The Secret Ingredient Read online

  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.

  Her breath caught in her throat as he slowly and carefully lifted the fondant lace onto a sheet of baking parchment and then painstakingly placed the complete panel onto the sides of a round cake.

  She dared not make a sound in case it disturbed him as he lifted away the paper. It was like watching a great artist at work.

  ‘Behold one super-light sandwich cake. Four layers. Fresh lemon curd and pastry cream filling for the vanilla sponges at the top. My own special recipe Black Forest chocolate ganache for the two chocolate sponges on the bottom. Gold icing to cover. As ordered,’ he said and stood back to check that the fondant was not moving.

  ‘Lily prefers plain cake but Harry is a chocolate man,’ she whispered through a throat that was tingling with emotion. ‘It’s wonderful, Rob. I love what you’ve done with the gold fondant. That lace design is gorgeous.’

  Rob smiled back at her. ‘No problem. All I did was follow the order you had pinned to the clip rail and checked the burnt cakes to make sure that you were going for two flavours. Gold lace seemed about right for a golden wedding cake. How are you feeling?’

  Lottie took a few steps into the kitchen and sat down on the bar stool with her elbow on the bench.

  ‘You mean apart from inadequate? Much better. I cannot believe that I slept for four hours. That’s a first for me. But at least my headache has gone.’

  ‘If it is my mum’s cold you will be back to normal tomorrow. But in the meantime, take it easy. I’ve got this for you.’

  ‘Now you’re making me feel really guilty.’ Lottie groaned. ‘I have to do something to help.’

  He walked up and down a few steps, then nodded. ‘How about some gold ribbon around the pedestal? Think you can manage that? I want to finish the centrepiece before the fondant hardens up too much.’

  ‘Got it.’ She grinned and was about to slide off the stool when she blinked up at Rob, who was wiping away cornflour and icing sugar from what looked like an immaculate kitchen surface. ‘What centrepiece?’

  ‘Every wedding cake needs a centrepiece, doesn’t it? And I needed something to do while the cakes were cooling besides checking up on you.’

  ‘You checked up on me?’ Lottie blushed and self-consciously pulled the front edges of her pyjama top a little closer together.

  The reply was a completely over-the-top wink. ‘You snore beautifully. Has anyone ever told you that?’

  ‘Must be my cold,’ she replied and narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Unfair. I’m not exactly dressed for visitors.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. You look okay to me.’

  His voice was molten chocolate, which, combined with the heat going on behind those eyes, made Lottie squirm on her chair. It was the same look he had given her last night at the apartment.

  How did he do it? It was as if he had an internal dial behind his eyes that went from calm, cold appraisal to steaming-hot mentally undressing in two seconds flat. And, boy, was it effective.

  She was surprised that steam was not billowing out from the front of her jacket.

  ‘Um. Cake. Let’s focus on the cake. What are you doing for the...centrepiece? Oh, those are perfect.’

  Lottie slid her bottom off the stool and stepped up to Rob so that she could look at the contents of the platter he had taken out of the refrigerator. She inhaled a long, slow breath and her right arm draped around the top of his jeans so that she could lean in closer.

  Rob the master chef had shaped creamy gold-coloured fondant into three perfect calla lilies. The central stamen and stem were made from green crystallised angelica.

  ‘Lilies for Lily. Why didn’t I think of that?’ she breathed, then held still as he laid them in a spiral pattern on the top of the icing-sugar dusting that covered the top sponge.

  ‘One final touch. Crystallised vi
olets. Just makes the gold pop.’

  The two of them stood in silence for a second just staring at the cake with its golden crown before Lottie sniffed.

  ‘I knew that you were good, but I had no idea how good.’

  His reply was a low chuckle followed by a cheeky grin. ‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

  But what mattered more than the words was the way his arm wrapped around her shoulder, drawing her to him, and then slid down the sleeve of her jacket, sending delicious shivers of pleasure up her arm.

  He was overpowering. Too intense, too tempting.

  Stupid cold. It was making her all weepy and sentimental.

  He had made a cake that was far more nicely decorated than the one she had been planning. She had not asked him to do it. He simply had. Because he’d wanted to. Because he was caring and compassionate and right at that moment it was all a bit too much.

  She was going to have to work extra hard to keep focused on why a fling with Rob would be a terrible idea.

  The barriers between them had not gone away. Far from it. They were staring her in the face every time she looked at him.

  She could do this. She could freeze him out to protect herself. She just had to.

  Lottie made a dramatic gesture of checking her watch, and then slowly stepped out of the arc of his arms. ‘Help! We’re going to miss the tea party unless I get dressed in the next five minutes. And after all that work, you’re definitely coming with me.’

  Then, without thinking or hesitating, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips for a fraction of a second against the side of his cheek.

  ‘Thank you for making such a beautiful cake. Lily is going to love it.’

  Rob watched her shuffle back to the stairs in stunned silence, amazed by what she had just done. ‘You’re welcome. Any time at all.’

  TEN