Praise for Nina Harrington

‘I look forward to reading this author’s next release …

and her next … and her next. It truly is a stunning debut,

with characters that will remain in your thoughts

long after you have closed the book.’

—pinkheartsocietyreviews.blogspot.com on

Always the Bridesmaid

‘Rich with emotion,

and pairing two truly special characters,

this beautiful story is simply unforgettable. A keeper.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Hired: Sassy Assistant

‘A well-constructed plot and a scrumptious,

larger-than-life hero combined with generous amounts

of humour and pathos make for an excellent read.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds

About the Author

NINA HARRINGTON grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories which make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.

Also by Nina Harrington

The Boy is Back in Town

Her Moment in the Spotlight

The Last Summer of Being Single

Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds

Hired: Sassy Assistant

Always the Bridesmaid

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

When Chocolate is Not Enough…

Nina Harrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CHAPTER ONE

MAKE your hen party extra special with our Luxury Chocolate Man Parts!

Max Treveleyn stopped in his tracks and stared in astonishment at the espresso and cream-coloured banner splashed across the top of the food stall promoting ‘Tara’s Tantalising Party Treats’.

This was central London, and party catering was big business. But ‘man parts’? It was the last thing he had expected to see at a classy organic food festival.

Max peered over the heads of the ladies who were clustered around the stall, jostling for a position in line to try the samples before making their selections. He didn’t want to think about what they would do with them when they got home—but this stall was certainly doing brisk business for a Monday lunchtime.

He glanced swiftly at the digital clock on the wall above the entrance to the underground station. He had twenty minutes at most to find the art gallery where he had arranged to meet his ex-wife Kate for lunch—but he could spare a few of those minutes to find out just how far organic chocolate had come since his last visit to London.

It was only as he got closer that Max realised that a short, bubbly blonde girl was running the stall, completely concealed behind the crush of customers who were waving cash and pointing furiously at the trays of remarkably life-size and anatomically correct shapes.

The blonde was wearing a T-shirt with the words ‘Tara’s Treats’ across the front. In another place, with a different audience, those words might be misconstrued—especially since the T-shirt was rather on the small side for a girl with a substantial bosom.

Perhaps this was the famous Tara herself?

The party treats seemed to be going down extremely well, and it took Max a few minutes to shuffle forward and find a gap in the queue. If only the organic chocolate he made was as popular as this he would never have to worry again about the future of his cocoa plantation back in St Lucia. But, then again, perhaps moulded chocolate man parts were not exactly the premium outlet he needed to bring in extra income.

The blonde looked up at him, blinked twice, then grinned. ‘Hello, handsome. Looking for something for your stag party? I have just the thing.’ She reached over the counter and pulled out a tray of milk chocolate shapes which literally took Max’s breath away. ‘It’s your lucky day—we have a special offer on all body parts. How many would you like?’

He coughed politely before shaking his head. ‘Um … Thank you, but I don’t need any milk chocolate toes today—although I am sure they are quite delicious,’ he said, when he finally managed to get some air into his lungs. ‘But would you mind if I took some photographs of your stall? It certainly is … er … different.’

She glared at him open-mouthed for a second, before throwing her head back and laughing out loud with a laugh that echoed around the London street where the festival was being held. It was the kind of laugh that meant that she had to snort in a breath halfway through.

‘Daisy! One of our gentleman browsers wants to photograph your chocs. Are you okay with that?’

Max looked over the blonde’s shoulder towards a tall brunette wearing chef’s trousers and a white jacket, who was rummaging around inside large plastic food boxes. As the brunette flicked a glance towards Max her eyes smiled at the same time as her mouth, crinkling the sides of her cheeks into a rosy glow, so that when she spoke her face was animated and full of laughter and fun.

‘Only if he buys something. Here.’ She whisked around and presented him with a box of flesh-coloured chocolate half domes made into bosoms, with a circle of caramel icing in the centre. A dark chocolate cocoa bean added the final realistic touch. ‘I also have them in a mocha choc blend, if you would prefer that,’ she added. ‘Or perhaps the lovely Tara can tempt you with some of each? All organic chocolate, of course, and hand-made by the person you are looking at.’

The brunette waved the box under Max’s nose, and without intending to he half closed his eyes and inhaled the wonderful aroma of fine chocolate and soft fruit. His nose came a lot closer than he had planned to one of the chocolate cocoa beans, and he physically recoiled the instant he opened his eyes and focused on what was in front of him.

‘Wow. That chocolate smells amazing. And is that a touch of raspberry?’ he asked.

‘Fresh organic raspberry coulis and vanilla extract.’ She nodded. ‘But tell me now if you want some, because all my boobs are selling out fast ahead of the stag and hen party season. June is such a wonderful month to get married, don’t you think?’

A visual flash of memory hit Max hard. Sparkling champagne, kilts and plaid, and Scottish dancing in the tiny frigid village hall chosen by Kate’s parents for their wedding. Their June wedding had turned out to be cold, wet and windy, but he had not felt it for a moment. They had both been so young and idealistic, with crazy dreams of their new life in St Lucia.

Shame that the hard reality of that life had burst their bubble only too quickly.

A bustle of ladies looking for unique party treats jostled him gently, and as he turned to acknowledge their apologies he realised that the brunette was still waiting for him to give her an answer.

‘Hello? Are you still with me?’ she asked with a smile. ‘You seemed to be in a world of your own for a moment there.’

‘You reminded me about my own wedding. And you were quite right. June can be a great month to get married.’ He swallowed down a moment of angst, then looked up at her with a twisted grin and a wink. ‘Thank you for that.’

‘All part of the service. And … er …’ she gestured with her head towards the tray of chocolate shapes ‘… how many would you like? A pair is usual, three is a bit kinky, and four would be greedy. But, hey, go for it.’

He looked up at her—and then really looked. She had stepped into the sunshine, and now he could see that her hair was not brown but a deep russet-red colour, and just long enough to flick out at the neck of her heart-shaped face. A pair of wide green eyes smiled back at him, and under his gaze her mouth lifted to create a triangle of creases from her small chin to her rosy cheeks. Somehow he felt able to put aside that lingering sense of failure and regret at the breakdown of his marriage and enjoy the moment.

‘I’m sure your—your boobs are very nice,’ Max stuttered, creating a titter from the other customers. ‘I mean the chocolate boobs, of course. But I only enjoy organic dark chocolate. The darker the better.’

Her face dropped, and he instantly felt guilty about wasting her time when he truly did not want to buy anything. ‘Although there is something you might be able to help me with.’

‘Really?’ she asked, her eyebrows high. ‘I find that hard to believe, considering that not even my special boobs can tempt you.’

When she smiled one side of her mouth lifted higher than the other, and he noticed that the end of her fair-skinned nose was peeling a little, with a scattering of freckles.

Red hair, green eyes and freckles.

Oh, no. Killer.

His heart started beating just a little faster—but enough for him to look away and pretend to glance over the banners on the stall. He was obviously a lot more tired than he’d thought he was if a young woman’s smile could turn on the switches he had firmly locked into the closed position.

No more girlfriends. He had already sacrificed one marriage to his obsession with growing cocoa and had no intention of going there again.

He quickly coughed, to cover up his embarrassment, before answering her question. ‘Do you have something for a children’s birthday party? My daughter will be eight next week.’

‘Ah, a family man,’ she replied in a softer voice, and her shoulders relaxed. ‘Why didn’t you say so? We sold out of most of our children’s treats earlier this morning, but let me just check to see if we have any animal shapes left.’ She dived back into the plastic boxes, probably not aware that her chef’s trousers stretched a little too tightly over a very pert rear end as she bent over.

‘Teddy bears or bunny rabbits?’ she replied in a singsong voice as she rummaged. ‘White or milk chocolate? Oh—and a few very special dark chocolate-dipped raisins. Except we call them rabbit droppings. Kids love that.’ She grinned. ‘I would recommend the rabbits.’

Pulling out a flat tray, she stepped towards Max and he peered inside. Beautifully formed milk chocolate bite-size rabbits with pink-tinted white chocolate ears stared back at him.

‘Those look terrific,’ he said. ‘I’ll take them all—and a bag of the raisins. Do you mind if I try one? Denise …?’

‘Be my guest—and it’s Daisy, not Denise,’ she answered, and presented him with a small tray of the chocolate raisins. ‘Tara and I love catering for children’s parties. They are so much fun.’ Daisy winked. ‘It would make a wonderful birthday present. That little girl will be the envy of all of her friends.’

Max was just about to open his mouth to tell her that he owned a cocoa plantation in St Lucia, so Freya’s friends already thought that she had a mountain of chocolate bars stashed in her bedroom cupboard, when Daisy picked up a dark chocolate-covered raisin and without hesitating or asking for permission popped it into his mouth.

Her fingers slid against his lips, and for a fraction of a second Max felt a real connection which was so elemental and raw that he covered up his discomfort by focusing on the food.

Organic chocolate. It had a lot to answer for. But it had been so long …

‘What do you think?’ she asked, completely unaware that she was responsible for the hot discomfort inside his chest. ‘For adult parties I soak the fruit in alcohol, to offset the sweetness, but this rabbit poo is apple juice flavour. It seems to work.’

Max chewed the raisin for a few seconds, then swallowed. ‘Wow!’ He blinked and tried to hide a grimace. ‘I have to admit I’m more used to bitter chocolate, so that amount of sugar comes as a shock. And I’m trying to persuade my daughter not to eat so many sweet foods, so you will excuse me if I only take a few of the raisins.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for a troop of eight-year-olds high on sugar and additives.’

There was a hiss from Tara as she whizzed past with an empty tray.

‘Whoops. Dangerous ground. You just said the A word. Be prepared to duck.’

Max turned back to Daisy, who was breathing rather heavily, her head on one side, eyes narrowed. Her voice had a definite frosty tone to it when she replied. ‘First of all, the only additives I use in my chocolate are organic fruits and sugars. And secondly all raisins are sweet. That’s their job. And children adore them. I tried using plain chocolate on its own and they were left on the plate every time.’

‘That’s a pity,’ he replied, and lifted up another covered raisin and held it under his nose. ‘I can’t even smell subtle flavours in the chocolate. Perhaps you could try a less bitter cocoa bean? That way you could cut down on the sugar but still have the cocoa flavour. A single estate variety would work really well.’

The brunette’s mouth dropped open for a second, before she lifted her chin and crossed her arms.

‘Oh, really? Do go on,’ Daisy replied in a faux-sweet voice. ‘I’m quite fascinated to hear how I can improve the recipe for a chocolate coating I have just spent the last six months working on. I can hardly wait to hear what other little gems of advice you might have for me.’

Max cleared his throat. He had said the wrong thing again—but he liked a challenge. Time to throw the ball back and see how high it bounced. ‘I’m just saying that it might not be the best choice for coating dried fruit. And this is a fine-quality organic chocolate, isn’t it?’

Daisy did not have to answer, because at that moment Tara laughed out loud as she served a young man in a slick business suit with four of the boobs Max had just been sniffing. ‘It certainly is,’ she said. ‘And it costs me an absolute fortune every week. But Daisy insists that our Belgian chocolate has to be the best. Your money won’t be wasted.’ Tara pointed at Daisy with her tongs. ‘And you, young lady, have an appointment somewhere else. Go—scoot. I’ll take care of your gentleman friend here. And thanks again for helping me out.’

Daisy glanced at her watch and gasped. ‘If that’s the real time, I am toast.’ She popped an extra raisin into the tray of rabbits and pushed it towards Max. ‘I hope that your daughter has a lovely birthday party. Even with all of that sweet mystery chocolate which is sure to rot her teeth. Bye.’ And with one swift movement she untied her apron, waved to him with the hand that was not occupied in swooping up her bag, and was out through the back of the stall before Max could reply.

He had barely regained his senses when he looked around to find the blonde standing in front of him, with her tongs raised in one gloved hand like a surgeon preparing to operate.

‘Hello again. My name’s Tara. What other tantalising treats can I tempt you with today?’

Max sauntered down the sunlit London pavement, swinging his Tara’s Treats carrier bag in one hand and his luggage over one shoulder. He was going to be late for his lunch date with Kate, but it had been worth it to meet the lovely Daisy and Tara.

Things had certainly changed in the artisan chocolate world if those two ladies were typical examples. Most of the chocolatiers he knew were professional older men, running chains of chocolate shops, or buyers from large-scale manufacturers of famous brands of chocolate being sold around the world in their millions. Not a moulded bosom in sight. More was the pity. But those girls had the right idea. Chocolate was a pleasure to be enjoyed—it should be fun! He was going to enjoy sharing these rabbits with Kate and Freya.

Max caught his reflection in the plate glass window of a designer clothing shop and winced. He ran a rough hand across his chin. Not his best look. He had barely slept these last few days, bringing in the cocoa harvest and collapsing into bed out of physical exhaustion only when it became too dark to work safely.

Perhaps he should have taken the time to wash and shave at the airport after his red eye flight before catching the tube into London? Kate might forgive him for not having the kind of haircut and dress sense of her new boyfriend, who was a big City banker, but she would mind if he turned up at a smart art gallery and restaurant looking scruffy and dishevelled. He owed her a lot more than that. Especially when she had specifically asked him if they could talk over lunch before he picked their daughter up from school.

A broad grin flashed across Max’s face, wiping away his feelings of anxiety and concern.

He might have been an idiot in some ways, but he had done something amazing when he’d married Kate and they’d brought a ray of sunshine like Freya Treveleyn into the world. Almost eight years old, bright as a button, and so very, very precious. Some mornings, when it was lashing down with tropical rain, the cocoa beans were going rotten and he was struggling to pay his workers’ wages, just the sight of that little girl’s photograph on his bedside table was enough to get him back to work.

Freya was why he fought and fought to make his organic cocoa plantation a success. She was his inspiration, his motivation, and the reason he stuck it out. Even if it meant that he had to leave her with her mother in London for most of the year.

A cluster of tourists blocked his way and Max dodged onto the road for a few seconds, watching out for the madcap cyclists, London buses and black cabs as he did so.

He had never been comfortable in this fabulous city, with its never-ending stream of action and life, the noise and bustle of people and traffic. His home was the Caribbean forest plantation house where he had grown up. The only real noise pollution there came from the flocks of wild brightly coloured parrots which descended on the treetops to squawk at the workers when they disturbed their calm life. Now he tried to block out the cacophony of noise from the traffic and the crush of people which seemed to deafen him, and was grateful when he spotted the entrance to the central London art gallery.

Minutes later Max hoisted his bag higher onto his shoulder and looked around the crowded restaurant until he spotted the woman he had once called his wife, perched on the edge of a dining chair at the best table in the restaurant.

Catherine Ormandy Treveleyn was wearing a caramel-coloured linen shift dress, gold sandals and gold jewellery. Her long straight blonde hair fell in a waterfall over her shoulders. She was elegant. Sophisticated.

But to him she would always be the backpacking university student who had sauntered onto the plantation on her way to meet up with her friends on the beach. She had lost her way. And he had lost his head and his heart the same day.

This was the woman who’d had dreams of running an eco-cocoa plantation in the West Indies under the Caribbean sun.

Until it had all gone wrong.

Until she had decided that her future was in London, and that he could either come with her or stay in St Lucia with his one true love. The plantation. She’d used to call it the mistress she could not compete against—and she was right. He had sacrificed his family for that estate.

All the more reason for him to make sure that the estate did not fail.

Kate looked up from her glass of wine just as he stepped forward. She glanced at her watch with a smile and a gentle shake of her head as he bent to kiss her cheek.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, gorgeous.’ Max smiled. ‘You are looking as lovely as ever. My feeble excuse is the organic food festival in the street outside the tube station. Can you forgive me? I picked up something for Freya on the way.’

Kate kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘Time-keeping has never been your strength. I can see that you’re still not wearing that watch I gave you for Christmas.’

Max shrugged. ‘Watches and clocks are for other people. You should know that.’ He gave her a sly wink as he sat down. ‘How is our little girl today?’

Her reply was a gentle nod of the head and a wide grin. ‘She’s on fine form. And very much looking forward to seeing you. Do you still plan to pick her up from school?’

She passed him the bread basket and he inhaled the delicious aroma of freshly baked rosemary focaccia with a sigh. He nodded absentmindedly and peered at the food on the table, suddenly famished. ‘Absolutely. This looks good.’

‘The food here is terrific, and I took the liberty of ordering your favourite lasagne al forno. One of the few treats that’s hard to find on your tropical paradise.’

‘You know me too well,’ Max replied, and passed her the paper bag that Tara had given him. ‘In that case I trade one lasagne for a bag of chocolate rabbits. Can I add these to the birthday feast next week? I know that you can buy organic chocolates anywhere in London these days, but the stall was run by two pretty girls and the bunnies look almost good enough for our daughter to eat.’

Kate peered into the bag, then stared at him across the table. ‘You? Buying chocolate? Well, this is new. The very thought of a supermarket chocolate bar sends you into a tizzy. They must be good—either that or the girls were particularly pretty. And please don’t growl at me like that.’ She reached out and lifted a curl of hair from his collar. ‘Even with hair that long, some girl might give you a second look.’

Max snorted a dismissive reply. ‘One special lady is more than enough in my life right now. Do you remember that special birthday present she wanted?’

When his ex-wife raised a querying eyebrow, Max patted his rucksack on the floor. ‘I finished carving a pair of jungle parrots last week. They are just like the ones she liked in the photo I sent her. I hope she likes them.’

‘Of course she will. But don’t be too disappointed if she prefers the new games console that Anton has bought her. She’s nearly eight years old, Max. Her life revolves around computer games, schoolwork and her friends. St Lucia is just a place on the map where her dad goes for weeks or months at a time. I’m sorry if that sounds hard, but I don’t want you to think that she is ungrateful,’ Kate said gently.

‘Even more reason why I should take Freya to spend the summer holidays with me on the island. She’s old enough now to watch out for danger, and the other kids on the farm would show her how much fun it can be.’

Kate sat back and sipped her chilled white wine. ‘We’ve been through this before, Max. July and August are your peak harvest times. I know that you’ll do everything you can to keep Freya safe, but you would be too busy to be with her every second of the day, and the island is a dangerous place for a city child.’

‘You’re right,’ Max replied, his arms stretched out across the table. ‘We do cut the cocoa during the summer. But nothing is more important to me than our little girl. And if I do get called out, the ladies on the plantation have been begging me to bring Freya to visit. I could have a swat team of expert grandmothers on standby, ready and willing to step in at a moment’s notice. Serious cossetting and overfeeding would be involved. She’d be totally spoiled!’

‘Well,’ Kate acknowledged, ‘that is one option. But, speaking of the summer holidays, I did ask you here so that we could talk without Freya in the room, because there is something I need to share with you.’

She paused, and Max noticed that a vein in her temple was throbbing in tune with the rate of her breathing. A clear sign that she was anxious about what she was about to say. Interesting.

‘Come on, Kate. What do you want to tell me? Get it over with.’

Her shoulders seemed to relax for a few seconds, and she made eye contact before speaking again. ‘Anton has asked me to marry him, and I have said yes. We’re choosing the ring next week, and I would like to tell Freya on her birthday as a sort of a surprise present. But I wanted you to be the first to know.’

Married!

It was as though someone had tipped an ice bucket of chilled water over his head.

He had always known that this was possible. They were both single now, and she was a lovely woman who enjoyed her social circle in London. But dating a French banker was a lot different from becoming engaged to one.

He was happy for her—happy that she had found someone who loved her and she could love in return—but he had not expected to have to face the reality of that possibility so soon.

It was as though the thin line which still connected them as friends who had become lovers, then friends again, suddenly seemed to stretch thinner and thinner, until it was almost at breaking point.

They had worked hard and talked through the night so many times to keep their friendship alive for the sake of their daughter. Suddenly it felt as though he was losing control.

And there was not one thing that he could do to change it.

She was looking at him now, her upper teeth taking the edge from her perfect lipstick. Expecting some response. He had to say something. Anything.

The air between them positively crackled with tension.

Flicking back his hair, Max dropped his head and laughed out loud.

‘Married? No! Wow—that’s wonderful. Congratulations, Kate. I am happy for you. Anton is a very lucky man. Can I be your manly maid of honour?’

Until that moment he had not even noticed that Kate had been holding her breath, but her gentle giggle told him everything that he needed to know. She had been nervous about telling him. Nervous that she might upset him. Knowing that it would upset him—which was so crazy that it made his head spin. Their marriage had broken up because of his obsession—his failure, his neglect. She deserved a chance at happiness.

‘No. You cannot be my maid of honour, but thank you for your understanding, Max. This is an awkward situation, isn’t it? It’s only been three years since we split up, and here I am getting married again.’

Instantly he stretched out his hand and gave her fingers a quick squeeze, before drawing back and replying with a smile. ‘It’s okay, Kate. Really. I’m genuinely happy for you. The last few years have been tough on you, and I haven’t been around much to help. You deserve to be happy. Anton seems like a steady bloke, and he would be an idiot not to be crazy about you. Good luck to you both.’

He raised his water glass in a toast, just for something to do with his hands, while his head caught up with the implications.

‘So when is the wedding? Are you planning a spectacular event or something small and cosy?’

‘A huge extravaganza, of course! Anton’s family have offered us the use of their château in Provence, and are paying for everything as their wedding gift. You should see the house, Max—it is totally stunning and the perfect setting for a wedding. It’s really going to be magical.’

‘A château?’ He coughed and spluttered. ‘Well, that will be quite a change from your first wedding. That old hall was freezing.’

‘I know!’ She laughed, then ran a hand through her hair nervously. ‘As for the timing …? That is my next piece of news. I know I’m about to suggest something which will probably upset you, because—well, we are planning to have the wedding next spring, and I would like Freya to spend the whole summer with us at the château in France this year.’

Max put down his glass and took a breath, counted to five before answering. ‘I thought we agreed at Christmas that Freya would spend all of the summer holidays with me at the cottage, since you refuse to let me take her to the island? That way you can have some personal time with Anton.’

‘Yes, we did. But that’s all changed now, Max. Anton’s family only meet once a year at the château, to spend the summer together, and I know they can’t wait to meet her.’

Kate was beaming across at him with such delight that the warmth in her voice went some way to melting the ice that had started to form around his heart.

‘You need not worry about her being on her own at the château. Anton has lots of young nieces and nephews for her to play with, and she will be totally spoiled. This is the first chance she will have to meet all of Anton’s family. Her new family. She’ll love it,’ Kate said.

Max sighed out loud and fought to keep a caustic mixture of anger, loss and disappointment out of his voice. ‘Well, that ties it. How could she possibly choose between a French château, being spoilt rotten with a whole new family, and roughing it in my nana’s ramshackle old cottage in the middle of nowhere, with only her old dad to entertain her? The fact that I have been planning this holiday since Christmas doesn’t really feature, does it? Even if it means that I won’t have any time with her before she goes back to school in September.’

Kate looked sympathetic but determined. ‘I know this is hard on you, but having Freya with us this summer will make her feel part of the plans for the wedding. Part of the changes in our life, I suppose.’

Max tapped his fingertips on the table before giving in with good grace. ‘I don’t like this, Kate, but I suppose it isn’t about what I want any longer, but what is best for Freya. And then what happens? Are you planning to stay in the London house after you marry?’

She nodded. ‘Anton has a great job here in the City. There’s plenty of room, and Freya wouldn’t be moving away from her school and her friends. I think that this is going to work, Max. I really do.’

Max rearranged the cutlery on the table as he formed his next question, his eyes focused on the perfect alignment of the knife and fork set. ‘I trust your judgement, Katie—I always have. I know that you wouldn’t make Anton part of Freya’s life unless you were sure that he was going to be a positive influence. But what about me? Where do I fit in?’

A lump formed in his throat as he asked the question he most dreaded hearing the answer to.

‘How soon do you think it will be before my daughter starts calling Anton Dad?’

Kate grasped his fingers, forcing him to lift his head, then lowered her face and looked up into his eyes.

‘Anton knows that you are part of our lives. He is very fond of Freya—yes, she will be sharing her home with him, and seeing him every day, but she knows who her father is. I’ll make sure that she never gets confused about that.’

He nodded, not trusting his own voice at that moment. ‘Thanks, but I think that we should both be there when you tell Freya about the wedding. Help her to understand that I am not going to walk out on her, or pass her over to Anton like some unwanted gift. I am still her dad and I will always love her. That doesn’t go away.’

He’d tried to keep the pain out of his voice, but Kate looked at him in concern. ‘She knows that. We raised a very clever little girl. This is about what is best for our daughter. But shall we talk about that later? Let’s enjoy our meal. I hear that they have a wonderful new chocolate chef …’

The stunning aroma of bubbling grilled cheese and meaty pasta sauce saved his day as the waiter presented their food, blocking his view of the woman who had paid the price for his obsession with a cocoa farm.

The woman who was about to present their daughter with a new live-in stepfather.

She smiled at him across the table. ‘Now. Tell me all about this conference on organic cocoa that you are whizzing off to at the end of the week. Cornwall, isn’t it? It sounds so exciting. I want to know everything!’

CHAPTER TWO

DAISY FLYNN squeezed into the cramped office at the side of the restaurant kitchen and collapsed down on a tiny metal stool. She had made it with only minutes to spare, after a mad dash back to her kitchen to pick up an emergency supply of chocolate desserts for the restaurant. The head chef at the restaurant in one of London’s premier art galleries had become one of her best customers, so this was one delivery that she was happy to make in person.

Marco had given her the chance to produce a range of artisan chocolates and desserts that she had only dreamt of in her father’s bakery all those years ago. And every one of them was perfect practice for the only thing she had truly ever wanted. The one thing she had slaved and practised and experimented for day after day, week after week, month after month. Year after year—and it had been years since Paris.

Her very own chocolate shop, serving droolicious artisan chocolates made from the finest organic chocolate to her secret and unique recipes and designs. Her shop was going to be every girl’s fantasy of chocolate heaven.

That was her dream. And she was almost there!

She had the recipes. She had ideas for the shop and what its tantalising interior would look like. She could even imagine what it would smell like, with all the chocolates on display.

It would be amazing.

All she needed now was a great reliable source of organic fine cocoa and she would be ready to walk into the bank with a business plan that would knock their socks off. Plus a few samples of the actual goods if the discussions got tricky.

It was going to happen—because she was going to make it happen.

She would finally be able to show the world what a baker’s daughter from a small country town could do, given the chance—just as her dad had predicted she would. On her own. She didn’t need some famous-name chocolatier taking the credit—not again.

It was so sad that her father hadn’t lived long enough to see her achieve her dream. Even if it did mean that today she’d had to jog most of the way through the streets of London with her precious cargo of desserts. She was tired, hot, out of breath and moist in places she would rather not be moist—but close enough to her goal to put a smile on her face.

In fact Daisy was still catching her breath when Marco waltzed in, wiping his hands on the towel tucked into the waistband of his apron and then reaching across the desk to shake Daisy’s hand.

‘Thanks for coming at such short notice, Daisy. It has been mad out there today, and we are fully booked with coach parties of tourists every lunch and dinner service for the next two weeks.’ Marco raised his right hand. ‘I’m not complaining. Far from it. But it leaves me with a problem. A big one.’ And he pointed straight at Daisy. ‘Namely you, young lady.’

Daisy swallowed down her anxiety, but leant forward to reply. ‘Me? Is there a problem with your order? I checked it through with the sous chef when I delivered the dessert trays. I’m sorry if …’

Marco waved his fingers at her and sat back in his chair. ‘No, no. There is no problem with your food at all. In fact it is just the opposite. I knew when I tasted your work that the chocolate dessert range would be popular with the ladies who lunch, but I had no clue just how many portions we would serve. You’ve seen the orders double these past few weeks, and we actually ran out of that flourless melting middle cake last night. Our guests were not happy. And that brings me to why I’ve asked you to hang around for a few minutes.’

He leant his elbows on top of a pile of papers on the desk and formed a tent with his clever long fingers. ‘I have a proposition for you. Right now I order your chocolate from Tara’s company, and that was okay for the occasional one off event. But that was before I found out just how good you really were. We look after four art galleries in this city, and the bottom line is we need a professional chocolatier like yourself heading up our patisserie section.’

The breath froze in Daisy’s lungs as she tried to come up with a suitable reply, but she was too stunned to do more than stare.

‘Oh, I know,’ Marco said, flicking away her silent protestations. ‘You want to open a chocolate shop with your name over the door. You made that clear the first day you walked into my kitchen—and there is nothing wrong with that. Call it Flynn’s Fancies, or whatever. But think about this.’

His long arms pressed hard against the papers on the desk and Marco’s intense dark brown eyes seemed to burn a hole in Daisy’s forehead.

‘What if we put your name on the menu and make this a full-time job, with your own kitchen area and a sous chef to help you? You could reach hundreds of diners every day and have the flexibility to experiment with new ideas. Buy the chocolate you want. Best of ingredients. Best of everything. The job is yours if you want it.’ Then he gave a short shrug and grinned. ‘You can breathe again now.’

Daisy realised that she had been holding her breath the whole time the head chef had been talking, and grasped hold of the desk as she sucked in enough air to help clear her dizzy head.

‘Wow. Thank you. I certainly wasn’t expecting an offer like this. I am flattered—I really am—but as I said before my heart is still set on opening my own artisan chocolate shop. The restaurant work is brilliant, and we really are grateful for it, but if I did come here it would only be for a short time, and Tara would lose the business after I left. I’m not sure that it’s fair to either of us. Does that make sense?’

Marco sniffed once before replying, ‘How close are you to opening your own shop?’

Daisy pushed her hands flat under her bottom to stop herself from bouncing with excitement. ‘So close I can feel it. The real problem is that I want to make my own chocolate. I mean—from scratch. Right now I am buying commercial blends and they are good—very good—but they’re not there yet. It could take years to achieve that perfect blend. Or it could be months. I simply don’t know.’

Marco’s reply was to fling open his arms wide as he rocked back in his chair. ‘Then come and work for us. We can buy in bulk, get good deals from specialist suppliers, and I can guarantee you some room to experiment.’ He waved his right hand in the air with a casual twist. ‘Think of our diners as your product testers. We win—you win. And we can still use Tara for other things. It could work very well.’

He paused and pursed his lips before shrugging.

‘It makes sense for us to find a wonderful dessert chef to look after all of our catering operations, and I would like it to be you. But if you decide not to take up my offer there is a long list of other chefs who would like to show us what they can do—and some of them have worked with chocolate before. They could come up with some interesting recipes.’

‘But not the same as mine.’ Daisy smiled, her ego marginally more inflated than normal.

‘Perhaps not. But still fantastic. And then, of course, we would not need to use outside supplies. Perhaps you should talk this over with Tara? She might have an opinion about that.’

‘Oh. Yes. Tara. Of course.’ Daisy’s heart sank. ‘How long …? When do you need to hear back from me?’

‘I was hoping you would call me in the next few weeks.’ Marco smiled persuasively. ‘It can be fun working here. We have great customers who love their food. Let me help you to make up your mind. We only have a few lunch guests left, but some have ordered your chocolate and almond cake. How would you like to go out into the restaurant and hear what they have to say about your work? You might find that interesting.’

Daisy blinked, and swallowed down a lump of panic before squeaking out, ‘Do you mean right now? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.’

Except Marco had already made the decision, and was on his feet rooting though a pile of chef’s jackets hanging up behind the office door. ‘This is your chance to hear what the customers think about your work face to face. Here you go. This one should fit nicely. Ready?’

Before Daisy could change her mind she’d exchanged jackets and followed one of London’s most highly respected chefs out into the kitchen. Peering out over the serving hatch, she could see a few tables were still occupied.

Marco wiggled his fingers towards a table on the left. ‘Go and have a chat. You never know—the restaurant trade might be perfect for you after all.’

‘That table?’ Daisy stepped forward nervously and peered across the room towards a charming young couple who were obviously having a long, romantic lunch together.

The man’s back was to her, but the woman was dressed so elegantly that Daisy automatically ran her hands down the front of her clothing and checked that her uniform was clean and tidy. She knew the sort. This girl looked as though she had been born with perfect poise and style and did not have to try very hard to be stunning in any situation. In other words exactly the sort of girl who, quite innocently, always made her feel totally clumsy, tongue-tied and inadequate—like a country bumpkin out for a spree in the city, who did not truly belong there.

Then the man turned slightly and she took a closer look. There was no mistaking the shaggy, long dark blond hair, and the heavy stubble that spread above those bow lips, across a square chin and almost to the end of his prominent cheekbones.

It was the man from the food stall who had bought the chocolate rabbits. His black jacket was hanging over the back of his chair, and he was wearing a fitted black cotton long-sleeved shirt which had seen better and cleaner days. On any other man it would have looked scruffy and washed out, and hardly suitable for a lovely restaurant lunch. But drat if it did not suit his broad shoulders as he stretched forward. How irritating was that?

His hair looked as though he had just woken up and raked it through with his fingers, but for some reason the tousled look fitted him perfectly.

She gulped down something close to apprehension. Um. She had a fair idea of exactly what his response would be if she marched up and asked him what he thought about the chocolate dessert.

‘Forget that couple,’ the chef whispered in her ear, and Daisy breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘They are still waiting for dessert service. But those two ladies over there are just paying the bill. Perfect. Try them first, before looping back. Have fun! ’

Max had gone through a huge portion of lasagne, two servings of delicious warm bread, and had just inhaled a platter of cheese and biscuits when the waiter placed a dark circle of aromatic dense chocolate loveliness in front of Kate, then stepped around with his portion.

Max could already smell the chocolate, and instantly pushed his cheese plate to one side, ready for his dessert.

Kate responded with a small laugh. ‘I know that you are dying to tell me everything about this chocolate, so I’m going to simply sit here and drink my coffee while you enjoy yourself. Feel free to dig in any time you like. You do know that I shall insist that the chefs use Treveleyn Estate chocolate for my wedding reception, don’t you?’

Max chuckled. ‘Of course. You can consider it my wedding present to you both. So, what do we have here?’

He lifted the plate so that he could inhale the fragrance of the chocolate base, trying to ignore the sideways glances from the waiting staff and other diners, then cut straight across the middle of the circular cake, separated the two halves and tried smelling it again.

Oh, wow, that was good. Seriously good. A chocolate and almond liqueur was laced through the mixture, but it was not too powerful to conceal the wonderful spicy and deep aroma of the chocolate.

Only then did he scoop up a generous bite-sized portion and wrap his mouth around the cake, before sliding the spoon away to leave … a small miracle. The smooth, smooth chocolate melted on his tongue, releasing more and more layers of flavour. Not too sweet, and certainly not sickly, the cocoa butter had been blended with cream, finely ground nuts and butter to create the closest thing to a praline chocolate centre he had ever eaten. It was superb.

The chef who had made this knew how to blend cocoa beans from different varieties to create a perfectly aromatic but smooth flavour—intense but enjoyable. Stunning.

Max immediately took a larger spoonful, then another, and savoured every morsel before looking up at his bemused former wife, who had barely taken a single spoonful.

‘Now, that was seriously good.’

‘Thought you’d like it. But I have to watch my weight—so, please, finish off mine as well. You know you want to.’

‘Pass it over! This is superb. In fact,’ he mumbled through tiny scrapings of cake, trying to make it last and prolong the pleasure, ‘this is so good it has given me an idea for the conference at the weekend. Kate, would you mind if I left you to your coffee for ten minutes? I need to track down the dessert chef who made this.’

‘Well, now’s your chance.’ Kate nodded over his shoulder. ‘She’s on her way over to speak to us.’

Max whipped around in his chair, and was halfway to a standing position when he lifted his chin and found himself staring at the white-coated chest of a girl he recognised only too well from the organic chocolate stall. She was wearing the gallery’s restaurant jacket now, but there was no mistaking that hair and those stunning eyes.

‘Daisy? What are you doing here?’

The startled look on her face as she took a step backwards was not perhaps the best reaction he could have hoped for, but it did give him a few seconds to connect his mouth and his brain.

‘Sorry, you startled me. I had no idea that you worked here as well.’ He tried to recover with a grin.

‘Just visiting,’ Daisy replied, and scooted around to the other side of the table to shake Kate’s hand. ‘Good afternoon. My name is Daisy Flynn, and I am the chocolatier for this restaurant. I notice that you ordered the chocolate and almond cake? I do hope that you enjoyed it.’

‘Oh, it was absolutely delicious. Catherine Ormandy. Lovely to meet you. In fact I was just telling Max here that the restaurant has quite a reputation for its wonderful chocolate desserts. Do you make them all yourself? Because they really are very special.’

‘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.

This was why his reply hit Daisy right between the eyes and rendered her completely speechless.

‘Actually, I am in the chocolate trade. I happen to own an organic cocoa plantation in St Lucia. The Treveleyn Estate grows some of the finest organic cocoa beans in the world, and I’m looking for a dessert chef who is as passionate about chocolate as I am. Tempted now?’

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