The Secret Ingredient (11 page)

‘I can produce references and commendations should they be required.’

‘Your technical prowess is not in doubt. It’s the trust bit that’s the killer.’

‘You don’t trust me?’

‘I don’t know you! I’ve met Rob Beresford the chef and I’ve seen Rob Beresford the TV celebrity in action everywhere I look. And this evening I got to know Rob the teenage carer. But who is Rob when the only thing that separates us is a sheet and a whiff of bakery sugar?’

‘You’re looking at him right now.’

Rob held his arms out wide.

‘How can you not know me? You’ve seen me with my mother and with Sean. My family are the people that matter in my life. All of the celebrity stuff is promotion, fluff, marketing so that I can earn a living. Look at me. Really look at me.’

‘What you said earlier,’ Lottie asked, her voice trembling and hesitant, ‘about only being interested in the short term. Did you mean it?’

The pad of his fingertip scorched a path down from her temple to the hollow just under her ear.

‘Every word. That’s the way I live. No long-term relationships. No heartbreak. Just two adults who know precisely what they are getting into from the start.’

‘Is that what you told Debra? Because she was heartbroken.’

Rob exhaled slowly. ‘Debra thought that she could make me change my mind, that she was different and special and that my rules didn’t apply to her. They did, and she didn’t like it. I’m not heartless, Lottie. I was sorry that she took it badly but it worked out okay for her in the end.’ His fingertips started running up and down her forearm, and every hair on her body stood to attention in response. ‘And it can work out okay for you, too.’

Lottie blew out sharply and stepped back, both hands in the air, palms forwards.

‘Sorry, but this is a little too much.’

His response was a knowing chuckle that rattled around inside her skull, intent on causing disruption.

‘You do realise that what you are suggesting is the nearest thing to training lessons! I mean, I’ve read women’s magazines and mix with girls who have paid professionals to help them in that area in the past. And don’t scowl like that—male escorts are not unheard of. You could probably do quite well in that line of work.’

‘Thanks for the compliment. I will keep that career choice in mind if I should ever fancy a change in direction.’

He shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘You don’t get it, gorgeous. This is a one-time offer. You’re tired of being ordinary. I see the extraordinary. We’re both single, consenting adults and I would seriously love to get you naked and see what happens next. There. Is that honest enough for you?’

His head tilted to one side and he turned on the killer smile that could melt ice at fifty paces. ‘So come on, Lottie, take a chance on a fling. You know you want to.’

‘Wait a minute. It’s one thing to brainstorm an idea, but making it happen and seeing it through are a whole different matter.’

‘Then I’ll make it easy for you. This is Saturday night and I am going to be in town for the next three days. Three days. Three interactive lessons. I could make a start tomorrow morning if you like.’

‘Tomorrow! That’s fast work, cheeky. Will there be an exam at the end?’

‘Oh, darling Lottie, you’ve already passed the exam. This is the higher education course where anything at all can happen. And I cannot wait to get started. But if you’re nervous—let’s say that we have an introductory taster session. On the house. Now how can you deny yourself that little treat? Tomorrow morning at the bakery. How does that sound?’

Lottie flung her hands in the air. ‘Crazy! That’s how it sounds. In fact—’

She never got to finish her sentence because Rob stepped in the moment she began speaking, pulled her towards him with both hands spread flat against her back, and pressed his mouth against hers. Not forcibly. She would have hit him hard if he had tried that. No, his lips and mouth moved against her lips with such exquisite gentleness that Lottie opened her mouth wider and moved into the hot moistness of that irresistible kiss.

Helpless to do anything else.

A bristly chin moved across her cheek and down into her neck.

‘I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep my hands off you. You are quite irresistible, Miss Rosemount. You know that, don’t you?’

She grinned, unsure of her own ability to keep her hands off
him
at that moment, but that was not good enough, and Rob lifted her chin so that he could look into her smiling eyes.

‘Seriously? This is the craziest proposal that I have ever heard in my life and, believe me, after my career in banking that’s saying something. So on second thoughts, I appreciate your kind offer, but...’

Before she could blink his arm wrapped around her waist, turned her towards him and Rob silenced her by pressing his mouth against hers in a kiss that was so all-encompassing, so demanding, and so very, very delicious that breathing suddenly became unimportant.

The tip of his tongue touched her tongue, sending a shock of visceral desire to parts of her body that had been very short on action for a very long time. Desire: hot, real, undeniable.

Rob pulled her even closer, deepening his intense kisses until she was light-headed enough to want him never to stop. ‘All you have to do,’ he whispered, his mouth closed around her upper lip, teasing and playing with it to open as he came up for air, ‘is nod once for yes.’

She managed to make a gentle nod, before his head lowered and he gave her the sweetest, most loving, lingering, whispering kiss she had ever had in her life.

‘Quite irresistible. But it’s getting late for a couple of early birds like us.’

His hands dropped to her waist and he stepped back, giving her the time to get her breath back.

‘The gallery is closed on Sundays and my mother is spending time with friends tomorrow, so how about I pop over to your place in the morning? It’s going to be fun.’

He leant forward as she nodded her reply, and kissed her on the nose before grinning.

‘Try not to kiss anyone else in the meantime.’

NINE

Where had all
of these people come from at 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday?

Rob squeezed his way past clusters of ladies with baby buggies chatting on the pavement tables outside a branch of a well-known coffee-shop chain, but kept his head down in case they recognised him.

He had to lift his arms up high as a couple of rampaging teens hunkered low on skateboards sped down the pavement, causing chaos. Couples arm in arm, men in running gear, cyclists in bright Lycra, older men carrying newspapers, all were mingling in a typical London street with the thundering traffic only feet away.

A low chuckle bubbled up from inside Rob’s chest and he smiled at an elderly lady who was looking at a bookshop window—then caught sight of him. She was clearly making the connection between the poster advertising his latest cookbook and the man strolling down the pavement next to her. Then she shook her head and shrugged. No, how ridiculous, it couldn’t be.

He didn’t blame her for thinking that there was no reason why Rob Beresford should be walking down a London street on a Sunday morning.

Sunday mornings were Rob’s one indulgence. Downtime from the mayhem of either a Saturday night restaurant service or a night spent at some hotel or business function.

There had been a time when he would stagger home in the early hours with some gorgeous girl whose name he had written on the back of his hand using her lipstick and the light from whatever bar they had met in, but by the time he sobered up she would be gone and so would her name.

The gossip press would be surprised to know that for the past few years he had been too exhausted to do anything on a Sunday but read the trade press from the balcony of his ocean-view penthouse apartment and fuel up with coffee and bad news about the economy. Business paperwork and phone calls and emails to Beresford hotels around the world took up most of the rest of the morning before he headed out to the beach to enjoy a long late lunch with his mum.

It was a routine that worked for him. A few hours’ respite before the chaos of a new week and a diary that was booked months in advance. A week in one place? Unheard of. The last time was when the Beresford Chicago was hit with a norovirus outbreak, which had closed the entire hotel right in the middle of the conference season and he’d had to drop everything to fix the problem. Not good.

So taking a full week in London in June was a very special treat. Business—of course. He had meetings in the diary with both his dad and Sean to talk about the expansion plans. But that was not the real reason. The second his mother had been invited to be the opening artist for the new gallery, he had tagged three days’ holiday onto the end of his work week. Recovery time. This might be the most important exhibition of his mother’s career and was certainly going to be crucial in helping her get well.

And so far it seemed to be working. It had been a long time since he had seen her so happy and content and balanced. A very long time.

This Sunday was going to be his first real day off in eighteen months.

Strange, he had never even thought about it like that until the previous evening when Sean had sent him on his way and told him to take the rest of the weekend off for a change. Give his mother a break.

A weekend off. Now that really was a strange concept.

Was that why he had looked out over the London skyline from the penthouse apartment in the Beresford Richmond that morning and had only been able to think of one person that he wanted to spend it with?

Last night he had opened up to Lottie in a way that had startled him as much as it had surprised her.

He rarely talked about his past to people he had just met. Why bother? The media had done all of that for him.

But somehow Lottie had got under his skin and it mattered very badly that this girl understood the young man who had fought his way through catering college as a way to burn off his bitter anger and resentment so he could make good his promise to his mum.

Lottie’s good opinion mattered. She was Dee’s best friend, after all, and Sean was bound to let slip a lot about their life as teenagers. Yeah, that was a good plan. He could keep on telling himself that was the only reason he had blurted out his life story like a fool. Shame that was only part of the reason.

But in the middle of the night as he’d tossed and turned under his high-thread-count sheets, his mind had refused to let her go.

The image of Lottie’s face as he’d kissed her whirled around into a hot dream where his fingertips explored every inch of her body from that stunning hair to the tips of those rose-painted toenails that had peeped out from her designer sandals.

So what if her vulnerability and beauty and inner strength had reached out and grabbed him and refused to let him escape?

There was a fairy story book his mother had used to read occasionally when he was small that told tales of beautiful half-bird-like women called sirens whose music and singing was so irresistible and alluring that sailors jumped overboard or crashed their ships on the rocks just to get closer to them.

Lottie the siren, that had to be it. The girl had magical powers. It was the only logical explanation. Otherwise things would get into seriously dodgy territory involving a pair of green eyes that made him want to move back to England so he could feel spring again, hair that he ached to run his fingers through and skin so unctuously peaches and cream he could eat it with a spoon. Or find out what it tasted like on his tongue, more likely.

Nope. He would stick to the siren idea. That was safer.

And since resistance was futile—best go with the flow!

Rob looked up at the front of Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms and ran a hand back through his hair.

He had not noticed that the sign was hand painted before and that the colours matched the interior decor. Stylish. Nice. Very nice.

Or the large sign that hung on a string in the half-glass door that read: ‘CLOSED’.

Lottie closed the bakery on Sundays?

Damn. He had not expected that. Not when the pavements were full of potential customers all desperate for tea and cake. And she had mentioned baking some special novelty cake or something today?

By cupping his hand and peering in through the glass Rob could see that the lights were on in the kitchen, so someone was home. He rang the doorbell and kept looking. No movement. No reply.

He had not called in advance or made a specific arrangement. What if she had company? An out-of-town relative? A hunky rugby player of a first cousin whom she had called in as security because she had changed her mind about their little arrangement?

That had not been the impression he had got last night. Far from it.

His fingers closed around his mobile phone. Sean would know. And laugh his head off at the very thought of Rob checking up on Lottie’s family and never let him forget it.

Scratch that idea.

Glancing quickly from side to side, Rob scrolled down his huge list of phone numbers until he found Lottie’s and pressed the button hard enough for his finger to hurt.

Phone to his ear, he rolled back his shoulders as the call rang and rang and after a few long seconds a very croaky and sleepy voice answered, ‘Hello.’

‘Good morning, Lottie. Hope I haven’t woken you.
I am here for my appointment.
Any chance you could let me in?’

There was just enough of a pause for Rob to ask, ‘Lottie? Are you still there?’

He wanted to see her and tell her all the news about the exhibition, which was already almost a sell-out, and come up with some great ideas for a celebration party. Not have half a conversation through a glass door and down a phone.

‘Rob? Oh. Yes. Sure.’ And then there was a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, no. I don’t believe it. How stupid!’ And then the unmistakeable clatter of a phone being dropped onto something solid.

Stupid? Who was she calling stupid? What was that all about? He had given up his free morning to spend time with her and she was calling him stupid? Or was there someone else in the room with her?

Rob flipped his phone closed and pushed it deep down inside his trouser pocket.

Either way this was a bad idea. Time to get back to civilisation.

Brow tense with frustration Rob was just turning away when he heard the sound of a key turning in a lock and whipped around to see Lottie peering out through a gap in the front door.

At least he thought it was Lottie. Those startling pale green eyes were almost grey behind the narrow slits of eyelids that seemed to be wincing at the bright sunlight bouncing back from the pavement. Her lovely blonde hair was tied back behind a stretch headband highlighting a very pale face with a bright red circle in the centre of each cheek. A perfect match for what looked like a pair of pink spotty pyjamas that she was wearing under her apron.

‘Rob?’

‘Still here. Although I don’t know why after you just called me stupid.’

She blinked, then squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them a little wider but winced and closed them again. ‘That wasn’t you. It was me. I was the stupid one. I set the oven timer for my cake but fell asleep.’

A quiver around her upper lip was followed by a short gasp as she slowly turned and flung one hand in the direction of the kitchen. ‘I burnt the sponges. They’re completely dried out. I never burn my cakes. And it’s their golden wedding today and it’s meant to be really special and I feel...terrible. My head feels terrible.’

Then she half slumped and half collapsed onto the nearest chair. In a second her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell forwards onto her arm, which was stretched out on the table, so that Rob had to step inside the shop, close the door behind him and lean in closer to hear what she said next.

‘I’ve caught your mother’s rotten head cold. Everything feels fuzzy. And I think I need to have a little sleep now.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ he replied and quickly put one hand under each of her armpits and lifted her back to a seated position. ‘Wake up, Lottie. Come on. You need to go and lie down for a while. Take a nap.’

She tried to shake her head but winced. ‘Cake. Gloria. I need to call Gloria. Gloria can make the cake.’ Then she blinked. ‘Wait. That girl is hopeless at piping. I need piping.’

‘Don’t worry about the cake. I’ll sort something out while you get your head down for half an hour.’

Lottie smiled at him. ‘That sounds so good.’ Then she blinked and stared at the Beresford hotel bag that he had dumped onto the table so he could pick her up.

‘What’s in the bag?’

‘Amaretto biscuits.’ He sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘I thought you might like your own stash.’

‘For me? That’s nice. You’re a nice man.’

‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew what I was thinking right now,’ Rob replied through gritted teeth as he hooked one of Lottie’s arms around his neck. ‘Nice is not how I would describe it.’

* * *

Bright sunlight was streaming in around the side of the long roman blinds that covered the studio windows when Lottie turned over and dared open her eyes just a crack. Then a little wider.

Her head still felt as though it were stuffed with cotton and her throat was beyond scratchy but she could turn over without feeling dizzy, which was a major improvement on how she had felt earlier.

The pyjama top she was wearing had twisted into a knot under her shoulder and she wriggled into a more comfortable position in her bed and tugged the satin quilt up to her chin.

Wait a minute. She couldn’t remember climbing the stairs to the loft and she certainly couldn’t recall pulling the quilt from the shelf.

And just like that, fractured memories of opening the door to one of the best-known chefs on the planet came flooding back.

Groaning out loud, Lottie pushed up against the headboard and closed her eyes.

Oh, no! The one person on the planet who she did not want to see her looking like an extra from a really cheap horror movie had walked in at exactly the wrong time. He had probably run away screaming in shock.

Pressing the fingers of one hand to her forehead, she closed her eyes and tried not to picture what she must have looked like that morning after her silly attempt to make Lily’s cake.

The cake!

She had to make a cake!

Blinking awake, Lottie rolled her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at her watch. Then looked again in horror. She had been asleep for hours! There was no way she had time to bake and decorate a cake before the tea party.

What was she going to do?

Run out to the supermarket and buy whatever they had left at this time on a Sunday afternoon? Or plan B, the freezer. She had cakes in the freezer. If she worked fast there might be enough time to quickly defrost a couple of sponge cakes, whip up some emergency icing and decorate with whatever she had handy. Forget the fine sugar work. It would be tight but she might be able to manage it—if she got to work now.

Pushing her hair back from her face, Lottie stood upright, checked that she was steady. A quick splash of water on her face. A wince at the state of her hair. And she was ready for action. Sort of.

First step—find out what she could salvage in a hurry. Hopefully Rob had tossed the burnt cakes in the bin. So that left the icing.

Rob.

Had Rob really been here or had she imagined the whole thing? He had certainly played a starring role in her fevered dreams as she’d tossed and turned all night.

Yawning widely, Lottie slipped down the stairs to her kitchen, then her feet slowed.

She must have been even sicker than she had imagined because that wasn’t her usual CD. Modern jazz didn’t quite fit as background music for her cake shop.

She slid quietly in through the door. And froze in her stocking feet.

Rob was standing in front of the worktop.

His hands were rock steady but she could see that his gaze was totally focused and narrowed with concentration.

On the marble pastry board to one side was a panel of pale gold-coloured fondant icing that had been transformed with intricate precision into the most stunning crown of elegant and perfect edible lace that she had ever seen.