by Coleen Kwan
Sweet criminy. What was Adam Blackstone doing to her?
She heard his own sharp breathing. He set her away from him very carefully and deliberately and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his face a mask of self-control.
“Can I ask a small favour of you in return?”
Her cheek still tingled from the contact with his bare shoulder. She touched the spot, and her finger picked up a patch of moisture there. His moisture. As though she’d been kissed. Wordless, she nodded.
“My men have enough distractions here with your sister strutting around playing Desperate Housewives without you popping up with baked goods. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again without prior warning.”
A blush crept up Harriet’s neck at the thought of Cindy parading around in her yummy-mummy clothes. She flicked her hair back and tightened her grip on the basket. “Gee, you’re a tough boss, but don’t worry. This was just a once-off. I’ll just give them the rest of these muffins and be on my way.”
Without waiting for a reply, she marched back to the two men and set out the remaining muffins on a trestle table before shutting the lid of her basket. “See ya, guys.” She gave them a bright smile and a finger wave, then stalked off back to her car, determined not to give Adam one last look.
“Phew!” Tony gave a low whistle, still eyeing Harriet’s receding figure. “Isn’t she something? I tell you what, Harriet can bake my muffins any day.”
Adam scowled. Try as he might he couldn’t drag his eyes away from Harriet either. She strode away at a staccato pace, as though she really wanted to scurry but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he could chase her off. That denim skirt and fitted green shirt of hers showed off her curvy figure to perfection. She looked like one of those cute Hawaiian hula dolls with a small waist and shapely hips. And her smooth tanned calves were something else.
Damn. His scowl deepened. Why the hell was his body attracted to Harriet Brown? He wasn’t a hormonal teenager anymore, unable to curb his body’s responses to females, so why now, and why with Harriet? It didn’t make sense. Harriet ought to be the last person he found appealing, but he seemed to have no control over his libido.
But it was more than just her pretty eyes and ripe curves that struck a chord in him. Something about her inner spirit intrigued him. What was the saying…still waters run deep? When he’d been an arrogant, know-it-all teenager he’d never bothered to get to know the reclusive Harriet Brown. He suspected after all these years it would be just as difficult.
He turned on Tony, exasperated by himself. “You going to spend all day stuffing your face with muffins?”
Tony swallowed down the last chunk and licked his lips. “They’re awesome muffins. Best I’ve ever tasted. Why don’t you try one?”
“I don’t have time for bloody muffins.” But as the rich chocolatey aroma drifted past his nose, his stomach growled, and his mouth started to water.
“Suit yourself.” Tony picked up his hammer and returned to his work.
Adam eyed the remaining muffin. Damn, it smelled good. Maybe just one bite wouldn’t hurt. He picked up the muffin and sank his teeth into its crust. A dense, dark, sugary sensation blossomed in his mouth, galvanising every taste bud. Before he knew it, he’d crammed the rest of the muffin into his mouth, eager for every morsel of its incredible taste and texture. He eyed the empty plate, dabbing at a few stray crumbs.
A nearby snort made him glance up to catch Tony grinning at him.
“Told you they were good,” Tony yelled.
Adam wiped his mouth and frowned.
Chapter Three
Freshly showered and changed, Adam stepped into the entrance of the hospital and came to an abrupt halt when he spotted Harriet just ahead of him. Great. Why was it that when you were trying to avoid someone, that person seemed to pop up all over the darn place? The lobby was crowded with visitors and staff, and she had her back turned to him, but something must have alerted her to his presence. He saw her pause, her back stiffening, before she turned and looked straight at him. Her body tensed up, and something almost like dismay flashed across her face before she quickly recovered.
“I thought you were visiting my father after work,” she said, her voice a little breathless as he caught up with her.
He couldn’t suppress his prickling awareness of her. She had changed into tight jeans and a pink top with a matching pink cardigan. Her brown hair curled loosely around her cheeks, cheeks which were growing redder by the second.
He realised he was staring and cleared his throat. “I was, but your father rang and asked me to come later at seven.”
She drew her eyebrows together into a small frown. “He asked me to come at seven too.”
Adam wondered if Ken had done that on purpose. He saw the suspicion cross her face at the same time. He’d been expecting a quiet, comfortable chat alone with Ken, but now Harriet was here, and he felt the exact opposite of comfortable. She didn’t seem happy either.
“I suppose we’d better not disappoint him.”
He was awkwardly conscious of her as she walked beside him down the corridor. The top of her head stopped several inches below his shoulder, and next to her small, neat frame he felt too big. Even her feet, with their surprising bright red nail polish, seemed to have trouble keeping up with his loping stride.
“Ah, just the two I’ve been waiting for.” Ken smiled at them when they entered the ward.
Adam waited until Harriet was seated before taking a chair on the opposite side of Ken’s bed and enquiring about Ken’s injuries. He couldn’t help being reminded of his own father and his car accident which, unlike Ken’s, had proved to be fatal. It had happened nine years ago, and the initial raw anguish had faded to a dull throb, but still he could never forget.
He watched Harriet neaten her father’s sheets and pour him a beaker of water, and the dull throb flared into a stabbing pain. He hadn’t been lucky enough to fuss around his dad’s bed. The police had knocked on his door and broken the news to him. They’d taken him to the morgue to identify the body. Even now he could remember the foulness in his mouth after he’d lost control and retched out his breakfast. He’d spent years speculating if his father had crashed his car on purpose, and had often wondered if there was anything he could have done, if he was to blame. He knew he wasn’t. If anyone was, she was.
“Adam?”
He jolted back, realizing he’d been staring at Harriet with burning eyes. He blinked and turned his attention back to Ken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I’m talking about the Harvest Ball,” Ken said, his eyes over-bright. “I’ve come up with a solution.”
“Oh?”
Ken tugged on Harriet’s hand. “Harriet can fill in for me.”
Adam glowered at Harriet across the bed as memories of his dead father sliced through his brain.
“No.” His whole body seemed to spew the word out.
Harriet wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. “Fill in for you?”
“I’m supposed to be doing the catering for the Harvest Ball, but I’m in no condition to do that now.” Ken tapped his knuckles against the plaster cast wrapped around his leg. “I don’t want to let Adam down, especially at such late notice, so I thought perhaps you could help him.”
Harriet’s face filled with horror. Her mouth opened, but she appeared to have trouble speaking, “I’m not sure that I can—”
“There’s no need for that,” Adam cut in, surprised at the harshness in his own voice. “I’ll make alternative arrangements.”
“But how will you do that?” Ken leaned forward. “There’s no one else in Wilmot available.”
Besides The Tuckerbox, Wilmot had two other restaurants—The Golden Palace, which would be shut on the night of the Harvest Ball because the owners’ daughter was getting married, and Hillbillies, which had closed for renovations.
“I’ll find someone from Scone.” Adam kept his eyes fixed on Ken though
he was all too conscious of Harriet sitting very still on the other side of the bed, gripping her fingers together.
“Scone.” Ken massaged his chin. “Hmm. Out-of-towners.”
“Hardly. It’s only thirty minutes up the highway.”
“But you’ve got the whole of Wilmot backing this Harvest Ball.” Ken turned to Harriet. “This ball is going to be a real community affair. The food and wine’s coming from local growers, the local businesses are sponsors, the band’s from Wilmot. Even the ushers and waiters are from your old school.” He looked back at Adam. “It would be a real pity—and a lost opportunity—not to have a Wilmot local do the catering.”
“You make a good point but it can’t be helped,” Adam said.
“But Harriet runs her own catering company, and she’s right here!” Ken gestured toward his daughter.
Reluctantly Adam shifted his gaze to Harriet. “You run a catering company?”
She gave him a tight little nod.
“She’s a great cook,” Ken broke in eagerly. “She’s worked in restaurants and hotels all over the country and the world. London, Singapore, Melbourne, Auckland…”
Harriet nudged her father. “Dad, please. You’re embarrassing me and Adam. If he’s the one organising this Harvest Ball, then he makes the final decision. It’s up to him to decide about the catering.”
“I’m telling you, Adam, you won’t find a better cook than Harriet, and I’m not just saying that because I’m her father.”
Adam shifted in his seat. Ken looked so darn keen that alarm bells began to ring in Adam’s head. He’d better get out of this ward fast before he made a decision he’d later regret. Bitterly.
“Ken,” he said. “The last thing I want is for you to fret over the Harvest Ball. It’s no big deal that you can’t do the catering. And it’s kind of you to offer Harriet in your place, but I’m sure she’d rather be taking care of you than worrying about menus and supplies. Take it from me, the Harvest Ball will still be a success.” He rose to his feet, determined to make his escape. “Now I’ll leave you two in peace. Good night.”
Harriet threw an angry glance at Adam’s retreating back. She knew how the idea of her getting involved in his precious ball would irritate him, but did he have to stampede out of the ward like that?
Her father leaned back against his pillows with an exhausted sigh. “It would mean a lot to me if you did the catering.”
A moment ago he’d been so energetic, but now his complexion was pallid and he looked drained. “Why, Dad? Why is that so important to you?”
“Because…” He turned his head to look at her fully. “If you did this you’d feel you could hold your head high in this town again. You’ve had a love-hate relationship with the people here for too long. This is your home town. You should be able to come here whenever you want, not just when your old man lands in hospital.” He pleated the edge of his sheet, embarrassment clouding his face. “And besides, I’d be so proud of you if you took over the catering. I know you’d be a cracker at it.”
Harriet’s throat closed up. Her father was ashamed of her. No, that was too harsh. He wasn’t ashamed of her, but he couldn’t boast about her like any other father discussing his daughter. All these years, and she hadn’t even been aware of it. And maybe he was right about her love-hate relationship with Wilmot. Maybe she was tired of staying away.
She gulped. “You really want me to do this?”
His face softened into a smile. “You’d do me proud, and you’d do yourself proud. Plus you’d be doing Adam a big favour.”
Harriet sighed. She doubted Adam would see it that way. She’d seen the way his face had tightened up at Ken’s suggestion. He hated the thought of her meddling with his Harvest Ball. Well, tough luck. She’d been running away from Wilmot for so many years and disappointing her dad in the process, but it was time to change all that. She would give Wilmot the best Harvest Ball dinner they’d ever tasted, and make her dad proud. She pushed to her feet, fresh determination coursing through her veins.
“All right,” she said to her father. “I’ll just run after Adam and tell him I’ll do it.”
Yeah, right, a derisive voice muttered at the back of her mind. As if Adam would just say sure, why not? Go ahead and make my day. She’d dealt with difficult customers before, but never with someone whose mere presence reduced her to a hot and bothered mess. She recalled the way her body had reacted when his shoulder had brushed her cheek earlier that day, and her pulse had beat faster.
“Adam!” She pelted after him. A couple of nurses turned to stare, but she didn’t care. Adam paused beside his pickup, his hand on the door handle, his face hidden in shadows. She arrived panting at his side.
“I thought we’d agreed to avoid each other as much as possible,” he said. “But you seem determined to chase after me at every opportunity.”
His sarcasm nicked her, but she put her personal feelings to one side. “I’d…like…to…do the catering,” she puffed, “for your Harvest Ball.”
He swapped his car keys from one hand to the other as he considered her. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
She flushed at his brisk dismissal. “Now, look here!” she burst out before she realised she didn’t have a ready-made argument.
“Yes?” He jingled the keys impatiently.
She pulled herself upright. Why did she have to be so pint-sized? Difficult to intimidate someone like Adam when he stood over six-feet in his socks and looked as solid as a rock wall.
“This Harvest Ball is important to my father,” she said, tempering her voice. “And—and it would please him no end if I could do the catering. For his sake would you reconsider having me as your caterer?” She paused. She wasn’t going to tell him it would mean a lot to her too, but it wouldn’t hurt to butter him up a little. She swallowed. “Please, Adam?”
An evening breeze had sprung up, ruffling the tips of Adam’s hair and laying a rash of goose bumps along Harriet’s forearms. She shivered and hugged her cardigan closer to her. Adam seemed immune to the cool autumn evening. After his hard day of labouring, he appeared clean and fresh. The hint of soap and shampoo she caught off his skin made her senses tingle, and she had a sudden vision of him naked in the shower while he washed away the day’s dust. She bit her lip as her cheeks reddened. Talk about inappropriate thoughts! Thank goodness the lights in the parking lot were so dim.
“How do I know you’re any good?”
Her flush deepened. “What? Of course I’m good. What about those muffins I brought round this afternoon? Tony and his friend scoffed them down in no time.”
He flexed his shoulder. “Tony and Ivan are labourers. They scoff down everything. And chocolate muffins aren’t exactly what I had in mind for the Harvest Ball.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve been running my own catering business for three years. I’ve built it up from nothing. Last year my turnover was in the six-figure mark.” She ticked off her achievements on her fingers. “I cater for both private parties and corporate functions. I have testimonials from many repeat clients.”
Adam looked singularly unimpressed. He leaned against his car and folded his arms across his chest—a sure sign of belligerence, she thought.
“Makes no difference to me whether you’re the Queen of England’s personal chef. I just don’t think you’d be right for the Harvest Ball.”
Frustration flashed through her. “Isn’t that a decision to be made by the organising committee as a whole? Or are you running the whole show like a czar?”
He stirred, and she saw his mouth tighten. “I’ve worked my butt off getting this ball together. I’m not going to let you derail everything.”
“Derail! What do you mean?”
“I mean, as soon as people remember who you are, they’ll start gossiping about what happened ten years ago. That’s precisely what I don’t want to happen.”
“Oh.” She pressed a palm against her stomach, feeling winded. “I suppose you’ve turned every
one against me.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never said anything against you. Whatever opinion people have of you, they arrived at without my influence.”
Her chin quivered as she tilted it toward him. “And I don’t need to ask what your opinion of me is.”
His face became stony. He rubbed his eyes as if he were exhausted. Without a word he yanked open the door and swung his long frame into his car.
“Wait!” Panicked, she grabbed the edge of his car door, preventing him from shutting it. If he drove off now she would never get another chance to persuade him. He glared at her, and his hand on the inside handle twitched, as if he was thinking about slamming the door anyway.
“You haven’t contacted another caterer yet, have you?” she asked.
“I was going to call a few in the morning.” He scowled at her. “Why?”
She licked her dry lips. “Today’s Friday, so I’m assuming you won’t be working tomorrow. Why don’t I cook you lunch, and then you can decide whether I’m good enough for your Harvest Ball? Isn’t that fair enough?”
He continued to glower at her, but at least he didn’t refuse her straight away.
“Come on, what harm can it do?” she continued in her shmooziest tone. “You’ll still be able to contact someone else tomorrow afternoon if you think I’m no good, and maybe I’ll surprise you.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Maybe you’ll actually enjoy your lunch.”
His gaze tempered as he considered her offer. Instead of furious, now he merely looked steely. “Very well,” he said. “You cook me lunch tomorrow, and then we’ll talk.”
She couldn’t help the tentative smile spreading across her lips as she let go of the car door. “Excellent. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to cook?”
He shook his head. “I’m not allergic to anything. Surprise me.”
