Anything but Vanilla... (4 page)

Maybe, if she laughed, Alexander West would think she’d been joking.

‘You’re a fast learner,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you that.’

Too late.

‘How generous.’ Possibly. Of course, it could have been sarcasm since he wasn’t excited enough by her interest to do more than lean a little more heavily against the freezer. For a man whose aim in life was to keep moving, he certainly didn’t believe in wasting energy. Presumably his exploration was confined to the local bars set beneath palm trees on those lovely beaches.

‘What kind of figure were you thinking of offering?’ he asked.

Thinking? This was not her day for thinking...

‘I’ll need to see the accounts before I’m prepared to talk about an offer,’ she said, her brain beginning to catch up with her mouth. ‘How long is the lease? Do you know?’

‘It’s not transferable. You’d have to negotiate a new lease with the landlord.’

‘Oh...’ She was surprised he knew that, but then it had been that kind of day. Full of surprises. None of them, so far, good. ‘No doubt he’ll take the opportunity to increase the rent. They’ve been low at this end of the High Street but footfall has picked up in the last couple of years.’ There had been a major improvement project with an influx of small specialist shops attracting shoppers who were looking for something different and were prepared to pay for quality. Knickerbocker Gloria had been a vanguard of that movement and had done well out of it. Very well. Which made the sudden collapse all the more surprising. ‘No doubt he’ll want to take advantage of that.’

‘It’s taken a lot of money to improve this part of the town. He’s entitled to reap the benefit, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so. Who is the landlord?’ she asked. ‘Do you know?’

‘Yes.’ The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. ‘I am.’

With her entire focus centred on the tiny crease that formed as the embryonic smile took form, grew into a teasing quirk, her certainty on the putty question was undermined by a distinct slackening around her knees and it took a moment for his words to sink in.

He was...

What?

‘Oh...Knickerbocker Gloria...’ She pulled a face. ‘So that’s my foot in my mouth right up to the ankle, then?’

The smile deepened. ‘I’ll bear in mind what you said about increasing the rent.’

‘Terrific.’ She was having a bad day and then some.

‘I’m always open to negotiation. For the right tenant.’

‘Is that how Ria managed to get such a good deal?’ she asked.

‘Good deal?’

He didn’t move, but her skin began to tingle and her mouth dried...

‘Her rent is very...reasonable.’ There was no point dodging the bullet. The words had come out of her mouth even if she hadn’t meant them in quite the way they’d sounded. Or maybe she had. The thought of Ria haggling over money was too ridiculous to contemplate. ‘Even for the wrong end of the High Street.’

‘Let me get this right,’ he said. ‘You’re moving from the suggestion that she’s paying me for services rendered, to me subsidising her, likewise?’

There were days when you just shouldn’t get out of bed. This was rapidly turning into one of them.

Forget ankle. They were talking knee and beyond.

‘You’re not...?’ she said, unable to actually put the thought into words.

‘I’m not. She’s not. I don’t understand why you’d think we were.’ His eyebrow rose questioningly.

‘The fact that she sent for you when she was in trouble and you came,’ she suggested.

‘We’ve known one another a long time.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s more than that.’

His shoulders shifted in an awkward shrug that in anyone else she would have put down to embarrassment. ‘I have a responsibility to her.’

‘Because you’re her landlord?’

‘It’s more complicated than that.’

‘I don’t doubt it. I found her weeping over the last card you sent her.’

‘Damn.’ He sighed. ‘That wasn’t about me but it does begin to explain what’s been happening here.’

‘Does it?’ She waited but he was lost in thought. ‘When can I see the accounts?’ she asked, finally.

He came back from wherever he’d been in his head. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Don’t I look serious?’

‘Seriously?’ He took a long, slow look that began at her shoes, travelled up the length of the white coat with a long pause at her cleavage before coming to a rest on the unflattering hat. ‘Sorry,’ he said finally, reaching out and removing the offending headgear. ‘There is no way I can take you seriously in this thing.’

‘Seriously,’ she repeated, not so much as blinking despite a heartbeat that was racketing out of control at the intimacy of such a gesture. The man was an oaf—albeit a sexy oaf—and she refused to let him fluster her. Okay, it was too late for that; she was flustered beyond recovery, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow him to see that.

He shrugged. ‘Seriously? You look like someone who said the first thing that came into her head.’

‘That is something I never do.’ Or hadn’t... Until now.

Like the kiss, it was an aberration.

A one-off.

Not to be repeated.

It was turning into quite a morning for firsts. None of them good.

‘On the form you’ve shown so far, I’d suggest that you never think before you speak.’

He might have a point about that. At least where he was concerned. She’d been leaping to conclusions and speaking before her brain was engaged ever since she’d turned from the freezer and seen him watching her.

His attention was all on her now as he spun the hat teasingly on a finger. She snatched it back but didn’t put it back on her head.

‘I’m having an off day,’ she said.

‘Just the one? You’ll forgive me if I suggest that on present form you’re not capable of running the business you already have, let alone taking on one encumbered by debt.’

‘Actually, I won’t, if it’s all the same to you.’ Her offer might have been somewhat rash, but she wasn’t going to let him slouch there and judge her on a completely uncharacteristic performance. He might have got closer to her than any man since Jamie Coolidge had done her the favour of relieving her of her virginity when she was seventeen, but he knew nothing about her. ‘My competence is no concern of yours. If I go to the wall, I won’t be texting you to come and rescue me.’

‘I have your word on that?’

‘Cross my heart and spit in your eye,’ she said, ignoring the shivery sensation that seemed to have taken up residence in her spine.

‘Crossing your fingers might be more useful,’ he suggested.

‘I can’t create a spreadsheet with my fingers crossed,’ she pointed out, sticking to the practicalities. The practicalities never answered back, never let you down, never took the fast road out of town... ‘You have to admit, this is the obvious answer to both our problems.’

‘I’m admitting nothing. Surely you could get your ice cream made somewhere else?’ he persisted. ‘You said that you have the recipes.’

‘Some of them,’ she admitted. Not nearly enough. Not the chocolate chilli ice Ria was supposed to deliver for a corporate shindig the following week. And they were experimenting with an orange sorbet for a wedding. She needed samples so that the bride could choose. ‘But I need more than recipes. I need equipment.’

‘Not much. Ria began making ices in the kitchen at home.’

‘Did she?’ How long ago was that? How long had Ria and Alexander known one another? It was always harder to pin an age on a man. They hit a peak at around thirty and, if they looked after themselves, didn’t start to sag until well into middle age, which was grossly unfair. He was definitely at a peak... Down, girl! ‘Are you suggesting that I might do the same?’

‘Why not?’

‘Perhaps because I’m not running a cottage industry, but a high-end events company?’ she replied. ‘And, since my ices are for public consumption, they have to be prepared in a kitchen that has been inspected and licensed by the Environmental Health Officer rather than one that closely resembles an annexe to the local animal shelter.’

‘Animal shelter?’ His bark of laughter took her by surprise. ‘For a moment you had me believing you.’

‘The animals are my sister’s province.’

‘Babies and animals? She has her hands full.’

‘A different sister.’

‘There are
three
of you?’ he asked, apparently astonished.

‘Congratulations, Mr West. You can do simple arithmetic.’

‘When pushed,’ he admitted. ‘My concern is whether the world can take you times three.’

So rude!

‘No need to worry on the world’s account,’ she replied. ‘My mother dipped into a wide gene pool and we are not in the least bit alike in looks or temperament.’

She could see him thinking about that and then making the decision not to go there.

‘Wouldn’t sister number three give you a hand scrubbing the kitchen down?’ he asked. He was beginning to sound a touch desperate. ‘Who would know?’

‘I would,’ she said, her determination growing in direct proportion to his resistance. As a last resort she could probably use the kitchens at Haughton Manor, but they didn’t have an ice-cream maker and why should she be put to even more inconvenience when she had a custom-built facility right here? ‘Anyone would think you don’t want me to rescue Knickerbocker Gloria.’

‘Anyone would be right,’ he replied. ‘I don’t.’

FOUR

Man cannot live on ice cream alone. Women are tougher.

—from Rosie’s ‘Little Book of Ice Cream’

Sorrel was momentarily taken aback by his frankness. But only momentarily.

‘Fortunately, Mr West, that’s not your decision to make. I’m sure Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs would be more than happy to negotiate with me if it means they’ll get their back taxes paid.’ She paused, briefly, but not long enough for him to respond. ‘You are aware that fines for non-payment are levied on a daily basis?’

‘I had heard a rumour to that effect.’

‘And, for your information, while I do keep records of the recipes that Ria has developed for my clients, they are her intellectual copyright. I can’t just hand them over to another ice-cream manufacturer and ask them to knock me up a batch.’

Always assuming she could find one who could be bothered.

It hadn’t been easy to find anyone prepared to work with her to create her very special requirements. Sorbets tinted to exactly match the embroidery on a bride’s gown. Ices the colours of a company logo, or a football-team strip. Who wouldn’t suggest she needed her head examined when asked to produce the ice cream equivalent of a cucumber sandwich, but accepted the challenge with childlike glee.

And even if she had been that unscrupulous, there was no way she’d allow herself to be put in this position again. If Knickerbocker Gloria folded she would have to set up her own production plant from scratch. It would take time to find the right premises, source equipment, train staff and be inspected before she could be up and running. And time was the one thing she didn’t have.

And she’d still be missing the one vital ingredient that made what she offered so special. Ria.

She might very well have said the first thing that came into her head, but taking over Knickerbocker Gloria, putting it on a proper, well-managed footing, could save both Ria and Scoop! And if, in the process, she wiped that patronising expression from Alexander West’s face, then it would be worth it.

‘Not without her permission,’ she added. ‘And unless you can tell me where she is right now that is a non-starter.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the Jefferson party is tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow!’
Now she had his attention.

‘I believe I mentioned that the sorbet has a very short shelf life.’

‘So you did.’

‘I wasn’t sure that you were listening.’

‘I promise you,’ he said, ‘you’ve had my undivided attention from the moment you walked in.’

‘Yes, I had noticed.’

‘If you will go around half dressed...’

Half dressed?

‘
This is not half dressed! On the contrary. I’m wearing a vintage Mary Quant suit that belonged to my grandmother!’

‘Not all of it, surely?’

‘The jacket is in my van. I didn’t expect to be more than five minutes. Now, are there any more comments you’d like to make about my clothes, the hygiene headgear designed by someone who hates women or the way I run my business? Or can we get on?’

He raised his hands defensively. Then, clearly with some kind of death wish, said, ‘Your grandmother?’

‘She was a deb in the sixties. Vidal Sassoon hair, Mini car, miniskirts and, supposedly, the liberation of women.’

‘Supposedly?’

‘Since I’ve met you, I’ve discovered that we still have a long way to go. And, while we’re putting things straight, this is probably a good time to mention that any negotiations to purchase the business will be conditional on the completion of the Jefferson order.’

‘In other words,’ he said, grabbing the opportunity to get back to business, ‘you’re just stalling me out.’ He leaned back against the freezer, crossing his sinewy arms so that the muscles bunched in his biceps, tightening the sleeves of his T-shirt again. They looked so...
hard
. It was difficult to resist the urge to touch... ‘Until you’ve got what you want,’ he added.

‘No!’ She curled her fingers tightly into her palms. Well maybe. ‘Until I can talk to Ria.’

She knew Ria had friends in Wales from her old travelling days. She went back a couple of times a year and was probably holed up with them in a yurt, drinking nettle beer, eating goat cheese and picking wild herbs for a salad. A place that Sorrel knew, having tried to contact her there back in the summer, didn’t have a mobile-phone signal.

Right now, though, she had to deal with her gatekeeper, Alexander West. It was time to stop drooling like a teenager and act like a smart businesswoman.

‘I’ll rent the premises by the week while we negotiate terms. I will expect anything that I pay to be deducted from the sale price, of course.’ He didn’t move. ‘I’m sure the Revenue would be happy to recover at least a portion of the money owed? Or were you planning on paying it yourself?’

His silence was all the answer she needed.

‘So? Do we have a deal?’ she asked. ‘Because right now I’m firefighting a crisis that isn’t of my making and I’d really like to get on with it.’

Even as she said it she knew that wasn’t the whole truth. She was supposed to be the whiz-kid entrepreneur. It was her responsibility to ensure that delivery of the product was never compromised and it had been her intention to find a back-up supplier for Scoop!—one that could match Ria’s quality, her imagination, her passion.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone. At least not locally.

She’d done the rounds when she’d decided to launch this side of the business, looking for someone who would work with her to create the flavours, colours and quality that she wanted to offer her clients. But these were small, one-off, time-consuming special orders and only Ria had been interested.

‘Is there really no way of keeping Knickerbocker Gloria as a going concern?’ she asked, when he remained silent. ‘I really need Ria.’

‘Make me an offer I can’t refuse,’ he said, ‘and you can offer her a job.’

He shrugged as if that were it. Game over. He was wrong.

What she had in mind was a partnership. If she took care of the paperwork, kept the books in order, handled the finances—her strengths—Ria would be free to do what she did best.

‘Maybe I can come up with an offer
she
can’t refuse,’ she replied.

‘Don’t count on it.’ He finally pushed himself away from the freezer door, very tall and much too close. While she was sending a frantic message to her feet to move, step back out of the danger zone, he reached forward, took the hat from her hands and set it on her head at a jaunty angle, captured a stray curl that had a mind of its own and tucked it behind her ear, holding it there for a moment as if he knew that it would spring back the moment he let go. Then he shook his head. ‘You’d be better off with your hair in a net.’

‘Yes...’ Her mouth, dry as an August ditch, made all the right moves but no sound came out. She tried harder. ‘You’re right. I’ll see if I can find one. Thank—’

‘Don’t thank me. Nothing has changed. It’s just your good luck that I know Nick Jefferson.’ And it was Alexander who took a step back. ‘I’m doing this for him, not you, so you’d better deliver the best damn champagne sorbet ever.’

‘Or what?’ she asked. Clearly saying the first thing that came into her head was habit forming.

‘Or you’ll answer to me.’

Promises, promises...

The thought whispered through her mind but in the time it took for the connections to snap into action, for her brain to wonder what he’d do if she failed to deliver, Alexander West was back in the office with the door closed, leaving her alone in the prep room.

Probably a good thing, she decided, sliding her fingers behind her ear, where the warmth of his hand still lingered.

Definitely
a good thing.

She might have inherited come-day-go-day genes from both her parents, but she had her life mapped out and there was no way she was following her mother down that particular path. Certainly not with a man who, like her father, would be gone long before they’d reached the first stile. Back to his beach-bum lifestyle. Funded by the rent Ria paid for this shop, no doubt. Except she probably owed him money, too. Was that what had brought him flying back? The chance to get her out and install a new tenant at a higher rent?

* * *

While Sorrel Amery had been beguiling him with a smile that had gone straight to his knees, Alexander’s coffee had gone cold. He drank it anyway. The alternative was going back out into the preparation room to refill the coffee machine, something he was not prepared to do with Ms Amery in residence.

A hot body, a sexy mouth, and with enough wit to fill his nights back in civilisation very satisfactorily—he would normally have been happy to follow through on a no-holds-barred kiss that had come out of nowhere. She was perfect. In every imaginable way. Even down to the glowing chestnut hair for which she’d presumably been named.

Jet-lagged, tired, as he was, she’d turned him on as if she’d flipped a light switch, but while his body might be urging him to go for it, take what was so clearly on offer, he had a week at most to put this right, catch up with his own paperwork and get back to work. And despite what she clearly thought, he didn’t mix business with pleasure—he would be leaving again in days and he’d given up on one-night stands. Anything more needed constant care and feeding and he didn’t stay in one place long enough to put in the work.

He pushed the thought away and concentrated on the immediate problem. Not difficult. The problem would be not thinking about her...

What on earth someone as grounded as Nick Jefferson was doing letting Sorrel Amery loose on an important product promotion, he could not imagine.

Cucumber ice cream, for heaven’s sake! He shook his head. It had to be the work of some idiot in Jefferson’s marketing department; an idiot with a weakness for chestnut hair, translucent skin and legs up to her armpits. No doubt she’d turned on that straight-to-hell smile and the poor sucker had gone down without a fight. Or maybe she had. She’d gone from nought to fifty in second gear and he’d barely touched her...

The thought shivered through him.

He hated it.

Wanted it.

Wanted her with that hot mouth on him, those long legs wrapped around him...

He dragged his hands over his face, rubbed hard in an effort to stimulate the circulation and tear his thoughts away from the bright chestnut curl he’d tucked behind a very pretty ear decorated with a small cream and gold enamelled ice cream cone. There was no denying that everything about her was positively edible, but he wasn’t having her for dessert.

She could have a week to make her sorbet and sort out some other arrangement to make her ice cream. He would be concentrating on winding up the business.

He didn’t have much time.

Ria’s lows were countered by soaring highs and it wouldn’t be long before she was having second thoughts. In the meantime, he had no choice but to treat Sorrel Amery like the rest of the creditors and dig her out of the hole she’d been dumped in.

A tap on the door reminded him that in her case it would take more than a cheque to make her disappear. As if to rub in the message, she didn’t wait for an invitation. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need Nancy’s phone number.’

‘Help yourself,’ he said, keeping his head down, determined to keep his distance. He picked up an envelope and slit it open, focusing on the job in hand.

‘Have you seen...?’

He pointed the letter opener at the shelf behind the desk.

‘Thanks,’ she said, stretching across the desk.

He hadn’t thought it through.

A whisper of warmth feathered his cheek as the edge of the white coat caught on his chair and then she put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she wobbled on those ridiculous heels.

‘Oops...’

‘Can you reach?’

‘I’ve got it. Thanks.’

He waited, holding his breath, willing her to move but, having found what she was looking for, she remained where she was, apparently transfixed by the invoices piling up in front of him.

‘Are those all unpaid bills?’ she asked, horrified.

He removed another final demand from its envelope and placed it on one of three piles. ‘It’s not quite as bad as it looks,’ he said.

‘It isn’t?’

She smelt amazing. Warm skin, clean hair mingled with starched white cotton, vanilla, chocolate... Something else... He struggled against the urge to turn and pull her close, bury his face against the silk and breathe deeper. Effort wasted as she bent over his shoulder to take a closer look at the bills. Sun-warmed strawberries. That was it. Not raspberries, but strawberries. One of those dark red varieties, full of flavour, dripping with juice that would stain her mouth...

‘I’m using a triage system,’ he said, desperate for any distraction from thoughts of hot, juice-stained lips... ‘Those on the left are the original invoices, the ones in the middle are reminders and these...’ he tapped the pile with the letter opener; he needed to do something with his hands ‘...are final demands.’

‘Oh, dear God. Poor Ria.’ The strappy thing she was wearing fell away as she bent to pick up the electricity bill, offering him a glimpse of softly mounded breasts in creamy lace cups. Had she no control over her clothing? Shouldn’t she have buttoned up the white coat?

There had to be rules...

‘Praying won’t help,’ he said, even as he offered up a God-help-me on his own account, ‘but the telephone has already been cut off so I suggest you get cracking on your sorbet before the electricity company follows suit.’

His attempt to send her scurrying back to the prep room failed. ‘I’ll go across to the bank and pay it now.’

‘Why would you do that?’ he asked, making the mistake of looking up and discovering that her lips were barely a breath away from his own.

Ripe, red, sweet...

For a moment her eyes, misty green beneath long dark lashes, connected with his and a fizz of heat went straight to his groin as the air filled with pheromones. His reaction must have telegraphed itself to her because, with a tiny hiss of breath, she straightened, took half a step back.