The Secret Ingredient. Nina Harrington

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      THREE

      ‘Not at the moment, thank you. No. I think I’ll pass.’

      Rob picked up one of the business cards that Lottie had fanned out next to the condiments and the deep frown creased his forehead as he read the address out loud.

      ‘Lottie Rosemount’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms? That’s where Dee Flynn works.’

      Lottie could practically see the cogs of Rob’s mind work as his gaze ratcheted up one notch at a time from the business card past the platter of savoury canapés and finally to her face. Where it settled for one millisecond as the inevitable hit home.

      ‘Please tell me that you’re not Lottie Rosemount.’ He finally groaned.

      Her breath caught in the back of her throat for a second before she smiled it away with a quick flick of the head.

      Busted! Playtime had officially just ended and it was back to work.

      ‘Sorry. Can’t do that. Life is so unfair sometimes. Don’t you think? Welcome to my world, Mr Beresford.’

      Shame. She had enjoyed being taken seriously as an art expert for a few minutes. Now it was back to being plain old Lottie the cake maker. It was always curious to see how people’s expectations changed when she announced that she baked for a living, but she had not expected to see that stunned look on Rob’s face. He was in the same business, after all.

      Her body still tingled at the touch of his hand at the small of her back. One thin layer of silk was all that had separated his clever long fingers from her naked skin.

      Time to jump in and take control while he was still at the glaring-in-disbelief stage. ‘I did tell you that my name was Charlotte and people call me so many nicknames that it’s fun to have a change now and then. Just for the variety.’

      ‘Lottie Rosemount.’ Rob nodded slowly up and down, then gave a low whistle. ‘I don’t believe it. So you like playing games with people? Lottie. Or do you have another nickname you prefer to use on social occasions?’

      Games. Hell, no. He was not accusing her of playing tricks on him.

      ‘Oh, no. Lottie works fine. As for playing games? On the contrary. It goes against my principles.’

      His reply was a choked cough and he gestured towards the bench, which was already occupied by other patrons.

      ‘But it was okay to string me along just now and pretend that you were an art critic. Did you even like that painting you were staring at or just doing it to impress me?’

      She heard the annoyance in his voice and was shamefully delighted.

      ‘I don’t recall saying that I was a critic. And as for trying to impress you? Well, someone has a very high opinion of themselves. For the record I have always adored contemporary art and I love these pieces. Especially that painting. If that is okay with you? Or are you one of those people who think that the catering staff should stay in their place? Out of sight. So that they are not able to embarrass the management.’

      His back stiffened and instantly Rob seemed to grow about five inches taller.

      ‘No. I am not one of those people, Lottie. Far from it, actually.’

      The words whirled around inside her head at the confused signals. He was acting as if she had insulted him. Well, that was rich.

      ‘Good. Because I do love that painting and was pleased to have the chance to see it. So, seeing as we share a common interest, I think it only fair that I share my other passion with you before the masses of starving media arrive.’

      ‘You have more than one passion? Please, carry on. I would hate for you to feel that you cannot act on your principles. Heaven forfend.’

      Ignoring the sarcasm was not something Lottie found easy, but she got through it by focusing on opening up a new batch of bakery boxes.

      The next thing Rob knew he was holding a dessert plate with a piece of cake on it. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed.

      ‘Lemon sponge?’

      ‘I do hope that you enjoy it. The gallery gave me strict instructions that Adele Forrester had specifically requested two desserts. Individual dark chocolate tarts and lemon drizzle cakes. A special order from a fine artist. Now that, Mr Beresford, I could not fake. Dig in.’

      His lips closed around the forkful of cake and her gaze locked on to those lips.

      She had never seen such sensual lips on any man before and, oh, boy, they looked good enough to eat. The tip of his tongue flicked out tantalisingly and wiped away a smear of lemon sauce.

      A flash of raw and unadulterated attraction hit her hard. Unexpected and entirely inappropriate. Strange how it felt seriously good.

      Do that again. Please.

      Lottie didn’t realise that she had stopped breathing until a very loud ringtone smashed through her foodie trance and she instantly whipped the other cakes onto the platters and arranged them artistically on the buffet table so that the guests could help themselves.

      Saved by the bell.

      Rob put down his plate and casually fished the mobile phone out of his pocket, checked the caller identity. And flicked the phone closed with a crisp clip.

      ‘Interesting cake. But I have to go and meet another lovely lady. I’ll be seeing you around.’ He smiled at Lottie, then gave her an outrageously over-the-top wink. ‘You can bet on it.’

      * * *

      See you around?

      Of course Rob was going to see her around.

      His half-brother, Sean Beresford, was totally in love with her best friend and business partner, Dee, and unless she had totally misread the signs, there would be engagement parties and wedding planning before the end of the year. And right there next to Sean would be his best pal, Rob.