Nina Harrington - When Chocolate Is Not Enough...

‘You are very kind, Mrs Ormandy. My colleague Tara Hamilton and I run a company specialising in organic party food. But I do create all the chocolates and desserts by hand in our own kitchens. As well as party treats. In fact, I think your husband has already sampled some of my work—at our stall this morning.’

With that she stepped to one side and looked at him with a fixed, closed-mouth smile. ‘He seemed to think that I was intent on poisoning the tastebuds of the younger generation with sugar and additives. Isn’t that true, Mr Ormandy? I do hope that you’re not feeling ill after scoffing my chocolate dessert. Shame that my creamy boobs were not to your taste.’

Without giving him a chance to reply, Daisy swivelled back to Kate. She smiled warmly at her slightly stunned expression, just as Marco came over and stood by their table.

‘Ah. I see you have met our chocolate chef. Ms Flynn took top marks in the master chocolatier awards ceremony only last year, after training at Barone Fine Chocolate in Paris. We are hoping to persuade her to work with us a lot more.’

‘Thank you, Chef,’ Daisy said, and looked at the female diner while discreetly avoiding eye contact with her husband on the other side of the table. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Ormandy. I do hope that you have a splendid afternoon and will visit the restaurant again soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will leave you in Marco’s capable hands.’ And with that she turned and walked slowly and calmly, head high, back in the direction of the kitchens.

She had almost made it as far as the swing door leading to the kitchen when a loud male voice called out behind her in a very distinctive accent she had heard before.

‘Miss Flynn? If you could wait a moment?

Miss Flynn?’

Fighting against her sudden desire to reach for the nearest heavy frying pan in the kitchen, Daisy stopped and inhaled deeply.

This man was Marco’s customer—and she owed Marco several favours. Not including the job offer. Insulting one of his diners was not perhaps the best way to win more orders from the restaurant chain. Even if this particular diner seemed to think that he knew more about chocolate than she did. At least his lovely wife had been charming. And he had bought some of her rabbits for his little girl, who probably idolised him.

That was it. He was a family man. Happily married. And one of Marco’s paying customers.

Be nice to the people who pay your wages, Daisy .

So she fixed a professional, all-weather, no matter how great the provocation neutral smile on her lips, lifted her chin and turned slowly around so that she was not blocking the kitchen door.

And instantly had to fling her back flat against the wall to stop him from sending her flying.

He was caught out by her sudden stop and grabbed hold of both her arms to stop himself falling and crushing them both on the floor. In the process he drew her to him so quickly that Daisy barely had time to breathe before she found herself pressed up against the front of his shirt.

Both of them sucked in a shocked breath, and for a moment time seemed to stand still before he took a step back to create an appropriate space between them.

Back at the food stall she had been too busy to notice more than his unruly long dark blond hair hanging from a side parting almost to the collar of his black shirt. But up close he seemed to tower over her, even in his fairly flat black boots. He had to be well over six feet tall, but it was the sheer breadth of the man that made her bristle and want to step backwards to get out from his shadow.

His fitted black shirt covered a hard body and wide shoulders—but that was only part of it.

His blue eyes were the colour of forget-me-nots in the spring, and they contrasted so intensely against his deep suntan and heavy eyebrows that they seemed to be illuminated from within. And at the moment those eyes were focused totally on her. Light from the large picture windows in the restaurant shone on one side of his face, throwing his long shapely nose and square jaw into sharp profile.

If it was not for the thin white scar that cut through one of his eyebrows, and the dark bruise of shadows under his eyes, she would have said that he was gorgeous.

But she would settle for the upper end of the handsome scale.

Overall, he was probably the most masculine man she had met in a very, very long time. Not that she met many male customers in a life that whirled between Tara’s flat and the kitchen they used for their catering business.

He took a step away from her and released her arms. She inhaled the scent of cheese and lunch, good bread and … chocolate. Not the full-cream praline chocolate she had used to make the dessert he had just enjoyed, judging from the clean dessert plates, but an undercurrent of bitter, sharp and aromatic cocoa. As distinctive as any type of coffee or wine. And, to her attuned senses, as tantalising as the most expensive cologne any Paris perfumier could concoct.

That was probably why her throat went amazingly dry the instant one side of his mouth turned up into a cheeky smile which creased the side of his face and was obviously intended to make her swoon at his charm.

Not going to happen.

Even if it was remarkably effective. And he still smelt amazing.

She flicked her hair back behind one ear, desperate for something to do whilst attempting to find out why he had called to her. Perhaps his lovely wife had sent him to apologise, and he was being a dutiful husband?

Then she looked into his eyes.

Okay. Perhaps not such a good boy after all.

In fact those eyes were sparkling with excitement, and an interest which seemed to be aimed at her.

A frisson of more than professional interest lit like a fuse inside her poor heart—before she dumped a large bucket of icy water over it.

This was a married man with a child, whose mother was still sitting in the retaurant! The sooner she remembered that and let him get back to his coffee and his elegant and stunningly beautiful wife the better.

Handsome people who had won first prize in the gene pool lottery belonged together—not in kitchens with the hired help.

Daisy lifted her chin. She had waved goodbye to being second best the day she’d packed her bags and left Paris and her cheating former boyfriend Pascal behind. Not even this Greek-god-handsome face and body were going to sway her down that rocky path again. She had learnt the hard way that good things did not always come in beautifully wrapped packages.

This man looked like a praline wrapped in gold foil, but for all she knew that tempting cover might well conceal a bitter lemon boiled sweet. All promises. No delivery. Been there, done that, and hadn’t even come back with the T-shirt to show for it.

‘Did you need something, Mr Ormandy?’ she asked in as sweet a voice as she could manage—but the tone seemed to emerge as a sort of a squeak.

‘I was hoping that you might spare me a few minutes to talk about a business proposition, Ms Flynn. And please call me Max, as all my friends do,’ he murmured, and flashed her the full-on charming smile which, aimed at any other woman, would instantly have had her on her knees.

The cheek of the man! His wife was still in the same room, chatting to the head chef. She didn’t know what kind of business proposition he had to offer her, but she knew she didn’t want anything to do with it.

Even so, she had to rally her defences before replying.

‘A business proposition? What kind of business could we possibly have in common? Unless, of course, you happen to be in the chocolate trade? That is the only way you could tempt me to take you seriously.’

She had intended him to take her question as a joke. After all, she wasn’t interested in the least in whatever he had to offer.