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There was more to see than colour, though. His eyes followed the curves of her body, noticing the way her skirt spilt over her generous hips, swinging gently as she shifted her weight to one leg and waited for his gaze to reach her eyes. He knew that he should be looking away, shouldn’t be indulging himself, allowing his guard to slip. But she fascinated him. Her very presence brought light and heat and energy. And, as much as he wanted those sensations gone, he couldn’t help but pander to his curiosity.
When his gaze reached her face she raised an eyebrow. His appraisal hadn’t gone unnoticed. And it seemed that the attention was not appreciated. Good. He dragged his mind back to his work, back to Julia House. This was business and nothing else. There was no way that he could let Cuthbert pull his project. He had given his word that he would secure funding without fail, and if that meant persuading an errant chef to get back onside, regardless of the unsettling effect that she had on him, then that was what he would do.
He firmed his stance and squared his shoulders. He would make this right.
Maya opened the door wide, and as soon as she clocked him her face dropped into a scowl. Her hands rested on her hips, one of them wrapped tight around a wooden spoon. She was not expecting his visit, and he wasn’t a welcome surprise. Well, good. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here either.
Will braced himself. He had the horrible feeling that this was going to get messy. And he didn’t do messy. Ever. He did cold and rational and detached, and he did it better than anyone else in the city. It was the only way to find any sense of peace. Looked as if she was going to make him grovel. And if he didn’t he would have to deal with Rachel’s disapproving silence in the office tomorrow. When she’d heard Sir Cuthbert demand that he take time off she’d appeared in the doorway of his office with a flyer and a plan.
‘Mr Thomas, I wasn’t expecting you.’ Maya brushed a smudge of flour from her cheek as she spoke.
‘You wouldn’t answer my emails, and we need to talk.’ He knew that he sounded brusque—terse, even—but he wanted to stay focussed. Regardless of the constant threat of distraction, he needed to think strictly business to get this deal done.
Maya squared her shoulders, mirroring his confrontational stance, but then a beeping sound came from inside the cottage. She hesitated for a second, still eyeballing him, before turning and walking across the hallway.
‘We can talk, if you insist,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘but I’m not going to change my mind and I’m not going to stop. I’ve got a sauce on the stove that won’t wait.’
‘Fine, fine.’
This hostile reaction had him on the back foot. He’d not expected this—not after her polite smiles in his office. But perhaps he’d underestimated the impact of his detachment. Perhaps she’d found those smiles harder to fake than he’d realised. He almost smiled himself—it would be so much easier to keep her at a distance when she was obviously keen to do the same. But he didn’t like the thought that he might have hurt her. That he was the cause of that fine line of distress between her eyebrows.
He hated that she had him concerned, and thought that he might have exposed a vulnerability. A chink in her bright flowered armour. Because that would mean a connection between them—something they shared. Something that couldn’t be undone or ignored.
He followed her through to the kitchen, his eyes drawn again to the shift of her skirt over her hips, the fabric clinging slightly to the curves of supple skin. He shook his head to clear his thoughts—again. This wasn’t him. He was in his suit, working, and normally that was a guarantee that nothing distracted him. But this attraction was more than just an unwelcome distraction; it was a threat to his control and to the detachment that allowed him to function.
He dragged his eyes away just before she turned around.
‘So, what can I help you with, Mr Thomas?’
Her tone was cool, and her manner no more friendly now that they were indoors. He was glad. It gave him every reason to respond with equal coolness. It kept her at a safe distance.
He spoke with cold, clipped tones the words that he’d rehearsed in the car. ‘I understand from Rachel that you won’t cater our function next month.’
‘I won’t.’
She turned away from the stove to face him head-on. The slight tremble in her clenched fists gave away her nerves, but her shoulders remained firm and he could see that she wouldn’t back down from him easily. He’d had no idea at the time that his words, his actions, had had such an impact. But he could see no other reason that she would be so hostile towards him now.
‘Can I ask why?’ He ground the words out through clenched teeth and suspected even as he was saying them that he would regret doing so. A niggle of guilt had been eating away at him and he was starting to see why. He’d offended her—which was something he’d never intended. His standoffishness has been purely a defence mechanism.
Maya sighed, and from the way her shoulders tightened and she turned away from him to stir the sauce on the stove he guessed that she didn’t enjoy conflict. Part of him was glad to have that insight; he saw a way to get what he wanted. If he pushed hard enough she’d back down just to avoid a fight.
She took a deep breath and then spoke. ‘As I explained to Rachel, I don’t think my food is right for your dinner. I think you will find another caterer who will better meet your needs.’
Her words sounded rehearsed, and though he was sure that she’d meant them to sound indifferent the edge to her voice and her vigorous beating of the sauce gave her away. Another twinge of guilt and a pang of fear fought for space in his belly. He’d had no idea that he’d hurt her feelings so much, and no real sense of how in jeopardy his project was until now.
He took a deep breath and tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat. ‘I’m aware that I didn’t give your food the attention it deserved when you came to the office, and I’m sorry that I was distracted during our meeting. We’d very much like to work with you.’ He had to get this back on track, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck.
‘Well, thank you for your apology,’ she said, still refusing to look at him, ‘but I’m afraid the answer’s still no.’
‘Why?’ he persisted, his voice growing softer, though he hadn’t intended it to. He was just changing tack, he told himself, just trying another way to get what he wanted. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t push her if he really needed to.
‘Like I said, I don’t think we’re well suited. I don’t think we’d work well together.’
She was still turned determinedly against him, her voice hard.
Will ran a hand through his hair, testing scenarios in his mind, trying to think objectively. Trying to find a rational, sensible business argument with which he could persuade her. ‘Your food was fine,’ he said, ‘and I’m not asking you to work with me. I’m asking you to cater a dinner.’
‘That proves my point exactly.’ She whipped around and met his eye, brandishing her wooden spoon like a knife. Her voice and the colour in her face rose. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You thought my food was fine.’
Partly he was pleased. Glad to have a reaction from her at last, thrilled that she was turning to face him. But mainly he was concerned about what this flash of anger meant for Julia House. He’d crafted a business argument that he was sure would put things right. And it had made things worse.
Maya turned back and continued to thrash at the sauce, hypnotising him with the way her skirt swung with every movement. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up with his ears and eyes. What was wrong with fine? Nothing. There was no reason for him not to hire her, and no reason he could see for her to object to him. But though she’d pulled herself together he had seen hurt and anger cross her face. He didn’t understand it, didn’t understand why she had so much invested in this food of hers, but he didn’t like that he’d upset her.
‘Maya?’ He wanted to leave. He didn’t want to involve himself in whatever it was that made this woman turn down business because he’d described her food as ‘fine’. But without her onside Sir Cuthbert could withdraw the company’s support for the charity. He stayed put.
Maya took a breath and turned around, pasting on the smile that he recognised from his office.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t cook for people who think my food is “fine”. If I know you won’t enjoy the food, I won’t enjoy cooking it. If I don’t enjoy cooking it, what’s the point? The food won’t be any good and I won’t be happy.’
‘Is this a general rule?’ he asked. He forced a note of humour into his voice, hoping to lighten the mood.
The atmosphere in here was intense, and he could see from her tight muscles and hunched shoulders that Maya was a few wrong words away from an outburst that would put a permanent end to his project. Even putting that aside, he didn’t want to see that happen. Being so close to such a volume of emotion made him uneasy; he could feel his own emotions welling up in response, weighing heavily against the door that kept them shut away.
‘Do you always turn down business from people who don’t gush over your food?’ He tried to inject a little laughter, but his voice cracked and that door shifted when he saw the distress in her features.
‘I don’t know about a rule,’ she said, her voice weaker now, flat, as she stared down at the floor. ‘It’s never happened before.’
Will took a minute to think about this. He knew that he was the problem, and that the solution had to come from him. But he was trying desperately to see a way out of the plan that Rachel and Cuthbert had pincered him into. There had to be something. Because the thought of having to go through with it tightened his chest until he struggled to breathe.
‘Look, Maya. I know we don’t exactly see eye to eye on this; I don’t appreciate food like you do.’ He took a deep breath, tried to steady his voice. ‘But what if I was prepared to learn?’
He regretted the words immediately. He knew that as much as he would try to fight off the memories being back in a kitchen, oohing and aahing over delicious treats, would be close to torture.
‘What do you mean?’ She turned around and looked at him, surprise in her voice and on her face.
‘Back at the office you told Rachel that you’re running a cookery course next week, and that there was a space free. If I take the course, try to connect with your food, will you reconsider?’ He controlled his fear and his voice, but if he’d had any other choice, if this was any other project, he’d be running from here—from her—as fast as he could.
She eyed him carefully, her head tilted to one side. ‘I’m not sure.’
She turned to face him. The anger and the tension had left her stance, and instead she studied his face. The tightness in his chest lightened.
‘And that space is gone anyway. The client called me—they managed to find someone to fill it.’
‘Well, can’t you run it with one extra?’
Maya shook her head and went back to her sauce, stirring more gently now. But Will didn’t make a move to leave. He had to get her to agree, somehow, and she looked as if she might be thinking it over, reconsidering. Eventually, she spoke.
‘I can’t. There’s not enough space in the kitchen and it wouldn’t be fair on the other students. If you’re serious, though—if you really want to learn—I have some time the following week. I’ll have to fit in some development and planning work, but if you’re happy to work around that I can run another course.’
He gulped. ‘One on one?’
‘One on one.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_2d860c22-ea3c-5c6c-aae2-9d77e33bb540)
MAYA FIDDLED WITH her necklace as the car door slammed and forced her feet to the floor, determined not to be waiting for him at the door. This was a bad idea. The hurt she’d felt in his office was something she’d thought she was long past. The feeling of rejection was something she’d not felt since she’d last seen her parents. But after an hour in this man’s company self-doubt had been needling her non-stop.
If it hadn’t been for the flash of fear and hurt she’d recognised in his eyes—well hidden, but still just visible—she’d have turned him down again. But in the face of his desperation, and her curiosity, she’d known she had to think of some way to help him. And perhaps if she could get him here, get him to enjoy her food, those doubts would fade. Her faith in the joy she could bring with her food could blossom again.
She tidied away the last of her lunch dishes and surveyed the kitchen. It was always spotless, of course, but this morning, with summer in the air, it seemed to glow more than usual. It had been carefully designed to balance the charmingly old and the strikingly modern—the stainless steel of a professional grill with rich, warm Cotswold stone and aged oak beams. Perhaps the charm of the old cottage would mellow him, she pondered nervously.
Nervous anticipation spread through her body at the thought of being alone in the house with the man who had so riled and frustrated her. Their last two meetings had left her unsettled, and she knew that she was gambling with her emotions, with the happy life and the confidence that she had built for herself, and couldn’t quite recall why she had suggested this.
Because when he had come to her, asking her to reconsider, she’d seen a glimpse of something in his eyes that had made her pause—just for a second he’d seemed vulnerable. So different from the coolness she’d felt in his office—and she was curious. She had also seen what he’d been trying so hard to hide—he needed her. He was desperate for her help. And she’d found that she couldn’t say no, whatever it might cost her.
And then she remembered how he had looked at her, his wide eyes skimming her, almost in disbelief...how her mouth had watered and her lips had tingled at the sight of him...and she suspected she might have had an ulterior motive.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him in the days since they’d met. To start with it had been easy to ignore her attraction, to concentrate instead on her hurt and her anger at the way he had completely rejected her food—and, by extension, her. But since he’d come to her door, begged her to reconsider, she hadn’t been able to get those silver eyes out of her mind, trying to work out what was beneath.
The doorbell rang and she knew that it was too late for doubts and worries. She would make this work.
Smoothing back her hair, she forced her shoulders down and went to answer the door.
‘Will, welcome to Rose Cottage.’ He flinched as she said the words, and she had to school her features not to reflect it back to him. Acting on instinct, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm to reassure him. She hated to see anyone distressed, ached to make things right. But he pulled away from her abruptly, shock and annoyance on his face. She cringed; she’d only been trying to help and he’d rejected her. Again.
Now, of course, she was questioning the wisdom of having him here more than ever. But she had a chance to make this cold, indifferent man fall in love with food, to make his world a brighter, more joyful place, and she couldn’t resist it.
And the plan had one other redeeming feature, she supposed: Will was pretty easy on the eye. He wore another grey suit today—Maya doubted he owned any other colour—and a crisp white shirt, open at the neck. She guessed that he’d come straight from the office, no matter that it was a Sunday, and he had the look of a man who spent too many hours staring at a computer screen. But the austerity of his clothes highlighted the sharp steel of his eyes and the hint of shadow below his cheekbones. A calculating look came over those grey eyes then, and she could practically see the cogs turning as he tried to turn the situation to his advantage.
She looked over the evidence of his apprehension: set shoulders, grim face, flat voice. She realised that she was never going to convince him of the joys of her cuisine if they were both approaching the week like this. One of them would have to make the effort to brighten the mood in here. She’d pasted on a happy face often enough before; she could do it now.
There was no getting away from it: he was gorgeous. She’d noticed it the first time she’d set eyes on him. But even with those sharply defined cheekbones, the hint of stubble, the lips she was dying to taste, there was one flaw she couldn’t overlook. He just wasn’t quite...there. Any time she’d sensed she might be getting a look at the real Will Thomas, every time a conversation took a turn away from the strictly rational and objective, he’d disappeared into himself in an instant.
Sometimes the shutters just slammed down. At other times they wavered long enough for her to see something lingering—a tiny suggestion of past hurts, perhaps, that had made him the way he was. Whatever it was that she’d glimpsed, it was enough for her to know that getting involved would be bad news
She’d spent the first eighteen years of her life devoid of affection, lacking warmth and love. She’d been an unwelcome surprise to older parents, shunted from nannies to boarding school and back again, and she had never stopped trying to impress them, never stopped hoping that one day she’d make them proud.
Even when she’d gone to a prestigious university, as they had, and completed her history degree, as she’d thought they’d wanted, it hadn’t been enough for them. Her whole life she’d been a disappointment to them. But when she’d discovered her passion for food, the joy that she could bring to her housemates and friends with her cooking, she’d also found the warm glow she could create in a room. She wanted, needed, to live her life among people who were happy and contented, and she’d do everything she could to make those around her feel that way. So she’d used the money her parents had given her—she would have swapped it in a heartbeat for genuine affection, but that was the one thing they’d never offered—to start her culinary training and then her business.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow herself to develop feelings for someone who was never going to be able to return them.
* * *
‘So, are you ready for this?’
Maya eyed the knives laid out on the scrubbed oak countertop and wondered if this had been the wisest move. It looked as if she had some sort of medieval torture lined up for them, and from the resigned, stoic set of Will’s face she could see that he was expecting nothing less. She didn’t like the thought of hurting him, and wondered again whether she was doing the right thing? But he had come to her wanting to learn, and she was determined to help, to bring him happiness.
‘I thought we’d start with something simple. So we’re going to cut a fillet from this fish—’ she gestured, smiling tentatively, to where she’d laid two gleaming fresh fish in a bowl of ice ‘—and then make a herb butter. It’ll be delicious.’
She’d hoped that some of her enthusiasm might rub off, but Will didn’t look convinced. His fingers were curled into tight fists and she could see the tension all the way up his arms to his shoulders. His eyes darted around the kitchen, before fixing on a spot in mid-air.
She looked up at Will’s face, trying to see how he had reacted to her suggestion. So far, no change. But she’d no choice but to plough on and hope that her gamble would pay off.
‘Here.’ She handed him the fish and the filleting knife and showed him how to clean and gut it. ‘What you need to do next...’
She started to explain, and caught Will’s eye as she looked up. He was watching her intently. Well, he might not be connecting with the food, she thought, but he did look determined to get this right. That was a start at least.
‘What you need to do next is feel for the spine through the flesh and just let the blade glide along that line.’
The look on his face told her that he was determined to follow her instructions, but the way he was gripping the knife made her nervous.
‘Just relax your hand,’ she said. ‘The knife is sharp, so you just need to guide it and let it do the work.’
He grimaced as he forced the point of the knife into the fish. He was overthinking it, trying to push the knife where he thought it should be going rather than responding to the feel of it in his hand.
‘Wait,’ Maya cautioned him gently, taking in his fierce expression and white knuckles; she didn’t want him to slip and cut himself. ‘You just need to be patient with it. Don’t rush.’ She moved closer to his side and laid her hand over his, easing his fingers back from where they were gripping the knife. ‘Loosen your hand.’
Will did as he was told, and suddenly Maya was aware of how much closer she’d moved. The whole of the left side of her body was pressed against him, and her right arm, reaching across her body to help Will hold the knife, was doing something outrageous to her cleavage. She looked up and saw that Will had just made the same realisation. The red flush spreading over her face and chest added another colour to that day’s collection.
She tried to step away from him, hoping that she hadn’t given away evidence of her attraction. The last thing she needed was him guessing about the feelings she was trying to chase away. She didn’t want them—knew that acting on her attraction was bound to lead to hurt.
As she moved away she felt the knife slip, and knew before it happened that it was heading straight for her index finger.
‘Ouch!’ she yelped as the blade nicked her skin. She tried to draw her hand away, but sliced deeper into her knuckle in the process.
Concern clouded Will’s face as he reached for her hand. ‘Are you okay?’
Maya tried to pull back; being close to him was too tempting, too good to be safe. But he took a gentle hold of her wrist as he examined the cut.
‘I’m fine, really.’
She pulled her hand from his, wanting to clear her head. He was making it impossible to think clearly. All she wanted was a little space, a little distance between them. But he kept moving closer. His face still screamed grim determination, only this time she was the subject. He would help her whether she wanted it or not. When he was standing so close to her, showing such concern for a little cut, she had to remind herself of what she’d realised out in the hallway. Indulging that flutter in her belly and the racing in her pulse when she looked at Will Thomas was a very bad idea. Nothing was guaranteed to hurt her like indifference did. And she knew first-hand Will Thomas’s capacity for that.
She headed for the first aid box she kept by the sink.
‘At least I didn’t bleed on the fish.’ There was a little shake in her voice as she realised the strength of her feelings and the depth of her vulnerability. ‘It’ll still be okay for dinner. And you were doing a great job before I slipped.’
‘You were doing great,’ Will corrected her.
She turned to look at him, taken aback by the gravelly tone of his voice. His face showed more distress than ever, and she wondered why.
‘You were fine; you just need to loosen up a little.’ She spoke guardedly, protecting her feelings and his. With one hand under the tap, she tried to open the catch on the first aid box.
‘Let me do that,’ Will said, walking over to her.
She tried to insist that she could manage, but he washed his hands and then pulled the box from out of her reach. When he turned back he had gauze, blue plasters and a bandage in his hands and a determined look back on his face.
‘Will, I think just the plaster will probably do it.’ Maya risked a chuckle, hoping that it would break the tension in the air, but Will ignored her and stepped closer.
