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Trouble on Her Doorstep
Nina Harrington
Knock-knock, who’s there?When gorgeous hotel magnate Sean Beresford arrives on the doorstep of Dee Flynn’s teashop it seems her luck’s in. Right? Wrong! Sean’s come to tell Dee he’s cancelling her latest business venture, leaving her future looking as washed out as old tea leaves.Dee’s not about to go under without a fight, and reluctantly Sean agrees to help her find a solution. He might dress in suits that would make even 007 jealous, and those startling blue-grey eyes will certainly take some forgetting, but he sets Dee’s blood boiling – and her pulse racing! – like no one else! And that’s before he kisses her…
‘Sean Beresford. I am the acting manager of the Beresford Hotel, Richmond Square. Pleased to meet you, Miss Flynn.’
‘Richmond Square?’ she replied, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘That’s the hotel where I booked a conference room for early February and…’
Then her brain caught up with the name he had given her, and she inhaled through her nose as his fingers slid away from hers and rested lightly on the counter.
‘Did you just say Beresford? As in the Beresford family of hotel-owners?’
A smile flickered across his lips, which instantly drew her gaze, and her stupid little heart skipped a beat at the transformation in this man’s face that one simple smile made.
Lord, he was gorgeous. Riveting.
Oh, smile at me again and make my blood soar. Please?
And now she was ogling. How pathetic. Just because she was within touching distance of a real, live Beresford it did not mean that she had to go to pieces in front of him.
He gestured towards the nearest table and chairs.
‘You may need to sit down, Miss Flynn.’
Dear Reader
Tea.
My favourite hot drink.
Working from home means that I enjoy way too many cups of hot black tea with just a spoonful of whole milk than are probably good for me, but I couldn’t do without it.
Coffee is a definite second best!
And I am so picky when it comes to the type of tea I drink.
Yes, I am the girl who always takes my favourite tea bags with me whenever I go on holiday or to a hotel.
At one time tea was one of the most exotic and valuable trade goods, but we take it so much for granted in our modern world, where tea in every possible form and variety is so widely available.
It was a joy to be able to share my love of all things tea with my heroine, Dee Flynn, tea-lover extraordinaire and wannabe tea importer.
Dee is not afraid to share her love of black, green and even pure unroasted white tea with the uninitiated—especially when Sean Beresford is holding her tea festival in one of his hotels.
Sean might understand the hotel business, and he’s used to dealing with awkward customers. But a woman like Dee Flynn…? That is entirely different! They come from different worlds. But the one thing that unites them is their passion for what they do, for the people who love them—and for one another.
I loved following Dee and Sean on their journey to love and I hope that you do too.
And here is one more treat to look forward to.
Dee’s friend Lottie and Sean’s brother Rob may both be chefs but they come from completely different worlds. Would they be willing to risk everything for love? Watch out for my next foodie romance book which will be coming your way soon.
I am always delighted to hear from my readers, and you can get in touch via my website at: www.NinaHarrington.com
Every best wish
Nina
Trouble
on Her Doorstep
Nina Harrington
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
NINA HARRINGTON grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories which make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.
This and other titles by Nina Harrington are available in ebook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
Chapter One (#ud177f868-61fd-5f39-a96e-fb5e1e994233)
Chapter Two (#u9f75092e-fe6d-56c4-b531-591c55c86914)
Chapter Three (#u386bd4bb-4f03-58c4-b89c-56dc8a36fe76)
Chapter Four (#u3562575c-c322-5f85-a6cd-67e20d1d2b8c)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE
Tea, glorious tea. A celebration of teas from around the world.
There is no better way to lift your spirits than a steaming hot cup of builders’ brew. Two sugars, lots of milk. White china beaker. Blend of Kenyan and Indian leaf tea. Brewed in a pot. Because one cup is never enough.
From Flynn’s Phantasmagoria of Tea
Tuesday
‘Ladies, ladies, ladies. No squabbling, please. Yes, I know that he was totally out of order but those are the rules. What happens in the Bake and Bitch club...?’
Dee Flynn lifted her right hand and waved it towards the women clustered about the cake display as though she was conducting a concert orchestra.
The women put down their tea cups, glanced at one another, shrugged their shoulders and raised their right hands.
‘Stays in the Bake and Bitch club,’ a chorus of sing-song voices replied, a second before they burst into laughter and sank back into their chairs around the long pine table.
‘Okay. I might not be able to snitch, but I still cannot believe that the faker tried to pass that sponge cake off as his own work,’ Gloria sniggered as she poured another cup of Darjeeling and dunked in a homemade hazelnut biscotti. ‘Every woman at the junior school bake sale knew that it was Lottie’s triple-decker angel drool cake and you can hardly mistake that icing. We all know how hard it is to make, after last week’s efforts.’
‘Hey! Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Lottie replied. ‘That was one of my best recipes and chiffon sponge is not the easiest to get right. You never know; I might have become one dad’s inspiration to greater things.’
A chorus of ‘Boo,’ and ‘Not likely,’ echoed around the table.
‘Well, never mind about dads wanting to show off at the school bake sale in front of the other fabulous baked creations you gals create. We have five more minutes before your cakes come out of the oven so there is just enough time for you to taste my latest recipe for a February special. This is the cake I am going to demonstrate next week.’
With a flourish reserved for the finest award-winning restaurants where she and Dee had trained, Lottie Rosemount waited until every one of the girls had stopped talking and was looking at the cake plate at the centre of the table, before whipping away the central metal dome and revelling in the gasp of appreciation.
‘Individual cupcakes. Dark chocolate and raspberry with white-chocolate hearts. And just in time for Valentine’s Day. What do you think?’
‘Think?’ Dee coughed and took a long drink of tea. ‘I am thinking that I have a week to come up with the perfect blend of tea to complement chocolate and raspberries.’
‘Tea? Are you joking?’ Gloria squealed. ‘Hell no. Those cupcakes are not meant to be washed down with tea around the kitchen table. No chance. Those are after-dinner bedroom dessert cakes. No doubt about it. If I am lucky, I might get to eat half of one before my Valentine’s Day dinner date gets really sweet—if you know what I mean. Girl, I want me some of those. Right now.’
A roar of laughter rippled like a wave around the room as Gloria snatched up a cupcake and bit into it with deep groans of pleasure, before licking her fingers. ‘Lottie Rosemount, you are a temptation. If I made those cupcakes I know that I would get lucky, and just this once I would not think about the risk of chocolate icing on the bedclothes.’
Dee sniggered and had just pulled down a tea caddy of a particularly fragrant pomegranate infusion when she heard the distinctive sound of the antique doorbell at the front door of the tea rooms.
Lottie looked up from serving the cupcakes. ‘Who can that be? We’ve been closed for hours.’
‘Not to worry. I’ll get it. But save one of those for me, can you? You never know—my luck might change and a handsome new boyfriend might turn up out of the blue just in time for Valentine’s Day. Miracles can happen.’
Dee skipped out of the kitchen across the smooth wooden floorboards in her flat ballet pumps, and in three strides was inside the tea rooms. She flicked on the lights and instantly the long room was flooded with warm natural light which bounced back from the pistachio-and-mocha painted walls and pale wood fittings.
Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms had only been open a few months and Dee never got tired of simply walking up and down between the square tables and comfy chairs, scarcely able to believe that this was her space. Well, Lottie and Dee’s space. They had each put up half of the money to get the business started. But they were partners sharing everything: tea and cake; both crazy, both working at the thing they loved best. Both willing to invest everything they had in this mad idea and take a risk that it would work.
Big risk.
A shiver ran across Dee’s shoulders and she inhaled sharply. She needed this tea shop to work and work brilliantly if she had any hope of becoming a tea merchant in her own right. This was her last chance— her only chance—of creating some sort of financial future for herself and for her retired parents.
But suddenly the ringing bell was replaced by a hard rapping on the front door and she looked up towards the entrance. ‘Hello? Is someone there?’ A male voice called out from the street in a posh English accent.
A tall dark figure was standing on the pavement on the other side of the door with his hands cupped over his forehead, peering at her through the frosted glass of the half-glazed door.
What a cheek! It was almost nine o’clock at night. He must be desperate. And it was lashing down with rain.
She took a step forward then paused and sniffed just once before striding on.
After a lifetime of travel she was not scared of a stranger knocking on her door. This was a London high street, for goodness’ sake, not the middle of some jungle or tropical rain forest.
With a lift of her chin and a spring in her step, Dee turned the key in the lock in one smooth movement and pulled the front door sharply towards her.
A little too sharply, as it turned out.
Everything from that moment seemed to happen in slow motion—like in some freeze-framed DVD where you could scarcely believe what had happened, so you played the same scene over and over again in jerky steps, just to make sure that your memory was not playing tricks on you.
Because as she flung open the door, the very tall man just raised his arm to knock again and, in that split second he leant forward, he found the door was missing.
But his body carried on moving, carrying him forward into the tea room. And directly towards Dee, who had stepped backward to see who was knocking so loudly.
A pair of very startled blue-grey eyes widened as he tumbled towards her, the bright light almost blinding him after the gloomy dark street outside.
What happened next was Dee’s fault. All of it.
Either time slowed down or her brain went into overdrive, because suddenly she had visions of lawyers claiming compensation for broken noses and bruised elbows. Or worse.
Which meant that she could not, dared not, simply leap out of the way and let this man, whoever he was, fall forward, flat on his face and hurt himself.
So she did the only thing she could think of in that split second.
She swept his legs out from under him.
It seemed to make perfect sense at the time.
Her left leg stepped forward to his left side as she reached up and grabbed hold of the soggy right sleeve of his rather elegant long dark-wool coat and pulled him towards her.
Then she swept her right leg out, hooked her ballet pump behind his left ankle and flipped him over sideways. By keeping a tight hold on his coat sleeve, even though it was wet and slimy, she took his weight so that instead of falling flat on his back his besuited bottom hit the wooden floor instead.
It was actually a rather good side judo foot sweep, which broke his fall and took his weight at the same time. Result!
Her old martial arts tutor would have been proud.
Shame that the two middle buttons on what she could now see was a very smart cashmere coat popped open with the strain and went spinning off onto the floor under one of the tables. But it was worth it. Instead of flying across the floor to join them, her male visitor sat down in a long, heavy slow slump instead. No apparent harm done.
Dee’s fingers slowly slid away from the moist fabric of his coat sleeve and his arm flopped down onto his knees.
She closed the front door and then sat back on her ankles on the floor so that she could look at him from about the same height.
And then look again.
