Anything but Vanilla...

‘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.