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She wanted to refuse but she was a businesswoman. Being polite to customers was important to her—even the most annoying ones. What if he wanted to order a speciality cake? Not that she made cakes that big-breasted bunny girls jumped out of, but still. Maybe he wanted her to cater for an event or something. It would be churlish to refuse to speak to him just because he made her feel a little...undone.
‘My office is through here,’ Tillie said and led the way back to the workroom, every cell of her flesh conscious of him only a few steps behind her.
Joanne looked up from the child’s birthday cake she was pretending to decorate with the handmade marzipan toys Tillie had worked on every night for the past week. ‘I’ll watch over the shop, will I?’ she said with a smile so bright it looked as if she were advertising toothpaste.
‘Thanks,’ Tillie said, opening the office door that led off the workroom. ‘We won’t be long.’
Well, she’d used to think of it as an office.
Now with Blake McClelland occupying a ridiculous amount of space inside it she rapidly downgraded it to the size of a cake box. A cupcake box.
Tillie waved her hand at the chair in front of her desk. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
So I don’t have to dislocate my neck to maintain eye contact?
‘Ladies first.’ Something about the sparkle in his eyes made her think of another context entirely.
She gritted her teeth behind her polite closed-lip smile, and instead of sitting on her own chair, held onto the back of it like a lion tamer about to take on a rogue lion. ‘What can I do for you, Mr McClelland?’
‘Actually, it’s more what I can do for you.’ There was an enigmatic quality to his voice and his expression that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up and pirouette.
‘Meaning?’ Tillie injected enough cool hostility into her tone to have sent a pride of lions scampering for cover, chair or no chair.
Blake glanced at the stack of bills lying on her desk. Three of them were stained with a red stamp marking them as final notices. He would have to be colour blind not to have noticed.
‘Local gossip has it you’re undergoing a difficult financial period,’ he said.
Tillie kept her spine straighter than the ruler on her desk. ‘Pardon me if this sounds rude, but I fail to see how my current financial circumstances have anything to do with you.’
His eyes didn’t waver from hers. Not even to blink. He reminded her of a marksman who had taken aim, his finger poised on the trigger. ‘I noticed the wedding cake on my way in here.’
‘Hardly surprising since this is a cake shop,’ Tillie said, sounding as tart as the lemon meringue pies she’d made that morning. ‘Weddings, parties, anything—it’s what I do.’
‘I heard about your fiancе getting cold feet on the morning of the wedding,’ he said, still holding her gaze with that unnerving target-practice intensity.
‘Yes, well, it’s hard to keep something like that quiet in a village this size,’ she said. ‘But again—pardon me for being impolite—what exactly do you want to speak to me about? Because if it’s to talk about my ex and his tarty little girlfriend who is barely out of preschool, then you’d better leave right now.’
His smile tilted his mouth in a way that made the base of Tillie’s spine tingle and her hand want to rise up and slap him. She curled her fingers into her palms just in case. She was annoyed with herself for allowing him to see how humiliated she was by her ex’s choice of partner.
‘So here’s your chance to get even,’ Blake said. ‘Pretend to be my fiancеe for the next month and I’ll take care of those debts for you.’
‘Pretend to be your...what?’
He picked up the sheaf of papers off her desk and proceeded to read out the amounts owing, whistling through his teeth when he got to the biggest one. He tapped the bills against his other hand and looked at her again with that startlingly direct grey-blue gaze. ‘I will pay off your debts and the only payment I want in return is for you to tell your old buddy Jim Pendleton we’re engaged.’
Tillie widened her eyes until she thought her eyeballs would pop right out of her head and bounce along the floor like ping-pong balls. ‘Are you out of your mind? Pretend to be engaged to you? I don’t even know you.’
He gave a mock bow. ‘Blake Richard Alexander McClelland at your service. Formerly of McClelland Park estate and now on a mission to buy back my ancestral home, which, up until twenty-four years ago, had been in the McClelland family since the mid-seventeen-hundreds.’
Tillie frowned. ‘But why don’t you make an offer to Mr Pendleton? He’s been talking about selling since he had a stroke two months ago.’
‘He won’t sell it to me.’
‘Why not?’
His eyes continued to hold hers but this time there was a devilish glint. ‘Apparently my reputation as a love-them-and-leave-them playboy has annoyed him.’
Tillie could well imagine Blake McClelland had done some serious damage to a few hearts in his time. Now she realised why he’d seemed familiar the first time he’d come into her shop. She recalled reading something recently about him at a wild party in Vegas involving three burlesque dancers. He had a fast-living lifestyle that would certainly be at odds with someone as old and conservative as Jim Pendleton, whose only misdemeanours in eighty-five years were a couple of parking fines. ‘But Mr Pendleton would never believe you and I were a couple. We’re total opposites.’
His smile was crooked. ‘But that’s the point—you’re exactly the type of girl Jim would want me to fall in love with and settle down.’
As if that would ever happen.
Tillie knew she wasn’t responsible for any shattered mirrors about the place, but neither would she be asked to model a bikini on a catwalk. Her girl-next-door looks wouldn’t stop a clock or even a wristwatch. Not even an egg timer. The likelihood of attracting someone as heart-stoppingly handsome and suave and sophisticated as Blake McClelland was as likely as her becoming a size zero. But she didn’t know whether to be insulted or grateful. Right now, the thought of paying off her debts was more tempting than a whole tray of Belgian chocolate еclairs. Two trays. And even better, it would send a middle finger in the air to her ex. ‘But won’t Mr Pendleton suspect something if we suddenly come out as a couple? He might be elderly and suffering from a stroke, but he’s not stupid.’
‘The old man’s a romance tragic,’ Blake said. ‘He was married fifty-nine years before his wife died. He fell in love with her within ten minutes of meeting her. He’ll be thrilled to see you move on from your ex. He talked about you non-stop—called you his little guardian angel. He said you were minding his house and his dog and visiting him every day. That’s how I came up with the plan. I can see the headlines now.’ He put his fingers up in air quotes. ‘“Bad boy tamed by squeaky clean girl next door.”’ His grin was straight off a cosmetic orthodontist’s website. ‘It’s win-win.’
Tillie gave him a look that would have soured her shop’s week’s supply of milk. ‘I hate to put a dent in that massive ego of yours, but my answer is an emphatic, irreversible no.’
‘I don’t expect you to sleep with me.’
Tillie didn’t care for the way he said it as if she was being a gauche fool for thinking otherwise. Why didn’t he expect her to sleep with him? Was she that hideous? ‘Good, because I wouldn’t do it even if you paid those debts fifty gazillion times over.’
Something about the spark of light in his eyes sent a shuddering tremor over the floor of her belly. His slanted smile was star student of charm school. ‘Although, if you ever change your mind I’ll be happy to get down to business.’
Business? Tillie dug her fingers into the back of her office chair so hard she thought her knuckles would explode. She wanted to slap that I-can-have-you-any-time-I-want-you smile off his face. But another part—a secret, private part—wanted him. Wanted. Wanted. Wanted him. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’
He picked up a pen off her desk, tossed it in the air and deftly caught it in one hand. ‘And when the time comes to end it, I will allow you the privilege of dumping me.’
‘Big of you.’
‘I’m not being magnanimous,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be run out of town by a bunch of villagers wielding baseball bats.’
Tillie wished she had a baseball bat handy right now to beat her resolve back into shape. But the chance to let her ex know she could land a guy was proving a little hard to resist.
And not just any old guy.
Someone rich and gorgeous and sexy as sin on a sugar-coated stick. It was only for a month. How hard could it be? Her thoughts were seesawing in her head. Do it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t.
‘Think about it overnight,’ Blake said, apparently undaunted because his smile didn’t falter. ‘I want a walk around the Park some time. For old times’ sake.’
‘I’d have to ask Mr Pendleton if that’s okay with him.’
‘Fine.’ He took a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. ‘My contact details. I’ve checked in at the bed and breakfast down the road.’
Tillie took the card from him, desperately trying not to touch his fingers. Those long tanned fingers. Those long tanned masculine fingers. She couldn’t stop thinking about how those fingers would feel on her skin...on her body. On her breasts. Between her legs.
She gave herself a concussion-inducing mental slap. Why was she thinking about intimate stuff like that? The only person who’d ever touched her between the legs—apart from herself—was her gynaecologist.
‘I wouldn’t have thought cottage flowers and cosy fireplaces and fancy china teacups would be to your taste,’ Tillie said.
Blake’s eyes glinted again. ‘I don’t plan to stay there long.’
What was he hinting? That he would be staying with her? Tillie inched up her chin, trying to ignore the way the backs of her knees were fizzing in reaction to the satirical light in his gaze. ‘I’m sure you’ll find much more suitable accommodation for your...erm...needs in the next town.’
The less you think about his ‘needs’, the better.
‘Perhaps, but I’m not leaving this village until I get what I want.’ Something about the set of his jaw made her realise he had the steely will and determination to achieve whatever he put his mind to. And the ruthlessness.
She kept her gaze on his. ‘Haven’t you heard that wise old adage you can’t always get what you want?’
Blake glanced at her mouth, then to the swell of her breasts behind her conservatively buttoned cotton shirt, lingering there for a nanosecond before returning his gaze to hers in a lock that ignited something deep inside her body. It was as if his eyes were communicating on an entirely different level—a primal, instinctive level that was as thrilling to her as it was foreign.
No one ever looked at her like...that.
As if he were wondering what her mouth would feel like against his. As if he were wondering what she looked like without her practical, no-nonsense clothing. As if he were wondering how she would taste and feel when he put his mouth and tongue to her naked flesh.
Even Simon had never given her The Look. The I-want-to-have-bed-wrecking-sex-with-you-right-now look. She’d always put it down to the fact he’d staunchly committed to celibacy, but now she wondered if the chemistry had ever been there. Their kisses and cuddles seemed somehow...vanilla. Unlike her, Simon had had sex previously as a young teenager, but he’d felt so guilty he’d made a pledge not to do it again until he was married. They’d occasionally petted but never without clothes. The only pleasure she’d had during the last eight years had been with herself.
But nothing about Blake McClelland was vanilla. He was dark chocolate fudge and tantalising, willpower-destroying temptation. She couldn’t imagine him being celibate for eight minutes, let alone eight years. Which made it all the more laughable he wanted her to pretend to be his fiancеe.
Who would ever believe it?
‘Just for the record,’ Blake said in a voice so deep it made Simon’s baritone sound like a boy soprano, ‘I always get what I want.’
Tillie suppressed an involuntary shiver at the streak of ruthless determination in his tone. But she kept her expression in starchy schoolmistress mode. ‘Here’s the thing, Mr McClelland. I’m not the sort of girl to be toyed with for a man’s entertainment. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re a bored playboy who’s looking for the next challenge. You thought you could waltz in here and brandish your big fat bank account and get me to fall on my knees with gratitude, didn’t you?’
His eyes did that twinkling, glinting thing. ‘Not on our first date. I like to have something to look forward to.’
Tillie could feel her blush shoot to the roots of her hair. She almost expected it to be singed right off her scalp. She could barely speak for the anger vibrating through her body.
Or maybe it wasn’t anger...
Maybe it was a far more primitive emotion rushing through her in blazing, electrifying streaks. Desire. A pulse-throbbing sexual energy that left no part of her untouched. It was as if her blood were injected with its bubbling hot urgency. She shot him a glare as deadly as one of her metal cake skewers. ‘Get out of my shop.’
Blake tapped his index finger on the stack of bills on her desk. ‘It won’t be your shop for much longer if these aren’t seen to soon. Give me a call when you’ve changed your mind.’
Tillie lifted one of her brows as if she were channelling a heroine in a period drama. ‘When? Don’t you mean if?’
His eyes held hers in an iron will against iron will tug of war, making her heart skip a beat. Two beats. Possibly three. If she’d been on a cardiac ward they would have called a Code Blue.
‘You know you want to.’
Tillie wasn’t sure they were still talking about the money. There was a dangerous undercurrent rippling in the air. Air she couldn’t quite get into her lungs. But then he picked up his business card, which she’d placed on her desk earlier, and, reaching across the small space the desk offered, slid it into the right breast pocket of her shirt. At no point did he touch her, but it felt as if he had stroked her breast with one of those long, clever fingers. Her breast fizzed as if a firework were trapped inside the cup of her bra.
‘Call me,’ he said.
‘You’ll be waiting a long time.’
His smile was confident. Brazenly confident. I’ve-got-this-in-the-bag confident. ‘You think?’
That was the whole darn trouble. Tillie couldn’t think. Not while he was standing there dangling temptation in front of her. She’d always prided herself on her resolve, but right now it felt as if her resolve had rolled over and was playing dead.
She owed a lot of money. More money than she earned in a year. Way more. She had to pay her father and stepmother back the small loan they’d given her because as missionaries living abroad they were living on gifts and tithes as it was. Mr Pendleton had offered to help her but it didn’t sit well with her to take money off him when he had already been incredibly generous by allowing her to stay at McClelland Park rent-free and to use his kitchen for baking when she ran out of time at the shop. Besides, he would need all his money and more if he didn’t sell McClelland Park, because an old Georgian property that size needed constant and frighteningly expensive maintenance.
But to take money off Blake McClelland in exchange for a month pretending to be his fiancеe was a step into territory so dangerous she would need to be immediately measured for a straitjacket. Even if he didn’t expect her to sleep with him she would have to act as if she were. She would have to touch him, hold hands or have him—gulp—kiss her for the sake of appearances.
‘Good day, McClelland,’ Tillie said, as sternly as if she were dismissing an impertinent boy from the staffroom.
Blake was almost out of her office when he turned around at the door to look back at her. ‘Oh, one other thing.’ He fished in his trouser pocket and took out a velvet ring box and tossed it to her desk to land on top of her stack of bills with unnerving accuracy. ‘You’ll be needing this.’
And without stopping to see her open the box, he turned and left.
CHAPTER TWO (#uee2d10f9-82f8-563c-8f21-232048657dd7)
JOANNE CAME INTO the office before Tillie had time to pick her dropped jaw up off the desk, much less the ring box. ‘Oh. My. God. Is that what I think it is?’ she said.
Tillie stared at the box as if it were a detonator device. ‘I’m not going to open it.’
I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.
Even though her finger still felt horribly empty after three years of wearing an engagement ring. Three years and another five before that wearing a friendship/commitment ring. But she had a feeling Blake’s ring wouldn’t look anything like the humble little quarter-carat diamond Simon had purchased. Actually, Simon hadn’t purchased it. She’d put it on her credit card and he was meant to repay her but somehow never did. Another clue he hadn’t truly loved her.
Why hadn’t she realised that until now?
‘Well, if you don’t want it, give it to me,’ Joanne said. ‘I’m not against gorgeous men buying me expensive jewellery. What did he want to speak to you about?’
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Try me.’
Tillie let out a gust of a breath. ‘He wants to settle all of my debts in exchange for me pretending to be his fiancеe for a month.’
‘You’re right. I don’t believe you.’
‘He’s the most arrogant man I’ve ever met,’ Tillie said. ‘The hide of him marching in here expecting me to say yes to such a ridiculous farce. Who would believe it anyway? Me engaged to someone like him?’
Joanne’s smooth brow crinkled in thought. ‘I don’t know... I think you’re a little hard on yourself. I mean, I know you’re not big on fashion but if you wore a bit more colour and a bit of make-up you’d look awesome. And you’ve got great boobs but you never show any cleavage.’
Tillie sat down with a thump on her desk chair. ‘Yes, well, Simon didn’t like it when women paraded their assets.’
And how could I have spent money on clothes and make-up while saving for the wedding?
‘Simon was born in the wrong century,’ Joanne said with a roll of her eyes. ‘I reckon you’re better off without him. He never even took you out dancing, for pity’s sake. You deserve someone much more dynamic than him. He’s too bland. Blake McClelland, on the other hand, is capital D dynamite.’
Blake McClelland was too darn everything.
Tillie eyed the ring box again, curling her fingers into her palms like hooks to stop herself reaching for it. ‘I’m going to take it to Mrs Fisher’s second-hand shop.’
