of a huge gold cornucopia, along with the words, "Rose Petals Banquets—Let Us Cater to You."

"You're catering the cotillion?" he guessed, approaching the rear of the van.

The driver groaned and turned to him. She had wide hazel nut eyes, sweet pink lips and a surprisingly angular chin. Ikuto would definitely like to pursue the subject of her kisses with her. And her buns and her hearts, too—however many she had.

Her beauty could not disguise the sheer panic illuminating those crystalline hazel nut eyes and darkening the natural blush along her cheekbones.

"This is an absolute disaster!" she wailed. "Why didn't you watch where you were going?"

"Are you all right?" He asked, recalling once more the horrid sight of her van spinning like a top on the icy road.

"How can I be all right?" she glanced over her shoulder at the van and shuddered. "I am about to lose the biggest job of my life, thanks to you and your idiotic bicycle tricks. And you want to know if I am all right?"

"I was not doing tricks," he protested. "I was just riding."

"In the middle of snow and ice."

"I didn't know I had to get permission from the weatherman to take a ride."

"And you had to ride here, of all places. This is private property. It is not a bike trail. How the hell was I supposed to know some manic on a bike would come speeding out from this private driveway—"

"This is my driveway," he told her, growing tired of her ranting, even though he could not imagine ever tiring of her stunning hazel nut eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's Tsukiyomi Hall."

"I'm Tsukiyomi Ikuto."

She stopped in mid-tirade. "You're who?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Tsukiyomi Ikuto." He extended his right hand. "And you are…?"

"Hinamori Amu," she said in an even smaller voice. She lowered her gaze and slipped her hand into his. Her fingers were pale and slim; he detected a slight tremor in them. "I guess—I mean—you must be related to Mrs. Moon."

"Angel is my sister," Ikuto said. He clasped Hinamori Amu's hand without bothering to shake it. It felt delicate in his, graceful and cool and feminine. The trembling indicated how much her driving mishap must have frightened her.

He did not want to let go, but she withdrew her hand before he could think of an excuse to keep holding her. "Well," she said with a tortured sigh, "not only is this job completely ruined, but I've just called my customer's brother a manic. I may as well crawl in a hole and die." Ikuto nudged her aside so he could survey the interior of her van. "You may as well assess the damage and see what can be salvaged. Angel has her heart set on this stupid cotillion. She's not going to take it well if her caterer crawls into a hole and dies." Amu pouted. "What can I do? Everything is ruined. My cakes…" She pulled two overturned metal trays towards her. They held large chunks and smaller crumbs of golden and devil's food cake, along with dislodged sheets of plastic wrap. "The layers for two triple-tiered heart-shaped caked. I was going to assemble them here at Tsukiyomi Hall, but they are all broken. And my kisses…" Her voice threatened to crack and she swallowed. Lifting an overturned bowl, she shook her head. "Homemade chocolate kisses. Not the candy-store kind. There they are, under the seat with the strawberries. And the cheese biscuits and the date-nut buns and the braided loaves. Oh, no—did the yogurt dip spill? This is a disaster!" Ikuto scrutinized the mess. A puddle of viscous white—the yogurt dip, he presumed—stained the floor near the sliding side door. Strawberries ley scattered about. Trays leaned at dire angles, spilling food items across every surface.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It is a disaster."

"What am I going to do? I cannot possibly make everything all over again. I have so much prep work, and without the cakes…" Tears welled in her eyes.

"Hey," he said in a soothing voice. He wanted to envelop her in a hug and comfort her—and then, if she responded at all positively, he wanted to discuss her kisses and about her buns. She was a fine-looking young woman, and it had been six long months since he had left Tokyo and the lively social life he'd enjoyed there. He wondered if Amu had a date for Valentine's Day.

Of course, she had a date: Seiyo, Hokkaido's first annual Valentine's Day cotillion, masterminded by Angel Tsukiyomi Moon. If Ikuto knew what was good for him, he would send the charming Ms. Hinamori on her way so she could bake some more heart-shaped chocolate and vanilla layers before sundown.

'Surely you and your partners can whip up another cake."

"What partners?"

He leaned around the open door to view the side of the van. "It says, 'Let us cater to you."

"I'm 'us'," Amu admitted. "I'm all there is to Rose Petals Banquets. 'Let me cater to you' sounded obscene, so I told the guy to paint us instead."

Ikuto contemplated the pleasure of letting her cater to him. "I'll help you bake a cake."

"You?"

"Why not?"

"You're …a Tsukiyomi."

"Damn, you're right," he agreed, smacking his forehead with mock dismay. "Forget it, then. Tsukiyomi's never help. It goes against everything we stand for."

"That's not what I meant." She sighed, evidently struggling to compose herself. "Your sister hired me to cater her Valentine's Day cotillion. She is paying me a lot of money. I can't let you do any of the work."

"Why not? Two minutes ago you were blaming this whole fiasco on me."

"But you're…" She glanced away, her cheeks growing apple red. "I mean, you're a Tsukiyomi."

"What exactly is the problem? Should I change my name?"

Squaring her shoulders, she confronted him. "You are a Tsukiyomi. I am an employee of the Tsukiyomi. Okay?"

"You," he argued, "are a snob. You think just because I grew up in Tsukiyomi Hall I don't know how to peel carrots?"

"I'm sure you know how to peel whatever you want," she snapped. Her eyes grew flinty as she stared up at him "Tsukiyomi can do anything, can't they? They can stage debutante balls and write out humongous checks and go bicycle riding in the middle of February. I have no doubt they can peel carrots, too." She took a deep breath and reined in her temper. "I'm sorry," she said in a muted voice. "I'm just upset. If you'll excuse me, I have a job to do." She slammed the rear doors shut."

"Wait a minute." He chased after her as she marched to the driver's door. "Do you think I'm good enough to help you?"

"I don't want your charity Mr. Tsukiyomi."

"This isn't charity." Far from it. He was not offering his assistance out of the goodness of his heart. He was offering it because he wanted to practice his peeling technique on her vest, for starters. He wanted to find out if her skin felt as soft as it looked, and if her hair revealed its soft highlights in indoor lighting. He wanted to get friendly with her.

He also wanted to make sure the cotillion proceeded without a hitch. He knew his sister. He knew how much work she'd put into organizing the party. If the food wasn't perfect, she would throw a tantrum powerful enough to hit seven on the Richter scale,

He gripped Amu's arm and turned her to face him. "Listen to me. If being a Tsukiyomi makes me so special, I am going to exercise my high-and-mighty prerogative. Either you can be reasonable and accept my help or I'll call my sister and tell her you're about to ruin her party.

Amu gazed up into his eyes, no doubt trying to decide how serious his threat was. To his surprise, a smile spread slowly across her luscious lips and her eyes sparkled with a blend of amusement and audacity. So much for intimidating her.

Of course, if she were very easy to intimidate, he would not be anywhere near as interested in her.

"You want to help me, Mr. Tsukiyomi?" she asked, challenging him with her gaze. "You can start by cleaning my van."

Bisoux De Chocolat

Amu was questioning the wisdom of accepting his offer of help when she noticed the red satin candy box crushed under her right front tire. By the time he'd returned to the van after stashing his bicycle on the other side of the massive stonewall surrounding Tsukiyomi Hall she was overcome with remorse.

"I've destroyed your candy."

He stared down at the flattened box and shrugged. "I can buy another box."

The sight of the flattened box made her shudder. Bad enough she'd almost killed Tsukiyomi Ikuto. But even worse, she'd destroyed some woman's Valentine's Day present.

Lucky woman, she added as she shot him a quick, surreptitious glance. Not only was Tsukiyomi Ikuto rich but he was gorgeous.

Now that her heart had stopped pounding and her brain had stopped reeling, Amu made a careful study of the bike rider she'd nearly run over. She absorbed his athletic legs, his rugged chest, his broad legs, his shoulders and finally his face: long, straight nose, thin lips, indigo eyes outlined by long black lashed, and golden complexion. His hair was thick dark and unfashionably long. The wind had tossed and tangled it into the kind of adorably unruly mess that made a woman's fingers itch to fix it.

Men like Tsukiyomi Ikuto never brought her two-pound boxes of chocolates on Valentine's Day, she thought glumly. In Amu's life, February 14th had always been a day for hard work, not romantic frivolity. Ever since she's been old enough to help out at her parents' diner, she'd spent Valentine's Day serving meals to loving couples, smearing pink frosting on cupcakes, twisting caps off cheap bottles of domestic wine and smiling politely as lovers toasted each other. To Amu, the day had traditionally meant generous tips, nothing more.

Now she was independent, running her own company. She had no time or energy for falling in love. When Hotari Tadase broke up with her last fall, he had said it was because she was more devoted to Rose Petals Banquets than to him—and she had not bothered to refute the accusation. Not that she regretted her hard work and dedication. In truth, she did not regret losing Hotari Tadase, either. Last year on Valentine's Day, he had been tasteless enough to give her a card on which he had scrawled, "Happy V.D."

Even if she had not noticed the elegant candy box, she would have assumed that Tsukiyomi Ikuto was a romantic man. His sister was certainly romantic enough, scheduling the town's first debutante cotillion in a generation on this most romantic of days and personally designing the menu to reflect the rich, sweet sentiments of the holiday. "On one special day a year, the heart isn't just a muscular pump in our circulatory system," Angel had declared. "It's the symbol of love and romance."

And Amu had planned a rich, sweet menu: Champagne-boiled shrimp, mushrooms stuffed with bacon and herbs, veal marsala, chicken Kiev, creamed asparagus. Crudités and yogurt dip for health-conscious guests. The Pièce de résistance was a dessert table laden with heart-shaped cookies and twin heart-shaped cakes, on golden and one devil's food, bot slathered in peppermint pink Valentine's Day frosting.

A menu that had looked divine on paper looked positively nauseating spilled and strewn across the interior of her van. Yet when she glimpsed Tsukiyomi Ikuto on the seat next to her, she lost track of the chaos behind her. She smelled no the rich aroma of chocolate but his wintry minty male fragrance. His hands rested on his knees, his fingers too blunt to be patrician, his knuckles thicker than blue-blooded man's were supposed to be. His chin was shaded by a trace of beard. His eyes were clear, blessed with some many shades of dark blue colors she couldn't begin to name them.

"You really don't have to do this," she said.

"I really want to."

She eyed him speculatively, then ignited the engine and accelerated down the road. Tsukiyomi Ikuto was nobody's fool. He must had some underlying reason for accompanying her back to her house on the south side of town. He'd called the cotillion stupid; maybe he wanted to sabotage his sister's party by adding chili peppers to the cake batter.

"I should warn you," she said. "It's not going to be fun."

Even with his eyes forward, she felt the power of his gaze, the allure of his smile. "Fun is where you find it," he said in a low, dark voice.

"A shiver of dread—or was it expectation?—rippled down her spine. He has a girlfriend, she reminded herself. He's been on his way to see her that morning, armed with that great big box of chocolates.

"I'm sorry I ran over your candy," she said. "I'll replace it with a basket of homemade cookies."

"That won't be necessary."

"No, really, it's the least I can do after almost killing you." Who was the candy for anyway?" It was a nosy question, but she figured that if Ikuto could make her food problems his business, she could make his love life her business.

"My mother."

"You're Mother?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

Did that mean he did not have a girlfriend? "I thought your mother lived in Tsukiyomi Hall."

"If she lived there, I wouldn't have had her candy with me. I would have given it to her."

"Then who lives there?"

"At the moment, no one."

"There great big house is empty?"

"We're still debating what to do with it. My mother decided she was sick of rattling around all alone in the house. Ever since my father died, she's been saying she wanted to move out. Six months ago, she finally bought herself a condo."

"Is she going to sell the place?" Amu did not think there would be many people who could afford to buy it. A movie star, maybe. A hedge-fund billionaire. An exiled dictator.

Ikuto shrugged. "I think she'd like to give it to the historical society or something. Angel thinks my mother's in the early throes of dementia. When my mother bought the condo, Angel went into a major panic and demanded that I come to Seiyo and deal with the situation."

"Have you dealt with it?"

"It isn't a situation. My mother is happy where she is, and she is not demented. Angel will just have to get used to it." Is that why you are in Seiyo? To deal with the…non-situation?"

"Originally." He leaned over to pluck something from the floor at his feet." "But since I've been here I've discovered that I like being out of New York. I've had it with all the crowds and the noise. I'm enjoying myself here. I have a temporary office in town and I can accomplish just about anything with a phone and fax."

"What kind of work do you do?" she asked, trying to glimpse the object in his hand.

"Investment consulting. I specialize in financing for start-up companies, new technologies." He rubbed the small, round item with his thumb to clean it, then lifted it to smell. "Wow."

She shot him a swift look in time to see him pop an errant chocolate kiss into his mouth. "Don't! It was on the floor!"

"It wasn't dirty," he said thickly, his mouth filled with gooey chocolate. "Wow, that's incredible! I never tasted a chococlate jkiss like that before."

She smiles. "It's my specialty."

"What's the secret ingredient?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret."

"Are we going to make more of these?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "If we do, you'll probably eat all of them."

"Three-quarters. We'd set aside a few for the cotillion."

She steered onto the driveway of her modest ranch house, sending arcs of slush in all directions. "For the last time, Mr Tsukiyomi, you really don't have to do this."

"Call me Ikuto," he said gazing at her with a hunger she could interpret in more than one way if she dared. "As for helping you with your kisses, Ms. Hinamori…I think that's something I really do have to do."

Angel-chan: There done. What do you guys think?

Ikuto: You almost ran me over! And…YOUR MY SISTER?!

Amu: So close *pouts*

Angel-chan: *laughs* nice Amu…and I didn't almost run you over that's just how the plot goes deal with it and yea I decided to be your sister in this one got a problem little brother *smirks*

Ikuto: fml!

Angel-chan: *laughs more* well then while Ikuto sulking in the corner I hope you guys liked it again as I mentioned in the beginning I don't own anything so don't go saying I stole this plot.

Amu: Well R&R Everyone!

Angel-chan: See you soon *smiles*