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It was the man from the food stall who had bought the chocolate rabbits. His black jacket was hanging over the back of his chair, and he was wearing a fitted black cotton long-sleeved shirt which had seen better and cleaner days. On any other man it would have looked scruffy and washed out, and hardly suitable for a lovely restaurant lunch. But drat if it did not suit his broad shoulders as he stretched forward. How irritating was that?
His hair looked as though he had just woken up and raked it through with his fingers, but for some reason the tousled look fitted him perfectly.
She gulped down something close to apprehension. Um. She had a fair idea of exactly what his response would be if she marched up and asked him what he thought about the chocolate dessert.
‘Forget that couple,’ the chef whispered in her ear, and Daisy breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘They are still waiting for dessert service. But those two ladies over there are just paying the bill. Perfect. Try them first, before looping back. Have fun! ’
Max had gone through a huge portion of lasagne, two servings of delicious warm bread, and had just inhaled a platter of cheese and biscuits when the waiter placed a dark circle of aromatic dense chocolate loveliness in front of Kate, then stepped around with his portion.
Max could already smell the chocolate, and instantly pushed his cheese plate to one side, ready for his dessert.
Kate responded with a small laugh. ‘I know that you are dying to tell me everything about this chocolate, so I’m going to simply sit here and drink my coffee while you enjoy yourself. Feel free to dig in any time you like. You do know that I shall insist that the chefs use Treveleyn Estate chocolate for my wedding reception, don’t you?’
Max chuckled. ‘Of course. You can consider it my wedding present to you both. So, what do we have here?’
He lifted the plate so that he could inhale the fragrance of the chocolate base, trying to ignore the sideways glances from the waiting staff and other diners, then cut straight across the middle of the circular cake, separated the two halves and tried smelling it again.
Oh, wow, that was good. Seriously good. A chocolate and almond liqueur was laced through the mixture, but it was not too powerful to conceal the wonderful spicy and deep aroma of the chocolate.
Only then did he scoop up a generous bite-sized portion and wrap his mouth around the cake, before sliding the spoon away to leave … a small miracle. The smooth, smooth chocolate melted on his tongue, releasing more and more layers of flavour. Not too sweet, and certainly not sickly, the cocoa butter had been blended with cream, finely ground nuts and butter to create the closest thing to a praline chocolate centre he had ever eaten. It was superb.
The chef who had made this knew how to blend cocoa beans from different varieties to create a perfectly aromatic but smooth flavour—intense but enjoyable. Stunning.
Max immediately took a larger spoonful, then another, and savoured every morsel before looking up at his bemused former wife, who had barely taken a single spoonful.
‘Now, that was seriously good.’
‘Thought you’d like it. But I have to watch my weight—so, please, finish off mine as well. You know you want to.’
‘Pass it over! This is superb. In fact,’ he mumbled through tiny scrapings of cake, trying to make it last and prolong the pleasure, ‘this is so good it has given me an idea for the conference at the weekend. Kate, would you mind if I left you to your coffee for ten minutes? I need to track down the dessert chef who made this.’
‘Well, now’s your chance.’ Kate nodded over his shoulder. ‘She’s on her way over to speak to us.’
Max whipped around in his chair, and was halfway to a standing position when he lifted his chin and found himself staring at the white-coated chest of a girl he recognised only too well from the organic chocolate stall. She was wearing the gallery’s restaurant jacket now, but there was no mistaking that hair and those stunning eyes.
‘Daisy? What are you doing here?’
The startled look on her face as she took a step backwards was not perhaps the best reaction he could have hoped for, but it did give him a few seconds to connect his mouth and his brain.
‘Sorry, you startled me. I had no idea that you worked here as well.’ He tried to recover with a grin.
‘Just visiting,’ Daisy replied, and scooted around to the other side of the table to shake Kate’s hand. ‘Good afternoon. My name is Daisy Flynn, and I am the chocolatier for this restaurant. I notice that you ordered the chocolate and almond cake? I do hope that you enjoyed it.’
‘Oh, it was absolutely delicious. Catherine Ormandy. Lovely to meet you. In fact I was just telling Max here that the restaurant has quite a reputation for its wonderful chocolate desserts. Do you make them all yourself? Because they really are very special.’
‘You are very kind, Mrs Ormandy. My colleague Tara Hamilton and I run a company specialising in organic party food. But I do create all the chocolates and desserts by hand in our own kitchens. As well as party treats. In fact, I think your husband has already sampled some of my work—at our stall this morning.’
With that she stepped to one side and looked at him with a fixed, closed-mouth smile. ‘He seemed to think that I was intent on poisoning the tastebuds of the younger generation with sugar and additives. Isn’t that true, Mr Ormandy? I do hope that you’re not feeling ill after scoffing my chocolate dessert. Shame that my creamy boobs were not to your taste.’
Without giving him a chance to reply, Daisy swivelled back to Kate. She smiled warmly at her slightly stunned expression, just as Marco came over and stood by their table.
‘Ah. I see you have met our chocolate chef. Ms Flynn took top marks in the master chocolatier awards ceremony only last year, after training at Barone Fine Chocolate in Paris. We are hoping to persuade her to work with us a lot more.’
‘Thank you, Chef,’ Daisy said, and looked at the female diner while discreetly avoiding eye contact with her husband on the other side of the table. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Ormandy. I do hope that you have a splendid afternoon and will visit the restaurant again soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will leave you in Marco’s capable hands.’ And with that she turned and walked slowly and calmly, head high, back in the direction of the kitchens.
She had almost made it as far as the swing door leading to the kitchen when a loud male voice called out behind her in a very distinctive accent she had heard before.
‘Miss Flynn? If you could wait a moment?
Miss Flynn?’
Fighting against her sudden desire to reach for the nearest heavy frying pan in the kitchen, Daisy stopped and inhaled deeply.
This man was Marco’s customer—and she owed Marco several favours. Not including the job offer. Insulting one of his diners was not perhaps the best way to win more orders from the restaurant chain. Even if this particular diner seemed to think that he knew more about chocolate than she did. At least his lovely wife had been charming. And he had bought some of her rabbits for his little girl, who probably idolised him.
That was it. He was a family man. Happily married. And one of Marco’s paying customers.
Be nice to the people who pay your wages, Daisy.
So she fixed a professional, all-weather, no matter how great the provocation neutral smile on her lips, lifted her chin and turned slowly around so that she was not blocking the kitchen door.
And instantly had to fling her back flat against the wall to stop him from sending her flying.
He was caught out by her sudden stop and grabbed hold of both her arms to stop himself falling and crushing them both on the floor. In the process he drew her to him so quickly that Daisy barely had time to breathe before she found herself pressed up against the front of his shirt.
Both of them sucked in a shocked breath, and for a moment time seemed to stand still before he took a step back to create an appropriate space between them.
Back at the food stall she had been too busy to notice more than his unruly long dark blond hair hanging from a side parting almost to the collar of his black shirt. But up close he seemed to tower over her, even in his fairly flat black boots. He had to be well over six feet tall, but it was the sheer breadth of the man that made her bristle and want to step backwards to get out from his shadow.
His fitted black shirt covered a hard body and wide shoulders—but that was only part of it.
His blue eyes were the colour of forget-me-nots in the spring, and they contrasted so intensely against his deep suntan and heavy eyebrows that they seemed to be illuminated from within. And at the moment those eyes were focused totally on her. Light from the large picture windows in the restaurant shone on one side of his face, throwing his long shapely nose and square jaw into sharp profile.
If it was not for the thin white scar that cut through one of his eyebrows, and the dark bruise of shadows under his eyes, she would have said that he was gorgeous.
But she would settle for the upper end of the handsome scale.
Overall, he was probably the most masculine man she had met in a very, very long time. Not that she met many male customers in a life that whirled between Tara’s flat and the kitchen they used for their catering business.
He took a step away from her and released her arms. She inhaled the scent of cheese and lunch, good bread and … chocolate. Not the full-cream praline chocolate she had used to make the dessert he had just enjoyed, judging from the clean dessert plates, but an undercurrent of bitter, sharp and aromatic cocoa. As distinctive as any type of coffee or wine. And, to her attuned senses, as tantalising as the most expensive cologne any Paris perfumier could concoct.
That was probably why her throat went amazingly dry the instant one side of his mouth turned up into a cheeky smile which creased the side of his face and was obviously intended to make her swoon at his charm.
Not going to happen.
Even if it was remarkably effective. And he still smelt amazing.
She flicked her hair back behind one ear, desperate for something to do whilst attempting to find out why he had called to her. Perhaps his lovely wife had sent him to apologise, and he was being a dutiful husband?
Then she looked into his eyes.
Okay. Perhaps not such a good boy after all.
In fact those eyes were sparkling with excitement, and an interest which seemed to be aimed at her.
A frisson of more than professional interest lit like a fuse inside her poor heart—before she dumped a large bucket of icy water over it.
This was a married man with a child, whose mother was still sitting in the retaurant! The sooner she remembered that and let him get back to his coffee and his elegant and stunningly beautiful wife the better.
Handsome people who had won first prize in the gene pool lottery belonged together—not in kitchens with the hired help.
Daisy lifted her chin. She had waved goodbye to being second best the day she’d packed her bags and left Paris and her cheating former boyfriend Pascal behind. Not even this Greek-god-handsome face and body were going to sway her down that rocky path again. She had learnt the hard way that good things did not always come in beautifully wrapped packages.
This man looked like a praline wrapped in gold foil, but for all she knew that tempting cover might well conceal a bitter lemon boiled sweet. All promises. No delivery. Been there, done that, and hadn’t even come back with the T-shirt to show for it.
‘Did you need something, Mr Ormandy?’ she asked in as sweet a voice as she could manage—but the tone seemed to emerge as a sort of a squeak.
‘I was hoping that you might spare me a few minutes to talk about a business proposition, Ms Flynn. And please call me Max, as all my friends do,’ he murmured, and flashed her the full-on charming smile which, aimed at any other woman, would instantly have had her on her knees.
The cheek of the man! His wife was still in the same room, chatting to the head chef. She didn’t know what kind of business proposition he had to offer her, but she knew she didn’t want anything to do with it.
Even so, she had to rally her defences before replying.
‘A business proposition? What kind of business could we possibly have in common? Unless, of course, you happen to be in the chocolate trade? That is the only way you could tempt me to take you seriously.’
She had intended him to take her question as a joke. After all, she wasn’t interested in the least in whatever he had to offer.
This was why his reply hit Daisy right between the eyes and rendered her completely speechless.
‘Actually, I am in the chocolate trade. I happen to own an organic cocoa plantation in St Lucia. The Treveleyn Estate grows some of the finest organic cocoa beans in the world, and I’m looking for a dessert chef who is as passionate about chocolate as I am. Tempted now?’
CHAPTER THREE
‘HAVE you ever heard of the Federation of Organic Cocoa Growers?’
Daisy looked at Max over the rim of her coffee cup and gave a quick nod of affirmation. They had escaped to a quiet corner of the restaurant while the waiting staff cleared the room after the end of the lunch service, but she was pleased that she was not alone with Max—especially since his lovely wife had already waved him goodbye and headed off towards the shops, leaving them to talk chocolate.
Chocolate. That was what she had to focus on. Not the way his blue eyes looked at her with such intensity that they seemed to glow.
He wanted to talk to her about chocolate. She could do that all day.
‘I buy most of my chocolate from a small Belgian company who source their raw cocoa paste from federation members.’ She put down her coffee cup, but wrapped her fingers around the delicate china before speaking again. ‘Why do you ask?’
Max shuffled forward in his seat and rested his elbows on the table as he stretched his arms out towards her, closing the gap between them and making her wriggle a little on her chair.
‘Simply this,’ he said. ‘I’ve just flown back from St Lucia so that I can attend their annual conference. It’s being hosted this year by a hotel chain who specialise in boutique eco-hotels in luxurious settings. Think Bali, Malaysia, Costa Rica and a few unspoilt sites across Europe. Their hotel in Cornwall was a working abbey until a few years ago—they were virtually self-contained. And organic.’
Daisy smiled and took another sip of coffee. ‘Any conference about cocoa sounds wonderful to me. I do struggle to keep up with the latest news sometimes—especially at this time of the year. In fact Tara is expecting me back in the office to get ready for two hen parties and a wedding rehearsal buffet lunch. I wasn’t joking about the wedding season, and there’s lots of extra cooking to do.’ She licked her lips and put down her cup. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I am not passionate about chocolate. I’m just busy.’
Max laid his hand over hers just as she started to stand, startling her with the gentleness of his touch and the pressure of unfamiliar skin against hers.
‘That’s good to hear,’ he said. ‘Because I haven’t got to the really good bit yet. This is a conference with a difference.’ He slid his hand away before she had a chance to say anything.
Daisy breathed out in exasperation and frowned at him, only to be met with a smile of such total confidence that she finally surrendered to her curiosity and slid back into her chair.
‘Five minutes,’ she replied, and made a thing of looking at her watch.
Almost instinctively she sensed Max move forward, just enough to make her want to shuffle back, but she fought it to finish off her coffee and lower the cup back into the saucer with a clatter.
‘I don’t want to be rude, but either you’re on commission for the hotel chain or I’m missing something here. Last time I checked St Lucia was a Caribbean island with pretty spectacular scenery and a lovely coastline of its own. Has the wonderful world of the internet not reached your plantation yet? I’m sure it is much more economical to do business over the web these days. I certainly wouldn’t want to waste my time at parties when I could be working.’
‘You’re quite right.’ He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘But I wasn’t joking about having a business proposition. You are clearly just as passionate about your business as I am about mine. That is why I have an idea which could be of benefit to both of us.’
His fingers tapped for a few seconds on the table.
‘Let me start by telling you why I have travelled thousands of miles to be here, Ms Flynn. Firstly, I have my daughter’s birthday coming up—but you already know that.’ He paused for a second to flash a laser beam smile which made her choke slightly on the dregs in her cup. ‘What you may not know is that for the last twenty years or so every sack of cocoa beans leaving the Treveleyn Estate has been snapped up at market prices by one of the largest confectionery companies in Japan.’
He raised one hand and then the other as he spoke, so that each word seemed to be punctuated by the waggle or curve of his fingers.
‘They want top-quality cocoa beans which they roast and process in-house, and they come to me to make that happen—which is good news for them and good news for me … as far as it goes.’
His hands dropped back down to the table. ‘The problem is that even with premium pricing there is still not enough money coming into the estate to give the farmers who work there a decent income and provide a future for their families.’
He sat back and stretched out his long legs, but she could see the tension in the multiple creases on his forehead and in the muscles in his neck.
‘When I bought the estate I made a commitment to the families who work for me that I would make it my business to trade the amazing product we grow for the best price. Since then I’ve been working to make that happen. With something new. And that is why I am back in England.’ Max reached down inside his rucksack and pulled out a zipped plastic bag containing a large white plastic ice cream container. ‘Two years ago we started roasting and processing some of the cocoa on the estate. It has taken a lot of hard work, but I finally think we are there.’
He waved the box and carefully undid the lid a little. The delicious, powerful aroma of freshly ground chocolate filled the space between them.
‘This is only a small sample of the cocoa paste I made last week. My plantation specialises in rare and amazing varieties of cocoa bean—the kind of fine flavour which would give unique characteristics to any chocolate. Now I am looking for new buyers who can truly appreciate what fine chocolate from a single estate in the West Indies can taste like, smell like—feel like on your tongue when you eat it.’
His mouth twisted into a smile of pleasure and delight as he spoke the words, and Daisy sat mesmerised, tempted to take a closer look at the raw chocolate and yet holding back, just in case it truly was as remarkable as Max believed it to be.
‘But there is a problem.’ He bowed slightly in her direction. ‘I want to sell this pure cocoa direct to chefs. And to me the best way of doing that is by showing the master chocolatiers at this conference just how terrific my cocoa can be in the hands of someone who has a passion for chocolate. In short, I need someone like you, Miss Flynn.’
Daisy blinked several times and stared at Max across the table. ‘Why me? There are lots of dessert chefs in London who would love to try your chocolate if it is as good as you say it is.’
‘I have just tasted a sample of your work. Believe me—my cocoa would be perfect for desserts like the one I have just eaten. Silken, perfumed and delicious. With just a hint of spice. I know that my chocolate and your recipes would be an amazing combination. In exchange you would, of course, be the first chef in the world to use artisan single-estate cocoa from the Treveleyn Estate. And all you have to do is agree to use my chocolate. What do you say? Are you willing to give it a try?’
Daisy’s heart started thumping as the impact of what Max was suggesting hit home.
A new organic chocolate supplier from the West Indies was offering her a single-estate fine chocolate. This could be the final magical ingredient she had been looking for—that unique final piece of the huge jigsaw puzzle.
It had taken her three years to recover from her disappointment in Paris, and there was not a day that had gone by without her thinking about how she could take that final step. Her very own signature chocolate. If there was any chance at all of her opening a chocolate shop with her name above the door, then she needed something remarkable to give her a unique edge over the other competitors.
She had worked hard, studied hard, and she had spent month after month working on recipes she knew would succeed. And yet she still had not felt quite ready to make the leap to her own business—not without that very special extra factor that would make her stand out from the crowd.
She had been disappointed before, but this could be it—she had to give him a chance.
