Melting Ms Frost (11 page)

‘It doesn’t matter whether it can sing and dance and do the sodding dishes, let alone go with the food.’ She glared at him over the bar as he retrieved a bottle from the chiller and placed it between them. ‘Seeing as I can’t imagine being able to swallow down even a single mouthful.’

That must have been the first time they’d been in agreement on anything. And it would probably kill her to know it. Pulling two champagne flutes from the uniform ranks lining the shelves, he placed them alongside the bottle. ‘All the more reason for you to have one, then. In case you choke.’

It looked for a moment as though she might reach across the bar and choke
him
. Maybe it was the fierce gleam of anticipation in his eyes as he silently willed her to do it that warned her off.

‘Fine!’ she said with a sharp exhalation. ‘If it’ll get us off the riveting subject of drinks, and onto why the hell you’re here, I’ll have water.’

‘That doesn’t sound very exciting.’ Aidan ripped away the foil, took a hold of the cork and started twisting the bottle.

Those ruby-red lips pursed and her delicate nostrils flared as she breathed in. ‘Not that it’s any of your business but I have a rule never to drink at work.’

‘Ah. Another rule.’ He paused as the cork eased out with a soft pop and a fizzle of air. ‘But not one you’ll have to break because, technically speaking, Ms Frost,’ he lowered his voice as though confiding a secret, ‘it’s your day off.’

He could almost hear her counting slowly in her head for patience as he began to pour.

‘Water,’ she repeated through gritted teeth. ‘And tell me why you are here.’

Relenting, he filled only the one flute and grabbed a bottle of mineral water and a tumbler. ‘The reason Richard Landon sent me in his place,’ he said, unscrewing the cap and filling the glass while keeping half an eye on her for her reaction, ‘is because he was calling on the bonds of family ties to help out in an emergency. I’m his nephew.’

Honestly, the poor woman couldn’t have looked more winded if she’d taken a medicine ball to the solar plexus. Her mouth dropped open slightly. God help her if she started with the fish thing again. With the way the morning’s dream had left him wired, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from pushing something between those lips – his fingers, his tongue, his stirring erection.

It would have to be his tongue, he decided. He hadn’t been able to stop wondering how that red-painted mouth would taste – if Annabel Frost would be as sharp and tart as she seemed.

‘But …’ she managed to say, ignoring the tumbler he pushed towards her, brow creased in confusion. ‘You’re Irish.’

He couldn’t quite smother his smile in reaction to that nonsensical observation. ‘I am. So is my aunt, Bronagh – Richard’s wife.’

It didn’t take long for all the pieces of the puzzle to fit together. A look of appalled comprehension flashed across Annabel’s face and without a word she reached out, picked up the full flute of prosecco and drained it in several gulps.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ she snarled, banging the empty glass back down. Behind the furious glare she gave him he could see flickers of worry as she no doubt considered the worst-case implications that came attached to that bit of news. But in typical Annabel Frost fashion, she tried to hide whatever fear or vulnerability she might be feeling by staying on the attack. ‘There’s no way I can get rid of you now, is there?’

Wanting to reassure her that he was no threat to her professionally, Aidan picked up the bottle and tipped it over the empty glass. ‘Annabel—’

‘Oh, don’t bother with a refill,’ she interrupted. ‘There’s no way I’m sticking around for this farce. I refuse to stay in the same room as you, let alone sit at the same table and eat.’

She spun to leave, her ponytail snapping against her shoulder blades with each step. Her behind swayed, each rounded arse cheek perfectly accentuated in turn by the form-fitting cut of her trousers.
Christ
. He was only human, helpless to stop his mind instantly stripping away her clothing and torturing him with a picture of how she’d look naked on all fours in front of him, that silky red tail of hair wrapped tight around his fist to hold her leashed for his driving thrusts as he took her from behind, hips slapping against the delicious curves of that derriere.

Before he could clean up his thoughts enough to take action to stop her leaving, the kitchen door swung open and the bristly face of Cluny’s head chef, Anton Dubois, popped into view. When the chef’s gaze jumped from Annabel to Aidan, his bushy eyebrows flew up to the band of his towering white toque.

‘
Mon ami!
’ he cried. ‘What a surprise, you are here to serve the wine for my festive feast?’

‘No, Chef. Lucky me, I’m here to eat your excellent cooking. The boss isn’t able to make it. I’m here in his stead.’

At that, the chef slid his gaze back to Annabel then puffed out his cheeks and gave a Gallic shrug. ‘
Bon.
So we are ready to commence?’

‘Actually, no—’ Annabel started, reaching to collect her belongings heaped on the other spare chair at the table.

‘Yes,’ Aidan said firmly, cutting her off. ‘We’re all ready, Chef. Bring it on.’

The Frenchman’s head disappeared, his string of quick-fire instructions silenced as the door swung closed.

Annabel rounded on Aidan. ‘How dare you speak for me?’ she said in a voice tight with barely contained fury. ‘How dare you think you can use your relationship to my boss to set something like this up, to manipulate me? This is my livelihood you’re fucking with!’

‘I didn’t have anything to do with “setting this up”,’ Aidan told her calmly as he filled the two flutes. ‘I understand that this is a shock but Richard really did have an emergency and, rather than cancel, he asked me to stand in.’ Placing the bottle on the bar, he made a point of looking directly at her. ‘I also understand that this is work, Annabel, and I respect that it’s important to you. You have my word that I’ll be on my best behaviour today. No games.’

‘Best behaviour.’ She gave a derisory snort. ‘Do you even know what that is?’

With a full glass in each hand, Aidan made his way back across the room. ‘I guess you’re about to find out.’ Setting the glasses down on the table, he pulled out one of the chairs but, rather than taking a seat, he raised an eyebrow at Annabel and waited to see if she’d accept the challenge or run.

With a huff and something that looked suspiciously like a flounce, she ended up in the chair opposite him. ‘I’m only staying because of my commitment to Cluny’s and out of respect for the effort Anton has put in.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ Aidan said, seating himself.

Annabel wasn’t to be placated. ‘I can’t believe how despicable you are, using your connections to think you can get away with abusing me.’

Shaking his napkin out, he dropped it onto his lap. ‘How could I have used my connections to do anything to you when you knew nothing about them?’ He eyed the range of cutlery gleaming like deadly weapons on the table but refrained from removing a single piece from Annabel’s reach. He could congratulate himself on his bravery if he managed to survive the next couple of hours.

Not to be derailed by something as simple as a flaw in her argument, Annabel changed her line of attack. ‘And how underhand, keeping secrets. Were you sent to spy on me?’

‘No. I suppose the most sinister accusation you could level at this would be mild nepotism. I was in the market for a job. My uncle – knowing you needed a barman – was in a position to offer me one. That’s it, Annabel. I didn’t come here to spy, nor to undermine your authority, nor to take your job from you.’

‘And I’m just expected to believe the word of a
liar
?’

Aidan sighed. ‘I didn’t lie. I just never admitted to it.’

‘That’s as good as the same thing. There couldn’t have been any decent reason not to own up to who you are straight away.’

‘Couldn’t there? I didn’t own up because I had no interest in being granted any special treatment. And once I’d met you, decided to pursue you, I needed to be able to gauge your honest reactions without any other influences coming into play. You can’t deny that knowledge of my “connections” would have changed the way you dealt with me from the start.’

‘I still wouldn’t have liked y—’ Annabel stopped short at the reappearance of Anton Dubois from the kitchen, leading one of his commis chefs who bore two plates.

‘So,’ the chef announced. ‘First we ’ave the wild salmon tartar with organic cornichon foam and the toasted seaweed crispbread.’ He gestured for his nervous-looking assistant to place the plates on the table. The young man did as he was bid, depositing Annabel’s with such speed he practically hurled it into her lap as though afraid he’d lose an arm.

With a tut, Anton sent him scurrying back to the kitchen before turning to beam at Aidan and Annabel. ‘
Bon appétit!
’ he declared, and instead of leaving, crossed his arms over his barrel chest as he settled his feet shoulder-width apart and waited for them to start.

Aidan, in turn, waited for Annabel to grudgingly lift her fork before he took a mouthful of his own and made the big Frenchman smile with his noises of appreciation. As he set about demolishing the artfully presented plate of food he noticed that Annabel matched almost every one of her mouthfuls with a slug of prosecco – more in the hopes of blurring her unhappy reality, he guessed, than out of any real appreciation for how the lightly sparkling wine complemented the briny freshness of the salmon cleverly balanced with the sharper tastes of lime, coriander and red onion.

The tasting went on, and Anton continued to hover and fuss, extolling the virtues of the ingredients and preparation techniques of each dish like a proud mother hen clucking over newly hatched chicks. And he had every right to preen his feathers as dish after dish of sheer decadent delight was produced. Wafer thin slices of juniper smoked goose breast served on a salad of cranberry and orange and winter leaves. Venison infused with the flavours of clove and ginger. Roast partridge accompanied with an earthy chestnut and truffle stuffing. Unctuous sauces rich with port and brandy. Between the chef taking the role of unwitting chaperone, the abundance of delicious food, Aidan’s strict adherence to his promise to behave, as well as the small glasses of wine he served up, it didn’t take as long as he anticipated for Annabel to start relaxing.

He wouldn’t go so far as to say she was actually enjoying herself – until it came time for the desserts. Then her reaction to the selection of sweet and sticky treats was nothing short of a revelation, transforming the starchy Ms Frost into such a sensuously abandoned creature that he was concerned he’d gone and got her drunk in spite of his careful efforts to avoid just that. He reckoned a pissed and pissed-off Annabel Frost would be a handful of hell he could happily do without.

But whether she was drunk or not, it became obvious it was her sweet tooth rather than the wine that had her ahh-ing and mmm-ing and flicking her pink tongue out to lick traces of spiced pear syrup and rich cinnamon cream and cognac butter from those signature red-coated lips, making Aidan want to lean across the table and kiss the sugary lipstick right off her mouth.

With an effort, he managed to stay in his chair and make do with the delights of Anton’s sticky plum pudding, all the while transfixed by her blissed-out smile and shifting to ease the increasing pressure behind his flies as he thought of all the things he’d be prepared to do to get her to smile like that for him.

From the way Aidan Flynn kept staring at her mouth, Annabel was convinced she had food stuck between her teeth. Resisting the temptation to lick her cutlery clean of every last smear of heavenly salted caramel goo, she set her spoon and fork down on the final empty plate of the day and excused herself to pay a visit to the ladies’ room.

While a check of her reflection revealed nothing amiss in her mouth, it did show a set of very rosy cheeks. She’d only ever been an occasional drinker and although she didn’t think she’d consumed all that much over the past couple of hours, she supposed the warm flush must be from the wine – likewise the light-headedness and warm fizzing feeling in her stomach. Though with Aidan Flynn’s strange power to unsettle her it was hard to tell.

And if she
had
accidentally indulged in a few too many drinks, who could blame her? The afternoon had started badly enough when her nemesis had shown up in place of Richard Landon, effectively scuppering yet again her plans to get rid of him. But that had been nothing compared to the bombshell he’d then dropped concerning the family connection. That vital piece of information had changed everything and made her realise how close she’d come to disaster with her intention of taking her complaints to her boss. What if Richard Landon already knew what his nephew was like? If she didn’t want to jeopardise her own job, she realised she’d have to think very carefully how to handle this situation from now on.

In the face of all that, numbing the shock had seemed the most attractive option. But even in her slightly inebriated state, Annabel knew that being tipsy around Aidan Flynn couldn’t be a good idea at all. Despite him living up to his promise to behave and his show of surprisingly agreeable manners so far, it would be foolish to forget that his default settings sat firmly in the region of devious. She had no doubt that the truce he’d called was a temporary one, and if she wanted to avoid any unnecessary strife it would be smart to put a safe distance between them before he reverted to type.

By the time she made her way back to the dining room, the table had been cleared and Aidan was carrying the dirty glasses to the bar.

‘Can I interest you in a coffee?’ he asked as she started collecting up her belongings.

She shook her head. ‘I have to have a word with Chef and then I need to get home,’ she lied. What she really needed was at least a double espresso to help clear her head enough that she could remember how to get home. But that matter was between herself and her favourite little café; it had nothing to do with him.