Her Client from Hell

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So tempting to drag him up to her flat by the lapels and forget about the promises she’d made.

But she turned and forced her feet up the pale stone steps, let herself into her apartment and steadfastly refused to look out of the window to see if he was still standing there. Part of her secretly hoping he was still there—and wishing him gone at the same time. Pouring herself three large fingers of cooking brandy, she took a long drink to try to erase the delicious taste of him. Swallowed a handful of chocolate-coated cherries. The last delicious red velvet cupcake. Feta cheese squashed onto a cracker. God, if she carried on like this she wouldn’t fit into any of her clothes. Then she’d truly be the naked chef. Not a pretty prospect.

But it was no use. Jack was still there, with her, on her. There was no way she’d be able to make sense of those numbers on her spreadsheet now.

See? The infuriating man had messed up her timetable along with her resolve.

Looking around at her shabby but well-loved kitchen, she decided to do the only thing she knew that could relax her. So she set to work weighing and mixing, whisking egg whites and sugar and vanilla essence by hand until her arms hurt and she’d finally steadied her breathing. It took a while for her head to feel clearer and almost back to normal again as the scent of soft meringue cooking slowly in the oven filled the kitchen. But she knew it would take even longer to douse the heat zipping through her. She shouldn’t have let him walk her home. Shouldn’t have kissed him.