Anything but Vanilla(22)

‘Won’t I need a hygiene certificate?’

‘Any excuse,’ she said, unable to stop herself from laughing out loud. He was so predictable!

‘Oh, you were joking.’

‘There is absolutely nothing funny about ice cream, Graeme,’ she said, mentally slapping her wrist for teasing him, but doing it anyway. ‘I’ll have to arrange a training session for you with the catering students at the local college.’

‘I’m more use to you on the financial front,’ he replied, seriously. ‘I’ll find out what I can about the financial state of Knickerbocker Gloria so that we can make the best of the situation.’ We... That implied it would be the two of them. Working together. So long as she agreed with him. The thought popped, unbidden, into her head. ‘You’ll let me know whether you’ll be free on the twenty-fourth?’

‘The twenty-fourth.’ She made a note. ‘I’ll call you this evening.’

She cut the connection wishing she hadn’t said anything about Ria’s financial problem. Obviously she needed information, but she hated the thought of him poking around in Ria’s problems, knowing that he’d put the worst possible slant on things.

Which was stupid. There was no room for sentiment in business and obviously she couldn’t go into this blind. He was right about that. That was why she always agreed with him, because he was right about everything.

Graeme was her rock, she reminded herself. He might not make her heart race, or her head swim the way Alexander West had done with nothing more than a look, the lightest of touches, a kiss that had made her toes curl. Okay, so maybe he did have a bit of a sense of humour bypass, but he was utterly dependable and that was worth a heck of a lot more than a momentary sizzle on the lips.

* * *

When she returned with everything she needed to finish the Jefferson order, there was no sign of Nancy and she still wasn’t answering her phone so as soon as she’d unloaded the van, Sorrel went to the baker’s.

She wouldn’t, ever, run ‘errands’ for any man with two sound legs but the artisan baker on the corner supplied custom-made baked goods for Scoop! and she had to pick up some more items for the Jefferson order. Since she’d had a very early start herself with no sign of a lunch break in the foreseeable future, she bought herself a sandwich while she was about it.

‘Here’s your bacon roll, Alex...’ Her voice died away as she saw him, head on his arms, fast asleep on Ria’s desk.

His shoulders appeared to be even wider spread across the desk, his back impossibly broad. His glossy hair had slipped over his face, leaving just a glimpse of a strong jaw and chin, the stubble of a man who hadn’t bothered to shave that morning throwing the sensuous curve of his mouth into stark relief. Even the thought of running her fingertips over his cheek triggered a prickle of awareness, a melting heat, shocking in its intimacy.

‘Memo to self,’ she murmured under her breath as she stepped back, away from temptation. ‘Make the coffee stronger.’

* * *

‘Thanks for the roll.’

Sorrel, whizzing up cucumbers in the blender, jumped as Alexander turned on the tap and rinsed out his mug before upending it on the draining board.

‘No problem.’ She glanced sideways at him. His cheek was slightly pink and crumpled where his head had been resting on his arm and there was a deep red imprint on his face where the heavy winder of his wristwatch had dug in. It was an old steel Rolex very like the one her grandfather had worn and which Elle had sold, along with anything else of value her family had owned.

The con man who’d left them destitute had been too smart to steal anything physical, but it had all gone anyway. First he’d stolen their security. Then their family history written in the marks on the Sheraton dining table where generations had propped their elbows, the Georgian silver brought out for celebrations, the wear on a carpet her great-grandfather had brought back from Persia. Along with the jewellery, no more than a glittering memory in old photographs, and the precious things collected over two centuries, it had all gone to the salesrooms to pay off the overdraft, the credit cards he’d applied for in their grandmother’s name. Fraud, of course, but she had signed the forms...

‘Feeling better after your nap?’ she asked.

It came out rather more snarkily than she’d intended but she should be at Cranbrook, checking that everything was in place in the Conservatory for tomorrow, instead of here, putting cucumbers through a blender.