Anything but Vanilla.... Liz Fielding
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Название: Anything but Vanilla...
Автор: Liz Fielding
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472039514
isbn:
Probably a good thing, she decided, sliding her fingers behind her ear, where the warmth of his hand still lingered.
Definitely a good thing.
She might have inherited come-day-go-day genes from both her parents, but she had her life mapped out and there was no way she was following her mother down that particular path. Certainly not with a man who, like her father, would be gone long before they’d reached the first stile. Back to his beach-bum lifestyle. Funded by the rent Ria paid for this shop, no doubt. Except she probably owed him money, too. Was that what had brought him flying back? The chance to get her out and install a new tenant at a higher rent?
* * *
While Sorrel Amery had been beguiling him with a smile that had gone straight to his knees, Alexander’s coffee had gone cold. He drank it anyway. The alternative was going back out into the preparation room to refill the coffee machine, something he was not prepared to do with Ms Amery in residence.
A hot body, a sexy mouth, and with enough wit to fill his nights back in civilisation very satisfactorily—he would normally have been happy to follow through on a no-holds-barred kiss that had come out of nowhere. She was perfect. In every imaginable way. Even down to the glowing chestnut hair for which she’d presumably been named.
Jet-lagged, tired, as he was, she’d turned him on as if she’d flipped a light switch, but while his body might be urging him to go for it, take what was so clearly on offer, he had a week at most to put this right, catch up with his own paperwork and get back to work. And despite what she clearly thought, he didn’t mix business with pleasure—he would be leaving again in days and he’d given up on one-night stands. Anything more needed constant care and feeding and he didn’t stay in one place long enough to put in the work.
He pushed the thought away and concentrated on the immediate problem. Not difficult. The problem would be not thinking about her...
What on earth someone as grounded as Nick Jefferson was doing letting Sorrel Amery loose on an important product promotion, he could not imagine.
Cucumber ice cream, for heaven’s sake! He shook his head. It had to be the work of some idiot in Jefferson’s marketing department; an idiot with a weakness for chestnut hair, translucent skin and legs up to her armpits. No doubt she’d turned on that straight-to-hell smile and the poor sucker had gone down without a fight. Or maybe she had. She’d gone from nought to fifty in second gear and he’d barely touched her...
The thought shivered through him.
He hated it.
Wanted it.
Wanted her with that hot mouth on him, those long legs wrapped around him...
He dragged his hands over his face, rubbed hard in an effort to stimulate the circulation and tear his thoughts away from the bright chestnut curl he’d tucked behind a very pretty ear decorated with a small cream and gold enamelled ice cream cone. There was no denying that everything about her was positively edible, but he wasn’t having her for dessert.
She could have a week to make her sorbet and sort out some other arrangement to make her ice cream. He would be concentrating on winding up the business.
He didn’t have much time.
Ria’s lows were countered by soaring highs and it wouldn’t be long before she was having second thoughts. In the meantime, he had no choice but to treat Sorrel Amery like the rest of the creditors and dig her out of the hole she’d been dumped in.
A tap on the door reminded him that in her case it would take more than a cheque to make her disappear. As if to rub in the message, she didn’t wait for an invitation. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need Nancy’s phone number.’
‘Help yourself,’ he said, keeping his head down, determined to keep his distance. He picked up an envelope and slit it open, focusing on the job in hand.
‘Have you seen...?’
He pointed the letter opener at the shelf behind the desk.
‘Thanks,’ she said, stretching across the desk.
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