When Chocolate Is Not Enough... Page 11

  ‘That’s why I want my own shop, where I can make my own decisions. And this contest with your cocoa could help me get there. But if we are going to do this we need to give it everything we have got and not let our personal lives get in the way. Can you do that, Max? Is that enough for you?’

  Max nodded once, then stretched out his left hand and placed it on her arm, stilling her hand. ‘You have my word. I will do whatever I can to help us win this contest. We are a team now. Then we can move forward with our lives. Please believe me—I know how important this conference is for both of us. I can focus on business when I need to.’

  ‘I do believe you. In fact I believe you enough to take your chocolate back to London and do whatever I can to create something amazing for the contest. I will do my best, Max; you have my word on that.’

  ‘In that case,’ he replied with a small bow, ‘would you mind if I gave these croissants to the birds and toasted some crumpets? I am in the mood for something crisp, English and very buttery.’

  She locked eyes with him and gave him a small smile that screamed out that she understood perfectly well that he was not simply referring to the food.

  ‘I thought you would never ask.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MAX straightened his tie with one hand while tugging at the tight button-down collar of his smart business shirt with the other. He had forgotten how restricting formal wear was, but it was worth it—no, Daisy was worth it.

  The past two days had been such a whirlwind of activity that it hardly seemed possible that they were actually here, at the hotel in Cornwall, with everything they needed to make Team Treveleyn a total winner. He had lined up buyers for his cocoa beans, Daisy had finalised her recipes, and all they had to do now was work harder than they had ever worked before and pull this off.

  Now if only he could remember how to fasten a tie … Perhaps Daisy could help? She was just down the corridor and … Max dropped his hands onto the hotel room desk and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

  What was he doing?

  The other delegates might be wearing ties, but it was certainly not his style. He hated ties and everything associated with them. He might wear one for the formal presentation he was giving as part of the conference programme. But for a drinks party?

  He ripped away the tie and flung it onto the bed, then sighed in relief as he released the top two buttons on his shirt.

  So what if he wanted Daisy to see him in a suit for the first time? He didn’t want to let her down by turning up to the official welcome cocktail party wearing a Calypso T-shirt, board shorts and flip-flops. She had challenged him to do his best for her and that was precisely what he intended to do.

  The suit was part of the professional image he wanted to create for the other delegates and cocoa-buyers—nothing to do with Daisy at all. He had to think of this conference as a business meeting. This was work. Not a holiday with a girl he wanted in his life so badly that it hurt. He knew that he could not and would not have her.

  This was not a date, and certainly not a romantic dinner with Daisy.

  They had spent most of the long drive from London to Cornwall talking through ideas for his presentation on West Indian cocoa and chatting about chocolate. Talking and talking about anything and everything except the one thing that had made six hours in a small car more than just uncomfortable.

  Their kiss. The way his body reacted whenever she was within touching distance and the fact that he’d almost bounced off his seat when her bare arm had brushed against his when he was loading her luggage. The fact that just a whiff of the light floral perfume she wore had seemed to flood his senses every time she’d shuffled in the passenger seat and made driving in a straight line on the left side of the road even more difficult than normal.

  And then there was the way her neck had turned red when he’d happened to glance over in her direction when they were stuck in a traffic jam. Funny how there had always seemed to be something fascinating outside her window when that happened, so that she wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes.

  He shook his head slowly from side to side and shrugged at his reflection.

  Who were they both trying to kid?

  The attraction between them was powerful and elemental and unlike anything he had felt before. Trying to pretend that it was not happening was only making it worse.

  Max ran his hand over his chin. Tomorrow Daisy would be cooking, he would be talking to potential customers and presenting, and they would probably spend so little time together that the conference gala dinner and the announcement of the contest winners would be over before they knew it.

  Then it would be back to their lives. One way or another.

  One day.

  All he had to do was to keep his promise and focus on the business for twenty-four hours. Daisy needed this to move forward in her life. Without him messing that life up for her.

  Right. Max rolled his shoulders back. Time to find Daisy.

  A few minutes later he strolled, back straight, into the brightly lit reception room of the hotel, where clusters of guests and conference-goers were chatting around a grand piano. A pianist in evening dress was entertaining the guests with show tunes and light classical pieces.

  He quickly scanned the crush around the cocktail bar for Daisy, then frowned. She was not in her room, and from what he could see she wasn’t holding court at the bar either. So she was either outside—or in the kitchen.

  It seemed to take for ever for him to wind his way across the room, responding to the friendly greetings from other cocoa producers and organic food manufacturers, and he was almost at the entrance to the kitchens when the kitchen doors opened and he caught a flash of a distinctive and unmistakable red-headed girl.

  Daisy Flynn was in the kitchen. His mouth twisted with concern and annoyance.

  After all the hard work she had put into this contest Daisy deserved to be out here, enjoying the piano and mingling with the other guests, not tucked away in the background as though she was unworthy to be with the conference delegates.

  She had told him that she was shy and preferred to stay out of the limelight, but this was ridiculous. Maybe it was time for him to make her see that.

  He slipped through the doors, pushed both hands deep into the pockets of his suit pants—and simply watched in wonder.

  Daisy was standing at the serving hatch, chatting away to the chefs and waiters who were plating the cold first course of the dinner service on the other side of the barrier. Her laughter blended with theirs as the sumptuous-looking arrangement of ingredients was layered onto each plate, ready for the final touches before being served.

  The food looked and smelled amazing, but it was Daisy who took his breath away.

  He stepped closer, dodging waiters and kitchen staff, to see what she was doing. Daisy had a tiny cone of what looked like paper in one hand and was drizzling molten dark chocolate from its end onto a serving plate to create beautiful patterns of flowers and leaves. It looked to him as though she was writing on the plates with a narrow stream of chocolate. It really was amazingly skilful work, and from the look of it she had been helping out for quite some time. Four or five plates were already done, and on the other side of the table the hotel’s pastry chef was plating beautiful mini-cakes and bite-sized chocolate slices onto the decorated plates to be served as dessert for the guests.

  As Max walked up to Daisy the pastry chef lifted his chin and said something to her in French that Max did not quite pick up. She shook her head from side to side and carried on until the plate was completely finished. Only then did she squeeze out the tiny amount of chocolate left in the tube onto her little finger and pop it into her mouth. Seconds later her face cracked into a wide grin and she laughed across at the chef, who gave her a short bow from the waist before waving her away, fluttering both hands and kissing the air between them in a gabble of quick French. She giggled in a girlish way that Max had never heard before, and kissed the air coquettishly i
n return, with a grin.

  A wave of ridiculous jealousy swept over Max, which he concealed by pretending to cough.

  ‘Almond liqueur with a touch of real vanilla. Quite delicious, and I am going to steal it at every opportunity,’ she said.

  And all the while she was laughing, as though she did not have a care in the world, her back to him, oblivious to the fact that he was watching her. Observing every movement of her body.

  The way the bracelet around her right wrist sparkled in the kitchen downlights. The way she had brushed back her shiny auburn hair so that it accentuated her long slender neck and creamy smooth skin. The back of her neck held a shower of golden freckles, like cinnamon on the cream of a cappuccino coffee. Just waiting to be licked off and savoured as a special treat.

  And where had she found that dress? The sleeveless bodice was in emerald-green covered with black lace which fitted around her upper body and narrowed at her slim waist before flaring out into a floaty black skirt made for dancing. A short skirt. A skirt which only a girl with amazingly long, toned legs and shapely ankles could hope to get away with.

  It was perfect for Daisy. She was perfect. Just looking at her filled him with such delight that his lips turned up into a smile. It had been worth the long drive in heavy traffic from his cottage to Cornwall just to see Daisy Flynn in a green and black dress jiggling along in a restaurant kitchen.

  This was an image he was going to keep with him for the long, lonely nights back on the island.

  Just as he was about to say something the kitchen door swung closed behind him, and Daisy half turned towards Max to see who had come in. He opened his mouth to say hello, good evening—something—anything—but he stalled, totally stunned by this lovely woman he could not drag his eyes away from.

  She was wearing a touch of simple make up which highlighted her green eyes and sensuously warm copper pink lips, but Daisy did not need it. Her light came from within. The joy inside her shone out as though there was a spotlight under her skin, infusing every cell with radiance and beauty.

  She looked stunning. Magical. And so very, very beautiful.

  This was not the Daisy he had met only a few days earlier at a food festival stall.

  This was the real Daisy, who hid herself underneath a chef’s coat and checked trousers. This was the beautiful, funny and talented woman who had somehow got under the barbed wire barrier he had built around his heart and planted herself neatly in the place marked love.

  The fact that he had not realised that until this moment hit him so hard that he could only stand there like an idiot and stare even harder at Daisy, who was now dancing her way towards him.

  Max stopped breathing. No. He could not be falling for her.

  Attracted, yes—of course he was attracted. Any man with a pulse would be attracted to a lovely woman like Daisy.

  Then she gave him a lop sided grin and the pathetic argument about having only met her a few days ago went up in flames and blew him a disbelieving raspberry. He had never expected to feel this way about another woman after Kate.

  The girl he had fallen for at first sight.

  It couldn’t happen twice … could it? He had never expected to fall for Kate and had fallen fast and deep. Now he was in grave danger of doing exactly the same thing again.

  And ruining Daisy’s life in the process.

  He was falling for her. Not a country baker’s daughter but a uniquely talented woman whom he had never, ever expected to meet in this world. Chocolate had brought them together—but he knew as she grinned back at his no doubt gormless expression that he was going to have to work hard to make sure chocolate kept them apart.

  Daisy’s dream was to open her own chocolate shop. He could help her to do that by being Max the cocoa-grower. Max the boyfriend and lover would only take her further away from that goal into a life of bitter disappointment and regret.

  He was not going to let that happen. Even if it meant burying his feelings deep inside him and holding them there. Out of sight. For her sake.

  But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t drag her out of the kitchen and help her enjoy herself for at least one evening before they went their separate ways.

  ‘You made it,’ she said, with just enough amazement in her voice for his poor brain to pick up that she might actually be pleased to see him. ‘And just in time.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, lovely lady,’ he teased, and peered over Daisy’s shoulder into the kitchen. ‘I am looking for one Daisy Flynn. Chef extraordinaire. Usually wearing black and white check trousers and a white top. Have you seen anyone like that around here? Because we’re on a tight schedule and I would hate to be late.’

  The muscle stopped twitching at the side of his mouth as she sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Apologies for being so late,’ he said. ‘I lost all track of the time.’ Then he paused, stepped back, and stared at her appraisingly. ‘You look lovely; you should definitely wear a dress more often—especially with those legs.’ And he waggled his eyebrows up and down several times.

  ‘Well, I do have a spare set of black and white trousers if you’d prefer me to cover them up? No?’ Daisy replied, covering up her blushes of embarrassment. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself, actually. That suit fits you perfectly and I suspect you know that. It must be hard, being so naturally tanned and handsome.’

  Max lifted his right hand and pressed it against his heart. ‘You think I’m handsome?’ he asked lightly. ‘In that case, madam, my evening is complete. Shall we join the others? Let the schmoozing begin?’

  ‘By all means,’ she replied, grabbing her bag. ‘Oh—how did your meeting go? Did you come away with an order?’

  ‘Might have. He’s gone away to think about it until after the competition tomorrow, but he could be a useful contact. Small order now and then building up as his chocolate business expands. We’ve arranged to meet tomorrow evening. After we’ve celebrated winning, of course. That has to come first.’

  ‘Oh, no pressure, then. Okay. Let’s do this.’ She took a long breath, then slowly exhaled. ‘Teamwork, remember? You smooth-talk the room while I listen and smile and talk about cooking to the other chefs. And I stay glued to your side the whole night. Teamwork. Deal?’

  ‘Deal. Get ready to have a great time. This is going to be quite a night.’

  Daisy smiled up into his face, and his poor heart jumped so much in a rush of exhilaration and something else far more fundamental that he thanked heaven the sensible part of his brain kicked in before he did something reckless—like slide his hands somewhere, which would not be a good idea in public.

  Then his heart opened and every bit of love and joy and affection he felt for this wonderful girl, who seemed totally unaware of just how talented and gorgeous she was, seemed to burst through in a bright bubble of happiness. He almost felt—no, he knew he felt happy. After so many years the feeling was almost overpowering.

  Forget the contest. Forget the plantation. Tonight was going to be simply about being with Daisy and sharing a magical evening together in this lovely place.

  He wanted her as much as he needed her.

  Tomorrow would take care of itself. Tonight he was going to live in the moment and enjoy the company of this stunning woman on his arm.

  ‘I have an idea. Let’s go and enjoy ourselves and forget about the contest for a while. We have food—looking good, guys,’ he said, tipping two fingers towards the head chef, who grunted back at him and got back to his plates. ‘They’ll probably force us to drink delicious chilled sparkling wine. It will be tough—but, hey, we’re professionals. I think we can cope.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure we can,’ she agreed.

  ‘I think it’s time to leave these chefs to their work.’ He gestured with his head towards the reception room, where the noise of the guests was growing louder by the second. ‘They’ll never get those meals out if you hang around in that dress.’

  And with that he turned to the door and pushed
out his right elbow for her to take. ‘Ready to face the music?’

  ‘And dance?’ she asked with a lilt in her voice as she hooked her hand through his arm.

  ‘Now, that would be pushing it. My feet? Your toes? Dodgy.’

  She glanced down at their feet and wiggled her toes inside her sandals. ‘Good point. I do have to dash from one side of a kitchen to the other for several hours tomorrow without blisters, bruising or broken bones. Maybe tomorrow evening?’

  ‘In that case …’ Max pushed open the kitchen door and a wall of music, chatter and loud laughter from way too many people crammed into one room hit them like a physical barrier.

  ‘On the other hand we could slip out of the kitchen door and make a run for it,’ she whimpered.

  ‘Not going to happen.’ He gazed into the room. ‘I can see three other cocoa-growers, and most of the organising committee. Let’s go and talk all things chocolate on the terrace. You know that you want to.’

  With a final wave to the chefs Daisy strolled past Max, who held open the door, and moved along the edge of the crowded room until she came to the long patio doors which led onto the terrace.

  And then she stopped dead, frozen to the spot.

  Because the man strolling in through those patio doors as though he owned the hotel was Pascal Barone.

  He was still as handsome as ever, and for just one fraction of a second her poor wounded heart expanded and threatened to overwhelm her.

  Until she heard Pascal’s condescending and arrogant voice.

  She had cared about this man once, but now he sounded so grating and so full of self-importance that the hard truth of who he was and how far she had come from being a green young girl on her first trip to Paris hit her—and hit her hard.

  Looking at Pascal now, for the first time in three years, she saw him through new eyes. Attractive, elegant, self-confident—and as slick as a slick thing from slick land.

  Just then Pascal half turned and looked at her—then looked at her again.